Date: 2016-07-03 03:22 pm (UTC)
disassembling: (WS - Scatter the roaches)
"I am," he replied simply. Every time he was released for a mission, he was informed on the vastness of his importance, of the service he was providing, of the people he would eventually be saving. "It shouldn't be long, so keep a weather eye out. If you decide to leave as well, so be it." He was given the impression that that was an alien concept to the other mer once committed to some course of action.

The Soldier swam to the shore, pushing through the mat of debris and dragged himself up onto the beach. It too was littered with wood, plastic, kelp and everything else the hurricane had dragged up, but he shoved around the debris until he had a spot of pure sand and began to slide in it and roll around, shedding water from his scales. He hurried as much as he could, eyes always actively searching and the briefcase not far from where he worked to leave his scaled hide behind.

Within ten minutes, they came. Ten men in military combat gear, all moving down the beach to him as if they had every single right to be there. Two carried a stretcher between them, and he hissed at the sight of it. He disliked that device more than having to be escorted off the beach on two bare legs.
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A Musingly

August 2017

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