(no subject)

[hecu_marine]

At home it is busy as hell. Harvest season is under way in earnest, and there are any number of other tasks that need doing. Shephard's been seeing to his share of the work as well as to the training of his people, the better to make absolutely certain everyone else is safe enough to work and live in peace, but a man can only pursue his duty for so long at a stretch before he needs to go somewhere and let off some steam.

So if you're wondering why there's a fella who looks not unlike John Cusack in a high-and-tight out back lining up hay bales, it's because some asshole blew up most of the firing range a few weeks back and Shephard could really use some archery practice without everyone he knows at home making comments about his form.

Which isn't to say you shouldn't bother him yourself, mind. After the first couple of arrows fly he'll be in a much better mood for talking to people.

(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

A pale and miserable Autor lurches through the door today, shivering and sweating. Once he manages to reach the bar without stumbling, he deliberately straightens his shoulders, intent on holding himself up despite the fever.

Tea, Autor thinks, lovingly cradling his cup, is the best invention in the history of all the universes. The first sip of any cup is always good, but the drink before him is ambrosia to Autor's swollen and parched tongue. He nurses the tea for a while, dehydrated but not wanting to swallow too quickly. Cup eventually drained, the clammy boy gathers his strength to attempt the stairs and return to work in the library.

Catch him here or there.