After hours. All was still and dim aboard the Hovercraft Carrier Cerberus. The only activity seemed to come from the two individuals on the bridge. Stiletto sat and performed her piloting duties, while her captain, Inqubus, sat in his captain’s chair smoking a cigar while reading what seemed like an endless list of transmittals that filled his monitor. The sudden sound of keystrokes rose above the droning hum of the engines and caught the pilot’s attention. Stiletto glanced over her shoulder at her captain and asked, “Something grab your interest?” Stiletto said in a playful tone. Raising an eyebrow, but not looking up from the monitor, Inqubus replied with a low chuckle. “Just the usual junk mail. Nothin’ significant enough to interfere with important business, like flyin’ this carrier.” Still focused on the monitor, Inqubus motioned her to turn around and continued to type. Not satisfied with that response, Stiletto asked, “Then what’s with the typing?” “Oh, just jottin’ down a few notes regardin’ one of these transmissions. It seems we have been accused of plottin’ to overthrow the entire Merovingian organization.” After flicking cigar ashes to the floor, Inqubus again continued to type disinterestedly. “The usual fan mail.” Stiletto turned full around to face her captain. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.” she said in an elevated tone. “Who is doing this accusing?” Inqubus, ignoring the pilot’s obvious distress, paused from typing and answered, “It’s really no one of any importance what so ever. Their accusations are weak and unfounded, not unlike the actual “operatives”, and I use the term loosely, who are spreadin’ this tripe. It’s really nothing more than the whining of a child whose lollipop was snatched up from them.” Inqubus gave a low chuckle at his last statement. “It’s a shame too. There are one or two members in that faction that weren’t half bad. Ah well,” Inqubus smoked his cigar. ”Chalk it up to their bad luck, poor leadership, and a turncoat member.” Inqubus continued to type. “Turncoat?” Stiletto asked shockingly. “How do you figure?” Inqubus was now losing patience with Stiletto’s inquiries of these obviously inconsequential, insignificant, infantile individuals. He stopped typing abruptly and began smoking his cigar. “The person spewing these lies is no stranger to being an enemy of the Merovingian.” Flicking cigar ashes to the floor, he continued, “He’s weaseled his way into a Merovingian faction, whose leader is easily manipulated, with the hopes of dividing the organization by pittin’ anyone who would be gullible enough to believe his rantings against a faction who is strivin’ to benefit us all… namely Abaddon.” “You don’t think that the other factions would take action against us because of this, do you?” Stiletto asked. “I believe any Merovingian, or anyone else for that matter, who is fooled into takin’ action against us based on these cries for attention deserve what comes to them.” Seeing the concern in Stiletto’s eyes, Inqubus continued reassuringly. “Anyone with a brain knows how important Abaddon is to the Merovingian.” Inqubus chuckled, “ The Frenchman knows a beneficial enterprise when he sees it. He would be hard pressed to allow the ramblings of the village idiot to interfere with a profitable situation. Now, how ‘bout you get back to pilotin’ this barge. I’d hate to hit a mountain before I finish typin’ this up.” Inqubus once again returned to his monitor and keyboard. Activating the autopilot, Stiletto slowly walked up the elevated platform to where Inqubus sat in his captain’s chair and slid between him and his work. “Thank you for putting my mind at ease, Captain.” she said in a teasing manner. Smoking his cigar one last time before snuffing it out on the arm of the chair, Inqubus shoved the monitor aside, moved in close to the young pilot, and said with a grin, “Like I said, it’s nothin’ worth interferin’ with… important business.” ((Constructive feedback will be tolerated. Anything like spelling/grammer/lame encryption can be kept to yourself))
After hours. All was still and dim aboard the Hovercraft Carrier Cerberus. The only activity seemed to come from the two individuals on the bridge. Stiletto sat and performed her piloting duties, while her captain, Inqubus, sat in his captain’s chair smoking a cigar while reading what seemed like an endless list of transmittals that filled his monitor. The sudden sound of keystrokes rose above the droning hum of the engines and caught the pilot’s attention. Stiletto glanced over her shoulder at her captain and asked, “Something grab your interest?” Stiletto said in a playful tone. Raising an eyebrow, but not looking up from the monitor, Inqubus replied with a low chuckle. “Just the usual junk mail. Nothin’ significant enough to interfere with important business, like flyin’ this carrier.” Still focused on the monitor, Inqubus motioned her to turn around and continued to type. Not satisfied with that response, Stiletto asked, “Then what’s with the typing?” “Oh, just jottin’ down a few notes regardin’ one of these transmissions. It seems we have been accused of plottin’ to overthrow the entire Merovingian organization.” After flicking cigar ashes to the floor, Inqubus again continued to type disinterestedly. “The usual fan mail.” Stiletto turned full around to face her captain. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.” she said in an elevated tone. “Who is doing this accusing?” Inqubus, ignoring the pilot’s obvious distress, paused from typing and answered, “It’s really no one of any importance what so ever. Their accusations are weak and unfounded, not unlike the actual “operatives”, and I use the term loosely, who are spreadin’ this tripe. It’s really nothing more than the whining of a child whose lollipop was snatched up from them.” Inqubus gave a low chuckle at his last statement. “It’s a shame too. There are one or two members in that faction that weren’t half bad. Ah well,” Inqubus smoked his cigar. ”Chalk it up to their bad luck, poor leadership, and a turncoat member.” Inqubus continued to type. “Turncoat?” Stiletto asked shockingly. “How do you figure?” Inqubus was now losing patience with Stiletto’s inquiries of these obviously inconsequential, insignificant, infantile individuals. He stopped typing abruptly and began smoking his cigar. “The person spewing these lies is no stranger to being an enemy of the Merovingian.” Flicking cigar ashes to the floor, he continued, “He’s weaseled his way into a Merovingian faction, whose leader is easily manipulated, with the hopes of dividing the organization by pittin’ anyone who would be gullible enough to believe his rantings against a faction who is strivin’ to benefit us all… namely Abaddon.” “You don’t think that the other factions would take action against us because of this, do you?” Stiletto asked. “I believe any Merovingian, or anyone else for that matter, who is fooled into takin’ action against us based on these cries for attention deserve what comes to them.” Seeing the concern in Stiletto’s eyes, Inqubus continued reassuringly. “Anyone with a brain knows how important Abaddon is to the Merovingian.” Inqubus chuckled, “ The Frenchman knows a beneficial enterprise when he sees it. He would be hard pressed to allow the ramblings of the village idiot to interfere with a profitable situation. Now, how ‘bout you get back to pilotin’ this barge. I’d hate to hit a mountain before I finish typin’ this up.” Inqubus once again returned to his monitor and keyboard. Activating the autopilot, Stiletto slowly walked up the elevated platform to where Inqubus sat in his captain’s chair and slid between him and his work. “Thank you for putting my mind at ease, Captain.” she said in a teasing manner. Smoking his cigar one last time before snuffing it out on the arm of the chair, Inqubus shoved the monitor aside, moved in close to the young pilot, and said with a grin, “Like I said, it’s nothin’ worth interferin’ with… important business.” ((Constructive feedback will be tolerated. Anything like spelling/grammer/lame encryption can be kept to yourself))
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