Project Protection

[TFinnegan]

Tim spreads his tattooed arms across the back of the booth, staring icily at Arbiter Trenton.
"...is that clear?" rings i his ears.
He thinks of the Gordon Junkers in Inverness who count on him to oversee their safety and livelihoods.
He remembers the defeated whimpers of the wailing Junker lasses who've lost loved ones to Reaver attacks.
Attacks that came unbidden and unasked for.
Attacks that had launched from Molly strongholds.
Yeah, he thinks, that's clear.

Finnegan closes his eyes, and breathes deeply.
Standing, he fixes again his gaze on James, and smiles.
That wry rebel smile he'd smiled for sixty some-odd years.
"Crystal." he answers.
"Ye knows Oi'll toe th line, aye."

He grabs air where the bottle had been, frowns at his empty palm, then over his nose inspects the glittering ruins on the deck.

"Georgy boy!" Finn yells at the bartender.
"Anovver bloody round, t'go, aye!"
Shoving two fingers into his mouth, he whistles shrilly and long.
Junkers from booths and barstools knock back their drinks and make to leave.

Slapping Arbiter Trenton on the shoulder as he rambles past him he shouts again.
"Jimmy 'eres pickin' up th' tab, fer th' whole ruttin' Crew!
Let's 'ear it fer Uncle Trenton, lads!"
Cheers and raised glasses erupt from the Claymore's crew as they trickle towards the door.

Finn winks at his friend, smirks widely, and melts in with his departing crew.

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