Post by Jason Thornvaald on Mar 13, 2009 1:56:43 GMT -5
Thorn Scarsgard was unceremoniously awoken from his drunken stupor by the sprinklers overhead suddenly turning on and spraying what felt like arctic water all over him and his immediate vicinity. He let out a somewhat wounded yell, flailing in vain, but in the end he was completely drenched, awake and thus--annoyingly--sober. It was a state he had been doing his best to avoid for the past several days.
The intercom above him suddenly came on with a faint hiss of static. "Attention crew, this has been a random test of our fire-safety protocols. Thank you for your cooperation."
"Goddamned Rabid Grease-Monkey," Thorn snarled under his breath before kicking his way free of the empty bottles that were scattered around him.
He pulled off his soiled and now very wet clothes, rummaging around until he found some replacements. They were not his own, of course. All of his effects had been blown up right along with his ship. Yet someone had seen to it that he had something to change into that would fit. Lyra probably had a hand in it. Or maybe even Andromeda. The leggy doctor tended to fuss and worry over him or any other of her patients more than was entirely necessary.
Thorn raked his now-loose hair back from his face, not caring enough about his appearance to braid it, before he finally turned on his heel and left the now-damp room. The listless pirate wandered the halls until his footsteps eventually took him into a currently empty galley.
Empty, save for the red-headed Captain apparently waiting for him, hands propped on her hips.
The intercom above him suddenly came on with a faint hiss of static. "Attention crew, this has been a random test of our fire-safety protocols. Thank you for your cooperation."
"Goddamned Rabid Grease-Monkey," Thorn snarled under his breath before kicking his way free of the empty bottles that were scattered around him.
He pulled off his soiled and now very wet clothes, rummaging around until he found some replacements. They were not his own, of course. All of his effects had been blown up right along with his ship. Yet someone had seen to it that he had something to change into that would fit. Lyra probably had a hand in it. Or maybe even Andromeda. The leggy doctor tended to fuss and worry over him or any other of her patients more than was entirely necessary.
Thorn raked his now-loose hair back from his face, not caring enough about his appearance to braid it, before he finally turned on his heel and left the now-damp room. The listless pirate wandered the halls until his footsteps eventually took him into a currently empty galley.
Empty, save for the red-headed Captain apparently waiting for him, hands propped on her hips.
