#berke

The yellow storage trunk tucked away in the far corner of the Captain’s quarters was an old beat up thing; dented in various places and showing signs of rust on one side. It had taken on many roles in its long yet unassuming life - an ammo locker, a drinks container, at one point it had even served as a temporary dropbox in Fallbrook, among other occupations, before eventually finding its way onto the Unreliable. Here it was the keeper of many things - underpants, mainly.

Anton was fond of it, in all of its well worn glory. Even when, on the second day of use, the lid supports suddenly gave out and bruised the back of his hand terribly. It didn’t matter because it was his trunk now, and it was Dove’s - it was theirs.

* * * * * * * *

The Raptidon pups were cute in sort of weirdly gangly sort of way. All legs akimbo and with a face only a mother with poor eyesight could love.

Berke lent over the side of the pen and gently prodded one on the head.