[ the matches aren't actually his, but rather a souvenir from his brief time in oska before finding himself here. while he's not big on stealing, he comforts himself with the fact he ain't exactly big on being coerced into an indefinite time of servitude either, so. he drags a single match across the carton with perhaps more satisfaction than one might in such a menial task. ]
Sounds like poor planning t'me. Ain't exactly all that great for the morale...
[ he holds the tiny flame up to the end of his cigarette, takes in a deep, comforting breath. ahh, sweet poison. ]
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Sounds like poor planning t'me. Ain't exactly all that great for the morale...
[ he holds the tiny flame up to the end of his cigarette, takes in a deep, comforting breath. ahh, sweet poison. ]
But anyway. What d'ya want me t'do?