FourtyTwo
Forsythe
wintersoldier
Carlyle
LadyAmber
Chronic
KawaiiOtakuGirl
Abstract Proxy
Tim the Yeti
Karel Chalupa
With the ‘Mechs assigned and mess hall meeting concluded, Karel took a few minutes to throw his bags into the first unoccupied cabin, leaving his bunkmate in fate’s hands and made the rounds to all the important people: Dropping off the entry exam paperwork with the doctor and meeting the quartermaster. If a decade of soldiering has taught him anything, those that didn’t make nice with the techs didn’t get spare parts in time and those that didn’t make nice with the QM didn’t get to make small additions to requisition lists that went beyond the standard.
But now, with the important stuff dealt with and eight hours to kill before the flip, he grabbed a few sheets of paper, a clipboard, two bottles and a pencil and after a quick trip to the ‘Mech bay to get a sketch of the Mongoose from a few angles and a detail of the head, he planted himself in the lounge and started doodling. There were probably better things to do, such as familiarizing himself with the machine he’d never seen in person until that day or grabbing a sim seat for that purpose before they both became occupied, but personalizing the BattleMech was one of the best parts about getting a new one assigned and the Mongoose was supposed to be very easy to drive, and who was he to argue with 500 year established opinions?
So far every meeting Fuka attended in her new life had been pretty pointless, information that could have been discovered on her own or delivered via note. Did Ulrik really need everyone to sit down in a nice big group and go "hey, here's where the bar is"? Not that Fuka didn't enjoy having a drink or two of course but she really would have preferred to have been doing her own thing until she decided to go looking for booze.
'Her own thing' was code for hanging around, and hang around she most certainly did. A childhood in the strict embrace of Kuritan nobility had given her the ability to amuse herself with absolutely nothing, all the ceremonies and family gatherings she had been forced to attend teaching her the art of self-pacification.
It was a skill that benefitted a soldier, for no profession better-embodied hurry-up-and-wait.
She ended up circling back to the lounge with her cheap watercolor palette and a simple sheet of white paper. There was going to be lots of downtime in her future, she figured she should make the most of it and brush up on old skills.
Someone else had the same idea, Fuka giving the man a polite nod as she plopped down in the seat next to him.
"Heya."
The grumpy little guy had taken an immediate dislike to Fuka, but as far as she was concerned that was his problem. If Little Man couldn't stand her he was welcome to leave, she wouldn't take offense.
"Are those oils?"
”Good afternoon.” Karel replied in a politely neutral tone, glancing up from his scribbles at the Draconis Combine MechWarrior. A fellow art enthusiast by the looks of things, he wordlessly moved the second, unopened beer bottle closer to her side of the table in a silent offer as she sat down. ”Just pencil sketches. Painting supplies didn’t fit into the budget for this month.”
”I don’t think proper introductions were made. Karel Chalupa.” He set his pencil and clipboard - bearing several three-tone camouflage patterns shaded in pencil, what looked like simple representations of a knight’s plate armor on various parts of the Mongoose as well as multiple drafts of a goose’s head with over exaggerated googly eyes, each looking in a different direction, holding a knife in its beak and bearing the inscription ‘Mad Goose’ - on the table and stood up to offer Fuka a hand.
”You seemed unconditionally happy about your new ride.” He recalled Fuka’s mad dash toward the Dragon. At least someone found exactly what they wanted, maybe in addition to the lass who picked the Raven. Considering that the sole heavy ‘Mech of the company would be soaking up damage, it had better be in top condition. ”Any hidden surprises that spoiled the moment?”
Her supplies, clenched between her fingers velociraptor-style, were spread across the table in neat rows, Fuka taking a sip of the water mug she had brought along before flipping open the lid of her little palette. "Oh wow, you’re good at that.."
Even as a draft his skill was evident, Fuka looking approvingly at the man’s work as she took his hand. "Samurai Nakano, or Fuka…the barbarian."
Her smile was sweet and genuine and a little vicious, the moniker Karel had given her back in the meeting one she quite liked.
“Oh nothing out of the ordinary, it’s battered to hell and back and the cockpit smells like they didn’t clean the last pilot out of it but that’s par for the course for me.
The Cadres only got to play with second hand mechs, the new ones were reserved for the veterans.
Samur- Jesus, she really was taking that Drac hogwash seriously, wasn’t she? ”Thank you. Something specific you’re working on?” He gestured to Fuka’s sheet of paper with his beer bottle.
”So the state of the company’s equipment is evident to even the blind,” He scraped his thumbnail over the nearest patch of rust on the wall, leaving a slight groove in its wake and a layer of brown dust on his finger. ”And you’ve clearly had some dealings with one of our company mates. What do you make of the rest of them? At least none of the others have that ‘I’ve been doing this for a month if we include training.’ look about them. And the CO seems deformed enough by military life he should know what he’s doing” Getting an accurate, unbiased read on the mophead from Fuka was probably out of the realm of possibility, but stranger things have happened.
"No, not really. I haven’t practiced art in a while and I thought this was as good a time as any to start. " She wet her brush and soaked up some of the black paint, a few light strokes beginning the outline of some kind of animal.
"I’m a better musician than I am a painter.”
Everyone wanted to know about Alvin, the lucky boy. Who knew, maybe someone would finally give him the approval he craved.
"Me and my flight kicked Alvin’s ass, killed all his friends and he ended up shipped to my family’s home. He’s only here now because I helped him escape, so I don’t know why he’d run back to a profession he’s not all that good at. As for everyone else, it’s hard to tell. Jaromir, the burn scar guy, seems solid at least.”
Combat was when they’d learn each others’ strengths and weaknesses, and hopefully figure out how to function as a team.
“You ever do mercenary work before?”
”Musician? Good, that covers the marching band. He chuckled. He had an idea of why someone would stick to what they knew, but would rather not broach the topic. Not that he thought he wasn't good at doing this, though a switch to the light 'Mech might change that somewhat. And if Alvin actually turned out bad, that would be two large lasers and a bunch of other salvage for the rest to take advantage of.
”I have done some merc work. Not much, just three years in a… company marginally better than this one. I should’ve started a lot earlier though. It’s like the military, except with shorter supply lines, some degree of control over where you’re going and if you don’t like the people you’re with, you can just go elsewhere. Plus you’re not restricted to the usual house equipment. If someone likes PPCs in the Free Worlds army or lasers in FedSun military, they’re shit out of luck.” He counted the perceived advantages on his fingers before pausing, ”Okay, a pre-refit Cicada with heat sinks running at 60% of their factory capacity and that antique I’ve got waiting for me downstairs are a step down from the 6M Wolverines I used to drive, but you get the idea. On the other hand, head and leg room, yay. At least the Cicada was a decent stepping stone on the path from a medium 'Mech to a light.
”You said worn out or poorly maintained 'Mechs were something that wasn't new to you? I'd guess a mercenary brat, but that doesn't track with your demeanor. And Dracs and mercs usually go together like Free Worlds League and unity. Don't tell me the Dragon can't even be bothered to keep its BattleMechs in good shape.”
She wasn’t sure how many marching bands had guitarists or singers, but that seemed like a pointless quibble to bring up. Instead Fuka just listened to Little Man’s life story as she worked, the four-legged figure she had started beginning to take the shape of a tiger.
“Oh the mainline mechs were all spic and span, at least until they caught a missile of course. But I was in the Cadres, they give the cadets all the particularly shit assignments until they think you’ve earned something better. Took me one try.
The pride in her voice would have been obvious even if she hadn’t been grinning. She held no loyalty to the Combine but still wore her awards, the daishō and accompanying rank symbolic of achievement as opposed to love of country.
“So then why’d you leave? Your old outfit I mean. It sounds like you had a good thing going.”
”It was a living wage, yes, but I wouldn’t go as far as ‘good thing’. ‘Passable’, we can talk about. Either way, staying wasn’t an option. The whole company suffered a critical existential failure in the accounting department.” Karel made a sour face as he reminded himself that he hadn’t been paid for the last month and only got partial pay for the one before. ”Turns out putting your gambling uncle in charge of money just because he’s your uncle is a bad idea. I’m surprised he managed to keep such a huge debt hidden from the other company leadership for this long. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so sad.”
It wasn’t hard to pick up on what Fuka was saying and Karel had no problem tuning to the same self-indulgent frequency, raising his beer to a mock toast. ”Wherever we came from and whoever we left behind - Their loss.” he grinned.
That was a rough way to go, even for a mercenary company. All the pilots getting blasted out of their mechs in little pieces was a noble end, being cooked alive after their heat sinks were shot to shit was horrific but understandable. But just the whole enterprise just falling to pieces because it went broke?
That was a tragedy.
“My condolences.” Fuka said, and genuinely to boot. “Hopefully you weren’t out of work for too long before stumbling onto this merry bunch.”
Did they even have a name? If they did, she had missed it in orientation.
With no actual drink to raise she lifted her water mug with the brush inside it, the gesture familiar to her even with the gulf in culture and distance that seperated them.
“To those we left. May they fuck themselves.”
Her feelings towards her family were complicated but confronting them required more self-awareness than she cared to dig up.
”Only for a few days longer than what it took to get here. This was the most stable-sounding employment I had enough money to get to, which sounds really sad now that I'm here.” He shared, ”But if you ever find yourself in that situation: Sikh temples often provide food if you ask and silverware is unnecessary if you have a screwdriver.”
”Ah, who knows. Maybe we'll get stupid lucky and come up with some treasure trove of salvage. If it happened once, it could happen again.” And unlike the Nanking raid, this time he'd actually profit from it directly.
”And how does a 'samurai' end up here among us lowlives? You said you proved yourself on your first sortie, what happened then? Fell out of favor? Been made a fall guy?” He stopped short of saying something about slaves and forbidden affairs, that thought was way too cursed.
“Nothing that exciting.” she said with a shrug, returning to her painting. “The Combine doesn’t have much room for free spirits, and while I loved piloting they wouldn’t let me do it without having some starch-collar breathing down my neck.”
The warrior’s spirit that the Mustered Soldiery were supposed to embody seemed more focused on appearance than actual bravery or skill, the battlefield taking a backseat to the minefield of etiquette and rank.
“I wasn’t getting anything out of the experience so I left, took Alvin with me because why not, and now here I am.”
‘Because why not?’ That statement had some serious ‘Hold my beer and watch this.’ energy to it that he wasn’t sure he appreciated. People like that were usually a riot off the clock and a complete nightmare to work with while on the job, but he was learning something, so progress.
”Ah. Overbearing bureaucracy and bullshit driving talent away, the armed forces evergreen.” Karel scoffed, his disdain for such attitudes could almost be felt. ”Paperwork, polished boots and the correct political thinking won’t fight battles for them though. Certainly not gonna win them, just ask the Cappies.”
“It seems that all militaries share similar traits.” Fuka noted with a smirk, thickening the outline of her nascent tiger. “Serves a purpose I suppose, I think the constant drill is supposed to build unity and cohesion. Failing that, produces more army dropouts to make into mercenaries.”
The mention of the Capellans did not go unnoticed, the DC's old allies definitely having gotten the short end of the stick
“I take it you don't care much for them either.”
”How does that track with the Combine’s stance on mercenaries?” He asked, ”Last I heard your folks weren’t too keen on our ilk.”
”Helping incite a civil war in the Free Worlds League, failing miserably to clean up their mess with that soulless Tikonov cunt and leaving us with the fallout, continued raids against the League despite being officially allies since ‘24, one madman at the helm replaced by another… No, I can’t say they’re many people’s favorite where I come from.” Karel shook his head. ”That wedding story about Maximilian was great though.”
”Having a servitor class with no rights doesn’t win them any favors either. Be a crying shame if another nation was doing that to their fellow man…” He added with an aside glance, sarcasm practically pooling around his chair.
“No, we’re not.” Fuka admitted, brushing the fearsome tiger’s eyes into existence. “But I’m hardly the first of us to make a run for the freebooters and I will not be the last.”
There was always going to be someone greedy enough to make a go of it, a lust for wealth or fame driving youngbloods with steel to carry and egos to sate into battle for the highest bidder. Thus it had been and thus it would forever be, Fuka only one of the most recent in a long line of killers.
She listened to the tirade curiously, unable to fault the reasoning but unwilling to care. It was a whole lot of political crap, the kind of thing there was no use being invested in as an outsider without pay. Fuka had yet to receive a paycheck from the League thus she had yet to feel any sympathy.
"Eh, 'servitor' was always too fussy for me. She said with an unabashed grin. "If you're going to keep slaves just call them slaves, you're not doing them a favor by hiding it."
”I suppose if you’re gonna be an asshole you might as well be an honest one. Though the bar you’re clearing is so low it’s practically underground.” Karel shrugged, recognizing a brick wall when he spoke to one and abandoning the topic in the name of company cohesion.
Noting his beer running dry, he finished in one go and started collecting his things, mindful to not forget the bottle cap. ”Well, looks like I’m bingo fuel, and there’s still things to do and a ship layout to learn. Good talk, don’t die tomorrow.”
But now, with the important stuff dealt with and eight hours to kill before the flip, he grabbed a few sheets of paper, a clipboard, two bottles and a pencil and after a quick trip to the ‘Mech bay to get a sketch of the Mongoose from a few angles and a detail of the head, he planted himself in the lounge and started doodling. There were probably better things to do, such as familiarizing himself with the machine he’d never seen in person until that day or grabbing a sim seat for that purpose before they both became occupied, but personalizing the BattleMech was one of the best parts about getting a new one assigned and the Mongoose was supposed to be very easy to drive, and who was he to argue with 500 year established opinions?
So far every meeting Fuka attended in her new life had been pretty pointless, information that could have been discovered on her own or delivered via note. Did Ulrik really need everyone to sit down in a nice big group and go "hey, here's where the bar is"? Not that Fuka didn't enjoy having a drink or two of course but she really would have preferred to have been doing her own thing until she decided to go looking for booze.
'Her own thing' was code for hanging around, and hang around she most certainly did. A childhood in the strict embrace of Kuritan nobility had given her the ability to amuse herself with absolutely nothing, all the ceremonies and family gatherings she had been forced to attend teaching her the art of self-pacification.
It was a skill that benefitted a soldier, for no profession better-embodied hurry-up-and-wait.
She ended up circling back to the lounge with her cheap watercolor palette and a simple sheet of white paper. There was going to be lots of downtime in her future, she figured she should make the most of it and brush up on old skills.
Someone else had the same idea, Fuka giving the man a polite nod as she plopped down in the seat next to him.
"Heya."
The grumpy little guy had taken an immediate dislike to Fuka, but as far as she was concerned that was his problem. If Little Man couldn't stand her he was welcome to leave, she wouldn't take offense.
"Are those oils?"
”Good afternoon.” Karel replied in a politely neutral tone, glancing up from his scribbles at the Draconis Combine MechWarrior. A fellow art enthusiast by the looks of things, he wordlessly moved the second, unopened beer bottle closer to her side of the table in a silent offer as she sat down. ”Just pencil sketches. Painting supplies didn’t fit into the budget for this month.”
”I don’t think proper introductions were made. Karel Chalupa.” He set his pencil and clipboard - bearing several three-tone camouflage patterns shaded in pencil, what looked like simple representations of a knight’s plate armor on various parts of the Mongoose as well as multiple drafts of a goose’s head with over exaggerated googly eyes, each looking in a different direction, holding a knife in its beak and bearing the inscription ‘Mad Goose’ - on the table and stood up to offer Fuka a hand.
”You seemed unconditionally happy about your new ride.” He recalled Fuka’s mad dash toward the Dragon. At least someone found exactly what they wanted, maybe in addition to the lass who picked the Raven. Considering that the sole heavy ‘Mech of the company would be soaking up damage, it had better be in top condition. ”Any hidden surprises that spoiled the moment?”
Her supplies, clenched between her fingers velociraptor-style, were spread across the table in neat rows, Fuka taking a sip of the water mug she had brought along before flipping open the lid of her little palette. "Oh wow, you’re good at that.."
Even as a draft his skill was evident, Fuka looking approvingly at the man’s work as she took his hand. "Samurai Nakano, or Fuka…the barbarian."
Her smile was sweet and genuine and a little vicious, the moniker Karel had given her back in the meeting one she quite liked.
“Oh nothing out of the ordinary, it’s battered to hell and back and the cockpit smells like they didn’t clean the last pilot out of it but that’s par for the course for me.
The Cadres only got to play with second hand mechs, the new ones were reserved for the veterans.
Samur- Jesus, she really was taking that Drac hogwash seriously, wasn’t she? ”Thank you. Something specific you’re working on?” He gestured to Fuka’s sheet of paper with his beer bottle.
”So the state of the company’s equipment is evident to even the blind,” He scraped his thumbnail over the nearest patch of rust on the wall, leaving a slight groove in its wake and a layer of brown dust on his finger. ”And you’ve clearly had some dealings with one of our company mates. What do you make of the rest of them? At least none of the others have that ‘I’ve been doing this for a month if we include training.’ look about them. And the CO seems deformed enough by military life he should know what he’s doing” Getting an accurate, unbiased read on the mophead from Fuka was probably out of the realm of possibility, but stranger things have happened.
"No, not really. I haven’t practiced art in a while and I thought this was as good a time as any to start. " She wet her brush and soaked up some of the black paint, a few light strokes beginning the outline of some kind of animal.
"I’m a better musician than I am a painter.”
Everyone wanted to know about Alvin, the lucky boy. Who knew, maybe someone would finally give him the approval he craved.
"Me and my flight kicked Alvin’s ass, killed all his friends and he ended up shipped to my family’s home. He’s only here now because I helped him escape, so I don’t know why he’d run back to a profession he’s not all that good at. As for everyone else, it’s hard to tell. Jaromir, the burn scar guy, seems solid at least.”
Combat was when they’d learn each others’ strengths and weaknesses, and hopefully figure out how to function as a team.
“You ever do mercenary work before?”
”Musician? Good, that covers the marching band. He chuckled. He had an idea of why someone would stick to what they knew, but would rather not broach the topic. Not that he thought he wasn't good at doing this, though a switch to the light 'Mech might change that somewhat. And if Alvin actually turned out bad, that would be two large lasers and a bunch of other salvage for the rest to take advantage of.
”I have done some merc work. Not much, just three years in a… company marginally better than this one. I should’ve started a lot earlier though. It’s like the military, except with shorter supply lines, some degree of control over where you’re going and if you don’t like the people you’re with, you can just go elsewhere. Plus you’re not restricted to the usual house equipment. If someone likes PPCs in the Free Worlds army or lasers in FedSun military, they’re shit out of luck.” He counted the perceived advantages on his fingers before pausing, ”Okay, a pre-refit Cicada with heat sinks running at 60% of their factory capacity and that antique I’ve got waiting for me downstairs are a step down from the 6M Wolverines I used to drive, but you get the idea. On the other hand, head and leg room, yay. At least the Cicada was a decent stepping stone on the path from a medium 'Mech to a light.
”You said worn out or poorly maintained 'Mechs were something that wasn't new to you? I'd guess a mercenary brat, but that doesn't track with your demeanor. And Dracs and mercs usually go together like Free Worlds League and unity. Don't tell me the Dragon can't even be bothered to keep its BattleMechs in good shape.”
She wasn’t sure how many marching bands had guitarists or singers, but that seemed like a pointless quibble to bring up. Instead Fuka just listened to Little Man’s life story as she worked, the four-legged figure she had started beginning to take the shape of a tiger.
“Oh the mainline mechs were all spic and span, at least until they caught a missile of course. But I was in the Cadres, they give the cadets all the particularly shit assignments until they think you’ve earned something better. Took me one try.
The pride in her voice would have been obvious even if she hadn’t been grinning. She held no loyalty to the Combine but still wore her awards, the daishō and accompanying rank symbolic of achievement as opposed to love of country.
“So then why’d you leave? Your old outfit I mean. It sounds like you had a good thing going.”
”It was a living wage, yes, but I wouldn’t go as far as ‘good thing’. ‘Passable’, we can talk about. Either way, staying wasn’t an option. The whole company suffered a critical existential failure in the accounting department.” Karel made a sour face as he reminded himself that he hadn’t been paid for the last month and only got partial pay for the one before. ”Turns out putting your gambling uncle in charge of money just because he’s your uncle is a bad idea. I’m surprised he managed to keep such a huge debt hidden from the other company leadership for this long. It would be impressive if it wasn’t so sad.”
It wasn’t hard to pick up on what Fuka was saying and Karel had no problem tuning to the same self-indulgent frequency, raising his beer to a mock toast. ”Wherever we came from and whoever we left behind - Their loss.” he grinned.
That was a rough way to go, even for a mercenary company. All the pilots getting blasted out of their mechs in little pieces was a noble end, being cooked alive after their heat sinks were shot to shit was horrific but understandable. But just the whole enterprise just falling to pieces because it went broke?
That was a tragedy.
“My condolences.” Fuka said, and genuinely to boot. “Hopefully you weren’t out of work for too long before stumbling onto this merry bunch.”
Did they even have a name? If they did, she had missed it in orientation.
With no actual drink to raise she lifted her water mug with the brush inside it, the gesture familiar to her even with the gulf in culture and distance that seperated them.
“To those we left. May they fuck themselves.”
Her feelings towards her family were complicated but confronting them required more self-awareness than she cared to dig up.
”Only for a few days longer than what it took to get here. This was the most stable-sounding employment I had enough money to get to, which sounds really sad now that I'm here.” He shared, ”But if you ever find yourself in that situation: Sikh temples often provide food if you ask and silverware is unnecessary if you have a screwdriver.”
”Ah, who knows. Maybe we'll get stupid lucky and come up with some treasure trove of salvage. If it happened once, it could happen again.” And unlike the Nanking raid, this time he'd actually profit from it directly.
”And how does a 'samurai' end up here among us lowlives? You said you proved yourself on your first sortie, what happened then? Fell out of favor? Been made a fall guy?” He stopped short of saying something about slaves and forbidden affairs, that thought was way too cursed.
“Nothing that exciting.” she said with a shrug, returning to her painting. “The Combine doesn’t have much room for free spirits, and while I loved piloting they wouldn’t let me do it without having some starch-collar breathing down my neck.”
The warrior’s spirit that the Mustered Soldiery were supposed to embody seemed more focused on appearance than actual bravery or skill, the battlefield taking a backseat to the minefield of etiquette and rank.
“I wasn’t getting anything out of the experience so I left, took Alvin with me because why not, and now here I am.”
‘Because why not?’ That statement had some serious ‘Hold my beer and watch this.’ energy to it that he wasn’t sure he appreciated. People like that were usually a riot off the clock and a complete nightmare to work with while on the job, but he was learning something, so progress.
”Ah. Overbearing bureaucracy and bullshit driving talent away, the armed forces evergreen.” Karel scoffed, his disdain for such attitudes could almost be felt. ”Paperwork, polished boots and the correct political thinking won’t fight battles for them though. Certainly not gonna win them, just ask the Cappies.”
“It seems that all militaries share similar traits.” Fuka noted with a smirk, thickening the outline of her nascent tiger. “Serves a purpose I suppose, I think the constant drill is supposed to build unity and cohesion. Failing that, produces more army dropouts to make into mercenaries.”
The mention of the Capellans did not go unnoticed, the DC's old allies definitely having gotten the short end of the stick
“I take it you don't care much for them either.”
”How does that track with the Combine’s stance on mercenaries?” He asked, ”Last I heard your folks weren’t too keen on our ilk.”
”Helping incite a civil war in the Free Worlds League, failing miserably to clean up their mess with that soulless Tikonov cunt and leaving us with the fallout, continued raids against the League despite being officially allies since ‘24, one madman at the helm replaced by another… No, I can’t say they’re many people’s favorite where I come from.” Karel shook his head. ”That wedding story about Maximilian was great though.”
”Having a servitor class with no rights doesn’t win them any favors either. Be a crying shame if another nation was doing that to their fellow man…” He added with an aside glance, sarcasm practically pooling around his chair.
“No, we’re not.” Fuka admitted, brushing the fearsome tiger’s eyes into existence. “But I’m hardly the first of us to make a run for the freebooters and I will not be the last.”
There was always going to be someone greedy enough to make a go of it, a lust for wealth or fame driving youngbloods with steel to carry and egos to sate into battle for the highest bidder. Thus it had been and thus it would forever be, Fuka only one of the most recent in a long line of killers.
She listened to the tirade curiously, unable to fault the reasoning but unwilling to care. It was a whole lot of political crap, the kind of thing there was no use being invested in as an outsider without pay. Fuka had yet to receive a paycheck from the League thus she had yet to feel any sympathy.
"Eh, 'servitor' was always too fussy for me. She said with an unabashed grin. "If you're going to keep slaves just call them slaves, you're not doing them a favor by hiding it."
”I suppose if you’re gonna be an asshole you might as well be an honest one. Though the bar you’re clearing is so low it’s practically underground.” Karel shrugged, recognizing a brick wall when he spoke to one and abandoning the topic in the name of company cohesion.
Noting his beer running dry, he finished in one go and started collecting his things, mindful to not forget the bottle cap. ”Well, looks like I’m bingo fuel, and there’s still things to do and a ship layout to learn. Good talk, don’t die tomorrow.”