04-24-2010, 11:56 PM
//So, I've actually been floating around lurking for a little while, getting a feel for the community and I've decided to stay and make my big flashy formal introduction! Bwah-hah!
... And yes, I already have read the rules, before anyone says it.
Some of you may already know Lyall, most of you likely don't, so I'll go to explaining him a bit... Or rather, I'll let the drunken wretch speak for himself.//
The bar on Planet Nuremberg was abnormally dead for the time of day, the poor college journalism student had just gotten to talking to the bartender about how his attempts to interview a Republican Shipping freighter captain had been spurned by corporate security when, all of a sudden, the hulking figure at the other end of the bar cleared his throat as if to make his presence known to the universe.
"Ach, laddie, dun be talkin' ta them stuffy suits fer yer project... Why nah get a wee bit 'ah colour in tha' article?"
It was about this time that both the bartender and scrawny student looked at him and then at each other in confusion... The hulking mass of flight jacket, kilt and hair beamed with pride... And continued beaming as they stared... Eventually, he realized: They didn't speak English. With a heavy sigh he paid for his drinks and walked out.
As usual he drew heads all the way back to the Highland Star, his beloved ship and home as the last of the cargo was loaded on. With some credits in the right hands he passed inspection flawlessly, as usual.
The man, dressed in his dull green and black kilt stood at the loading ramp as he closed it up, turning his back just in time to give the port authority a glance at one of two things. One, the natural result of a strong back draft as the doors closed upon his kilt, or, the giant embossed and full color lions head, mid-roar on the back of his flight jacket with his long, curly matted hair covering it's eyes and the words 'Leeds' Lions' curved under it.
He retreated to the captains chair on the bridge that reeked of tobacco and whiskey, clicked on a small view screen next to his chair as he plotted a course away... Before screaming in fury as the goalie for the Leeds' Lions missed a shot from the Dublin Daggers center forward.
Such was life... Life was good.
... And yes, I already have read the rules, before anyone says it.
Some of you may already know Lyall, most of you likely don't, so I'll go to explaining him a bit... Or rather, I'll let the drunken wretch speak for himself.//
The bar on Planet Nuremberg was abnormally dead for the time of day, the poor college journalism student had just gotten to talking to the bartender about how his attempts to interview a Republican Shipping freighter captain had been spurned by corporate security when, all of a sudden, the hulking figure at the other end of the bar cleared his throat as if to make his presence known to the universe.
"Ach, laddie, dun be talkin' ta them stuffy suits fer yer project... Why nah get a wee bit 'ah colour in tha' article?"
It was about this time that both the bartender and scrawny student looked at him and then at each other in confusion... The hulking mass of flight jacket, kilt and hair beamed with pride... And continued beaming as they stared... Eventually, he realized: They didn't speak English. With a heavy sigh he paid for his drinks and walked out.
As usual he drew heads all the way back to the Highland Star, his beloved ship and home as the last of the cargo was loaded on. With some credits in the right hands he passed inspection flawlessly, as usual.
The man, dressed in his dull green and black kilt stood at the loading ramp as he closed it up, turning his back just in time to give the port authority a glance at one of two things. One, the natural result of a strong back draft as the doors closed upon his kilt, or, the giant embossed and full color lions head, mid-roar on the back of his flight jacket with his long, curly matted hair covering it's eyes and the words 'Leeds' Lions' curved under it.
He retreated to the captains chair on the bridge that reeked of tobacco and whiskey, clicked on a small view screen next to his chair as he plotted a course away... Before screaming in fury as the goalie for the Leeds' Lions missed a shot from the Dublin Daggers center forward.
Such was life... Life was good.