JACK
”They’ll have to get in line,” Jack mutters, his voice hoarse as he flicks the butt of his cigarette into the water. Far as he knows, there’s a whole bunch of people and other things that want him dead. He’ll never admit that Zeph’s a sight for sore eyes, but the smuggler still straightens up with a grateful smile at the food and drink, accepting both and nodding over to an upturned barrel and a couple stools he’s been using as a table.
He grunts something that sounds like a ‘meh’ at the other man’s second question, sinking down onto one of the stools and uncorking the bottle to take a healthy drink, nudging the box of food to the middle of the makeshift table for them to share. ”Got caught in a storm. Her wheel near tore my arm off,” he mutters. ”Then a ghost whale dove for us. Had to use all the powder as a distraction. Blew a whole in her. Then Ludo showed up.”
He grunts something that sounds like a ‘meh’ at the other man’s second question, sinking down onto one of the stools and uncorking the bottle to take a healthy drink, nudging the box of food to the middle of the makeshift table for them to share. ”Got caught in a storm. Her wheel near tore my arm off,” he mutters. ”Then a ghost whale dove for us. Had to use all the powder as a distraction. Blew a whole in her. Then Ludo showed up.”
