Past Musings, Future Beginnings

Tales of Jaycynda Ashleana and her associates.

Moderators: PslyderFTA, Jaycy Ashleana

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Location: Shangren MotorCorp Main Headquarters, 12 miles southwest of Rhy'Din

Past Musings, Future Beginnings

Post by PslyderFTA » Sat Nov 01, 2014 4:34 pm

The cool air tickled in the wee hours, just before the rising sun topped the hills in the east. The brightening sky reflected in his greenish-gold eyes, as Psly stood there, enjoying the souncs and scents of the wakening world, holding a fresh mug of hot tea.

Jaycy's nightmares were getting terrifying enough to rouse him from slumber, and keep him from falling back into unconsciousness, which gave him ample time to think.

Emotions played across his face as he gave his mind the freedom to wander down memory's paths, musing over his own fears and failures, triumphs and celebrations. A daring raid on Mitsuhama's research labs, where the intel hadn't detailed quite everything and the drek hit the fan in a hurry. The goon squads had underestimated his team, or overestimated themselves, he'd never been quite sure. In the end, they'd enjoyed a fat payday from Mr. Johnson, lived the good life, dodged a hit squad or two, and come out smelling like roses.

Pain crinkled his face when he remembered the dock raid, where Dax the dwarven rigger hadn't juked in the right direction, one of his oldest and dearest friends toppling off the pier in a spray of crimson viscera from a burst fired by a patrol drone. They'd done a lot of drinking, back in the day.

The fateful ride on Thunderbucket, after getting a warn-off call from Hitch about a wave of heat passing through the Barrens, that had him speeding into a fog bank and winding up . . . here.

A whole different life, this place gave him. Less and less, he'd been putting old skills to use and overwriting them with new ones, from how to swing a sword to learning how to fly.

Nothing in his memories, fading or recent, had him any less terrified of what he'd told his wife. What his musings had done, however . . . was firm up his resolve.

As the sun crested the horizon, a look of determined resolve settled on his features. Downing half the mug in a gulp to ease a suddenly dry throat, he reached down into the pocket of his sweats, and called up a number on the list.

"Hello, Chryrie's office? I need to set up an appointment."
A Learning Experience. Typical three-word preamble to a closed-casket funeral service.
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