Well, fuckadoodle.
Talked to Dad. Now that I've had time to simmer down...Jesus, what a colossal cockup. I imagine whoever is actually behind the issues at MIST is quite happy with themselves. Send in an attack team, -then- send in someone who, despite being the biggest ponce in the history of the Gigantic Ponce and Assclown Competition, might have been willing to talk. After the two biggest tempers in the band had been riled and were ready to start shooting again.
We can all imagine how that went. So as a result, the whole gang is sitting around in Dublin while dad and some of the other Tuatha bigshots are trying to settle things out. I'm going to have to try talking to Altair....or we can send Andrew and Lexi to do so. Assuming Andrew isn't all a part of this, and who the fuck can tell at this point? I don't really believe it now that I've had time to settle back and think, but the timing of his sudden disapperance and the business with the squad and Dickhat McGee...I don't know.
I'm not going to apologize. Even had I been calm, I wouldn't have just handed Cindy over to that twit. But...Christ. Well, nothing that can be done immediately. I've got a couple of ideas to keep the status quo and maybe turn Princess Prettypants on whoever's mucking things up at HQ. Might as well put him to something useful if we can arrange it.
...damnit. I was going to liberate an LMG from the armory when we got back from Germany too.
No comments:
Post a Comment