Log 05X-5
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.03.10
Hey Diary. Sorry about the delay, turns out that moving large amounts of funds and subtly selling enough armaments and equipment to outfit a platoon takes a bit of work. And by a bit of work, I mean PAPERWORK. Not literally, all the forms are electronic (thank whatever deity the Amarr worship for that) but there's still a fuckton of it, and it's like all the fun of a long, drawn-out sniper battle without any imminent threat of death or the possibility of nailing that son of a bitch straight through their thick head. I could just plop all my stuff down on the market, but there's no way in hell that wouldn't raise some red flags somewhere. I guess I could sell it to the flying space bastards, but most of them have no use for it, and the few that do are pretty well taken care of already. So instead I've had to plan out a very, very rough timeline for selling off my crap. I can't pawn it all too quick, otherwise that'll get the watchdogs on my ass, but anything I don't sell in the next couple months is gonna be left in storage for scavengers to nab or get seized by the Gallentean military when they figure out what I'm doing, and I'd rather at least TRY to make a buck off of it, rather than leaving it to those assholes. Not to mention that I've still got contracts to do, so I've gotta walk the fine line between selling this crap off annnnnd making sure I'm at least halfway decently decked out there on the battlefield. Between keeping the feds off my ass, slowly saturating the market with my gear, and still using some of it, I...it's a mess. I'm a mercenary, dammit, not a fucking number cruncher! But I'll deal with it. Kinda have to, right? The end is in sight.
Speaking of which, it struck me today that my time on this station was numbered. I'd never really thought about until now, but the familiar winding corridors and friendly, if unknown faces began to make this place feel like home right under my nose. Maybe that's part of what helped me ease into...all of this? I dunno. But soon it won't matter. All these folks...they'll just see that weird woman pack her shit up and leave, and...well, what happens after that, is..is...At any rate, it's gonna suck not getting to just idly stroll through these corridors anymore, heading to the fitness center after picking up food, or hauling ass to the transport so I can catch another shuttle to wherever I felt like heading. But it won't be all bad, it's not like I'm unused to walking through unfamiliar space stations, or making tracks on planets I'd never have set foot on otherwise. Unfamiliar isn't bad, it's just that...well, familiarity breeds comfort, which I'd kinda sunk into without realizing it. Still, the clock is ticking down, and now I find myself lingering at windows and outside of doors, wondering how much time I've actually got left on here. It's not like me to get all wishy washy about this, but I can't help it sometimes, especially when I think back to how many times I've walked down these damn halls.
Speaking of familiarity, I actually went down to a firing range for the first time with some of the guns I use out on the field. It felt...kinda weird holding them in my own hands, instead of just one of those cookie-cutter clones we always get transferred into for the contracts. I haven't actually had to fire a gun in a body that was molded to look like mine since my original training, but it seemed to come back to me easily enough. Even breathing, squeeze the trigger instead of pulling it, don't aim upwards when you're not shooting, etc. It returned without too much effort, which is kinda weird since these muscles shouldn't technically have the memory of it, but whatever. Also got some stares at the range, since I was clearly handling military weaponry at a civilian range, but no one was dumb enough to actually say anything, though I was in a suit the whole time, so...that probably contributed to a few of the stares too. I contemplated asking if I could use a local police precinct's range, but I rather doubt that would've turned out well, police being, well, police and not exactly happy with civilians walking around with guns that make theirs look like outdated pieces of shit. Plus, the suit adds like a half-foot to my height, so I was actually taller than most of the people there, though I'm not sure they could tell whether I was a guy or girl in the first place. I mean, I know how to distinguish between them, but I've also spent enough time in and around the stupid suits to know the difference. Anyway, it felt good to get some practice in, and I figure I might as well start now, given that I can't be sure what'll be happening a couple months from now.
I think I'll take next week off. Get some time in with the friends and family before the whole possibly never seeing them again thing kicks in. For now, however, it's time for some sleep.
Showing posts with label Flying Space Bastards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flying Space Bastards. Show all posts
Saturday, March 12, 2016
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Log 052
Log 052
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.26.
Today was just not been one of those days. On the battlefield, anyway. Whether it was some jackass with a forge gun figuring out where I've been sniping, some pair of dickheads in tanks rolling up on me while I was running around with my own forge gun, or just dealing with a squad of incredibly persistent motherfuckers all decked out in protogear, it's...today was not my day out there. Still, we've all got times like that, so I can't complain too much. That's what I tell myself, anyway. When your K/D is fucking pathetic it's hard not to bitch out loud about it, but given that I'm being paid to kill people I think that my perspective on things might be a bit skewed.
At any rate, the rest of my day wasn't too bad. Bought a new coffee maker that makes the stuff so fast it might as well just sense when I'm in the mood for the stuff. Construction on a new civilian corridor finished up that let me run past a large window again during my morning exercise, and I apparently was sought out by some disgraced Amarrian bishop who is apparently in exile with his assets frozen. According to the message, for just a small payment I can help him out, and be given a decent share of his ISK when he comes back into power. So in addition to everything else, I also got a great chance to laugh my ass off for a good half-hour. Not just at the obvious scam, but the idea that there was some poor bastard out there who actually fell for this.
The flying space bastards seem to be rather trigger-happy as of late, given that they had yet another giant battle none too long ago. Normally I'd just pass it off as the same shit, different day and all that, but looking at the numbers afterwards, I had to concede that that was a pretty big blowout even for them. 70 trillion ISK in assets? I'm not sure I could imagine a trillion ISK, much less seventy. I can already imagine their market going insane as they try and haul ass to recover everything they've all lost. I'm not sure how it's going insane, I'm a mercenary, not an economist, but I'm betting that actual economists are enjoying watching all the new data and shit flow in or something.
Oh! And apparently my dear little brother now has a certain special someone~ Or that's what I think, anyway. He asked me if I could up the payments back home so we could have a nanny help look after the twins. I told him sure, but he'd have to find one and I'd have to approve of them before I'd go along with the idea. Not about to let some freaky Amarrian zealot or weird Minmatarr guy or gal get paid to watch my siblings. Not without knowing they're sane enough to not murder, eat, or kidnap them, anyway. I know that doesn't sound like much to go on, but in the last few chats we've had he's also mentioned wanting to get out of the house a bit more lately, and I could've -sworn- I saw someone with long, flowing, orange hair flash by the camera last time we had a video chat. Not a one of us has long hair, not even my deadbeat dad, much less orange hair.
Still, that got me thinking about my own, uh...relationship status. Is that what you call it? I dunno. It's kind of hard to really imagine something like a significant other for myself. I know a few other mercs manage relationships with people, but I've not got a fucking clue about how they do it. I literally make a living off murdering people. They come back, yeah, but that still doesn't mean it's something I can just walk away from and pretend like it's the goddamned norm. Finding someone who would not only be alright with this, but also the rest of me is harder to imagine than the damn 70 trillion ISK.
Besides, I haven't thought about what I'd look for in someone to be together with in fucking forever. The last time I can even imagine something like that was daydreaming about it when I was twelve, and that wasn't so much about having a knight in shining armor or some princess or anything like so much as I just wanted to have someone else to help raise my siblings. I guess I'd...like someone who wasn't a whole lot of maintenance? I dunno, I'm tired. I'll give it some thought tomorrow. Speaking of which, I should probably get some sleep. Not gonna do any better tomorrow if I can't get the sleep out of my eyes before I hit the battlefield.
-End Log
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.26.
Today was just not been one of those days. On the battlefield, anyway. Whether it was some jackass with a forge gun figuring out where I've been sniping, some pair of dickheads in tanks rolling up on me while I was running around with my own forge gun, or just dealing with a squad of incredibly persistent motherfuckers all decked out in protogear, it's...today was not my day out there. Still, we've all got times like that, so I can't complain too much. That's what I tell myself, anyway. When your K/D is fucking pathetic it's hard not to bitch out loud about it, but given that I'm being paid to kill people I think that my perspective on things might be a bit skewed.
At any rate, the rest of my day wasn't too bad. Bought a new coffee maker that makes the stuff so fast it might as well just sense when I'm in the mood for the stuff. Construction on a new civilian corridor finished up that let me run past a large window again during my morning exercise, and I apparently was sought out by some disgraced Amarrian bishop who is apparently in exile with his assets frozen. According to the message, for just a small payment I can help him out, and be given a decent share of his ISK when he comes back into power. So in addition to everything else, I also got a great chance to laugh my ass off for a good half-hour. Not just at the obvious scam, but the idea that there was some poor bastard out there who actually fell for this.
The flying space bastards seem to be rather trigger-happy as of late, given that they had yet another giant battle none too long ago. Normally I'd just pass it off as the same shit, different day and all that, but looking at the numbers afterwards, I had to concede that that was a pretty big blowout even for them. 70 trillion ISK in assets? I'm not sure I could imagine a trillion ISK, much less seventy. I can already imagine their market going insane as they try and haul ass to recover everything they've all lost. I'm not sure how it's going insane, I'm a mercenary, not an economist, but I'm betting that actual economists are enjoying watching all the new data and shit flow in or something.
Oh! And apparently my dear little brother now has a certain special someone~ Or that's what I think, anyway. He asked me if I could up the payments back home so we could have a nanny help look after the twins. I told him sure, but he'd have to find one and I'd have to approve of them before I'd go along with the idea. Not about to let some freaky Amarrian zealot or weird Minmatarr guy or gal get paid to watch my siblings. Not without knowing they're sane enough to not murder, eat, or kidnap them, anyway. I know that doesn't sound like much to go on, but in the last few chats we've had he's also mentioned wanting to get out of the house a bit more lately, and I could've -sworn- I saw someone with long, flowing, orange hair flash by the camera last time we had a video chat. Not a one of us has long hair, not even my deadbeat dad, much less orange hair.
Still, that got me thinking about my own, uh...relationship status. Is that what you call it? I dunno. It's kind of hard to really imagine something like a significant other for myself. I know a few other mercs manage relationships with people, but I've not got a fucking clue about how they do it. I literally make a living off murdering people. They come back, yeah, but that still doesn't mean it's something I can just walk away from and pretend like it's the goddamned norm. Finding someone who would not only be alright with this, but also the rest of me is harder to imagine than the damn 70 trillion ISK.
Besides, I haven't thought about what I'd look for in someone to be together with in fucking forever. The last time I can even imagine something like that was daydreaming about it when I was twelve, and that wasn't so much about having a knight in shining armor or some princess or anything like so much as I just wanted to have someone else to help raise my siblings. I guess I'd...like someone who wasn't a whole lot of maintenance? I dunno, I'm tired. I'll give it some thought tomorrow. Speaking of which, I should probably get some sleep. Not gonna do any better tomorrow if I can't get the sleep out of my eyes before I hit the battlefield.
-End Log
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