Yorrik Gizon
Aug 1st, 2006, 08:14:07 PM
Yorrick scratched at his slightly expanded waist line and grunted. He'd been up for 29 hours, and it was begining to grate on the stout middle-aged Zebrak. He wanted to smoke a stim, but he had told himself he would not once the city was functional.
The city was functional, and he threw his last pack out three days ago as soon as Ralthassimn, the engineer, pronounced the massive repulsor drive structure would now require regular work instead of massive overhauls. It had taken the better part of a year, this project. The Blastec board had started to get antsy about it three months ago when he said that yes, despite the fact that Calrissian left the place in worse condition than initial inspections would have led to believe, it wasn't anywhere near as bad as the WCS, and, according to that timeline, they were nearly two years ahead of schedule and millions under budget.
Tightbums. Sometimes you need to get sourfruits before making juice. Sometimes, you've been up for 37 hours and you need a tumbler of Corellian whiskey. He shuffled to his feet and pulled a bottle with golden-brown liquid from the shelf to the left of his large black desk, loosed the top, and filled the glass.
What was tommorow? Tommorow was Saturday. Tommorow was the first Saturday he would have off in a year, not because he could take it, but because he was going to, dammit. Yorrick patiently swirled the whiskey about, as he always did.
The city was functional, and he threw his last pack out three days ago as soon as Ralthassimn, the engineer, pronounced the massive repulsor drive structure would now require regular work instead of massive overhauls. It had taken the better part of a year, this project. The Blastec board had started to get antsy about it three months ago when he said that yes, despite the fact that Calrissian left the place in worse condition than initial inspections would have led to believe, it wasn't anywhere near as bad as the WCS, and, according to that timeline, they were nearly two years ahead of schedule and millions under budget.
Tightbums. Sometimes you need to get sourfruits before making juice. Sometimes, you've been up for 37 hours and you need a tumbler of Corellian whiskey. He shuffled to his feet and pulled a bottle with golden-brown liquid from the shelf to the left of his large black desk, loosed the top, and filled the glass.
What was tommorow? Tommorow was Saturday. Tommorow was the first Saturday he would have off in a year, not because he could take it, but because he was going to, dammit. Yorrick patiently swirled the whiskey about, as he always did.