This weeks words: entrails, kiss, perfect
Perfection, for Aonghasa, was when the shipserfs ran. Scuttling away through the service warrens, or further, into the ships entrails, ducting. How could they know where to run and hide better than the Captain? The Knave had been his for so long. However fast or cunning they were, he would find them, end the chase in a crushing kiss. The sensors weren’t even illegal.
Rioja had pulled the clothes around her, wishing to vanish deeper into the closet, waiting for Aonghasa’s next move. Had he seen the bug?
“You’re not on the roster!” Aonghasa blustered. “Where’s that brick skinned bint?”
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