#((greetings))

And if his work is ever done, he will keep gardens. This world is wilder than the places he would tend, but reminds him enough of it, lush and green and quiet. He sits and closes his eyes, as if in meditation on his warship before one of the purges. But now there is nothing to be done, not for a while, and he may rest.

Keith was seemingly waiting for some kind of reaction. So they went over that one sentence in their mind for several minutes. ‘Um, what’ wasn’t the reply he wanted, obviously. After thinking about this one more time, they realized, holy shit, that was supposed to be a joke.“Ha. What a good one Keith.” Which may have passed as acceptable, had it not been 2 minutes after he had said it.”

Blaire rolled her over by her shoulder after shaking her awake, and looked down to Johnson, frowning. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You mistake me for a man without any fucking intestinal fortitude." He spoke the words, but there was a particular snarl behind them, the edge of a threat hiding just behind his usual, relaxed voice, as he passed the knife he'd been carrying from hand to hand. "I've got this. All of this. All of you freaks. I've got all of it under control, and everything's going to be fucking peachy."