The Waltzing Mathilde Archives
August 29, 2007
“My glash: empty! Thish ish unacceptable!” The man at the bar was practically shouting.
“I think you’ve had enough.” Sara moved the “glash” away from him.
“Lishen here, lady: do you know who I am?” He leaned menacingly over the bar, but the effect was spoiled by his swaying and squinting.
“Nope. Don’t care. No ‘speshul’ favors here.” Sara turned her back, and he lunged. Instantly a fine spray of black ink enveloped him. He sputtered, slipped, and fell in a boozy heap.
“Bradley.” Sara sighed. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Bradley blushed and went to fetch the mop.
November 7, 2007
Sealyon: The Flying Dutchman
It’s only a legend, I tell myself, sitting in this strange bulkhead, listening to the engines whine and the whispers…
A legend. Nothing more.
The ship appeared out of nowhere on the vid display, huge and broken. We responded to their distress signal on every known channel, desperate to avoid collision, but couldn’t make contact. She approached in slow motion and then - impact.
When I regained consciousness, I was here. How’s she flying with all this damage? I can’t locate any crew, mine or theirs, but I can hear someone, whispering. What does Kunt u mijn alstublieft helpen mean?