James Justice
Charting new Paths
Well, ok, no one except.... James.
He took it as a hoax of sorts, when he got the message. But, well the timing was right, and well.... He was James after all. He had taken more women to bed than most men even met in a life time. Those odds evened out to him EVENTUALLY having a child. Somehow, Some way.
But damn it, he had missed so much. He missed the toddler years, the baby blues, the first steps, the first everything. The first words, the first of-- the first--
The spacer closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as the Lost Angel made its way to the surface of Hoth. He had to get this under control, he needed alcohol. Damn it, no, he chided himself. The man wanted to be sober when this came around. He wanted to be fully aware, even if it was painful. Even if it brought up the memories and feelings he had been running from for so long.
No alochol.
No Cigarettes.
Only himself. The ship finally landed in the ice-cove he had been directed to in the message. Stepping out, clad in leather, James left his rifle behind. His DeathHammer heavy blaster pistol, however was still strapped to his side. He didn't feel at home without it.
"I can do this," he muttered, collecting himself, "I can do this."
The spacer came to the massive durasteel door and-- hesitated before he knocked. The man had stared down the barrels of hell itself, he had no idea why he was so terrified right now.
[member="Brooklyn Justice"]
He took it as a hoax of sorts, when he got the message. But, well the timing was right, and well.... He was James after all. He had taken more women to bed than most men even met in a life time. Those odds evened out to him EVENTUALLY having a child. Somehow, Some way.
But damn it, he had missed so much. He missed the toddler years, the baby blues, the first steps, the first everything. The first words, the first of-- the first--
The spacer closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as the Lost Angel made its way to the surface of Hoth. He had to get this under control, he needed alcohol. Damn it, no, he chided himself. The man wanted to be sober when this came around. He wanted to be fully aware, even if it was painful. Even if it brought up the memories and feelings he had been running from for so long.
No alochol.
No Cigarettes.
Only himself. The ship finally landed in the ice-cove he had been directed to in the message. Stepping out, clad in leather, James left his rifle behind. His DeathHammer heavy blaster pistol, however was still strapped to his side. He didn't feel at home without it.
"I can do this," he muttered, collecting himself, "I can do this."
The spacer came to the massive durasteel door and-- hesitated before he knocked. The man had stared down the barrels of hell itself, he had no idea why he was so terrified right now.
[member="Brooklyn Justice"]