It seems like someone enjoyed the little sketch work that I posted the other night. Well, I have a second one. It is just as light on content, and not really well written. Well…it isn’t something that I edited either. This particular sketch was rattled off at three in the morning, with the fury of caffeine and a mountain of orange peel rising around me. My job requires such vitamin C intake…despite the fact that I still got a cold. Yay. Well, in other news, I will probably be a little bit quiet this weekend, as I am moving into my new apartment this weekend. I do have a job to go to next week as well, so there is more good news. Alright, enough personal nonsense. Here is a look at another character from Direhawks, Nathan Sebring. Enjoy.
Nathan watched Krister struggle with the keypad to his bunk, opting to rattle through his own code and ignore the muttered swears and general dismay from the young man reading and rereading a slip of paper tucked into his palm before pushing the code in again. Nothing about Krister stuck out to Nathan. He wore his jumpsuit too tight at the collar, opting to close both buttons at the neck, and he seemed like he was permanently awaiting inspection. It made Nathan uncomfortable to be near him, and he even feared training through sims with him. Even one of those neatly trimmed black hairs drifting out of shape would probably cause him to break formation early, and swipe another ship out of the air.
But such problems were for his wing mates. Nathan found a reason to be happy to fly in the middle of the pack.
Nathan waited a moment, positioned directly over the sensor in the door, primed to shut at any moment. Nothing made him want to help Krister, but knowing that exercises were going to kick off in a mere seven hours made him sympathize with the guy. He walked towards Krister, reached over his shoulder, and typed the code in. The light on the lock glowed green, and the rickety steel bulkhead clapped open along a most likely dirty track.
“Oh, thanks, ummm…” Krister said.
“Nathan,” he said. “And you’re going to want to change that code before you shut down for the night. Cam claims that he has a problem with sleepwalking, but he’s really just out to steal whatever valuables you’ve got in your room.”
Krister laughed. Nathan guessed that he thought he was joking. Nathan knew that it wasn’t a joke, and that Cam had walked in while Nathan was awake reading, and still attempted to walk out with his wallet.
Nathan turned and walked towards his bunk.
“Least I could do is invite you in for a drink, right?” Krister said. “You know, before Cam tries to steal it?”
Nathan stopped. “No,” he said, not turning. “I’m turning in,” he lied. He continued towards the bunk.
“Alright,” Krister responded, hesitation hanging on his voice. “Another time I guess.”
“Maybe,” Nathan trailed off, and stepped inside of his room.
As the door slid shut behind him, Nathan slipped out of his flight jacket, and hung it on the peg beside the door. The unzipped duffel bag at the foot of the bed reminded him that he’d yet to unpack, and the barren walls of the steel box did nothing to urge him into motion.
Complacency was an issue that Nathan oft struggled with. He’d spend ten months active, and live among the general populous on Fierrs while trying not to blow his entire savings between those checks. He would spend most of his time at home, ignoring his trans and sleeping off a string of late nights catching up on whatever cinematic abominations had slipped through his hands aboard the Winter’s Throat. He knew that Nicolae and Donar were probably queuing up such a thing right now, but it didn’t matter to him. They’d chat, crack jokes, and ogle the actresses. It was the opposite of what he did in the privacy of his own home; disconnection, escape.
He forced himself to unpack his clothes,storing the few uniforms and two pairs of street clothes,