Dunkirk

[Lanakov]

Nostredame laughed. It was a terrible laugh, one meant to express disdain and mockery... But his nervousness and desperation made it sound dreadful. He recovered quickly, quite aware of the abysmal performance he had just displayed.

"Ah, fine... I suppose you and the Christmas tree you use for a uniform will have to do... It's not like we have much time anyway..." he muttered, having regained his countenance.
"I'm sorry, monsieur. I would stand up but I fear my two companions here would not take kindly to it, and they do enjoy love taps. It's quite embarrassing. Anyway !" He was talking fast and erratically, not leaving a chance for any elaborate reply.
"I shall introduce myself then, since you didn't have this elementary courtesy. I am Maître Principal Raynald Nostredame of the Marine Royale Gauloise, formerly at his Majesty Charles the Eleventh's service, and now... At yours, it would seem. Not that it matters. Not that anything will matter much for you, all of you he gestures around in a matter of hours. Would you like to hear why, monsieur l'officier ?"

He had poured what scorn he had left in him in those last two words. He'd had plenty left, it turned out.

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Feedback, insults, marriage proposals and declarations of fealty

If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.