The Red Racoon Dog

[Tain]

Day Two

While his success in finding work for himself and the Dog was lacking, Tain did manage to acquire a hangover of legendary proportions and a case of dehydration which lead him to sack out in his meager quarters aboard the Dog until morning. He had strange dreams. Dreams of being a Captain aboard a battleship, ordering crew around and causing a big ruckus, all the while maintaining a hoidy toidy arrogant demeanor which didn't suit him. After a brief period of reflection he decided the dreams were actually nightmares and thanked the higher powers that he didn't have a stick up his ass. He hated battleships; hated the idea that there was a total prick in command of almost every one of them. Too much power for one man. All Tain wanted was money, and lots of it.

With terminal effort he slid from his bunk and onto the cold metal grating below, grunting his distaste and mentally promising to get plush carpet at a future date. He had gone to bed with his clothes on evidently-- a thing that was good, given the company at the bar-- and also managed to find his way to the head in the throes of his alcohol induced sickness. Good. Nothing worse than having to clean puke off the lower deck where all the critical components of his ship were woven intravenously into the ship's hull.

As he rolled onto his back to sit up, he paused when he felt something in the back pocket of his pants. Grunting more distaste he twisted to reach behind himself and grab the article without getting up, finding a mere napkin which he nearly tossed aside before he noticed the almost illegible scribble on it. He read it aloud.

" 'Cargo hawl; git ur self to Leapzeg Station to pick up kowbult(?) then transpert to Hawnchu.' " He crumpled his forehead from the effort of deciphering the horrid message, and had no doubt that he had written it himself. Contact information was at the bottom of the napkin. Apparently he had found work after all.

Tain grabbed the edge of his bunk, hoisting himself up off the floor a little faster than he should have which caused him to stagger. He quickly shook it off, squared his jaw and clomped his way to the bridge. It was time to get started, and it didn't matter if he still had plenty of alcohol in his system. Maybe he'd call out nonsense on all frequencies to piss the police off before he left, and anyone else prone to being easily annoyed. He liked doing that.

---

Penguin.