Tycondrius strode across the rotting-wood deck of the Elizabeth Dare, illuminated by the grace of the pale moon. He took in a deep breath of sea-salted fog, savoring the sensation... and he mentally prepared himself to commit violence upon his allies.
An unfamiliar Marine stood at the edge of the deck, smoking a tobacco stick.
He looked out onto the black waters, leaning on a precarious portion of railing that, against all odds, remained intact.
The gentleman seemed occupied with the view, showing no reaction even when Tycon stood by his side.
"What's on your mind, Marine?" Tycon asked.
The lonesome Marine took a long draw of his drug-stick, then an equally long exhale...
Baring his teeth, he glared into the dark fog as he spoke.
"Been a f*ckin' *while* since I've had a full belly... and we had to get chow our gods-damned selves."
That, he was going to regret very soon.
