ran

Hi, name__ Ran._ The werewolf smiled, hand extended.Silence.Ran mimicked the knight__ deep voice, while pretending to shake an invisible hand. __i, I__ the Amyntor.__ore silence.__h, it__ a pleasure to meet you,_ the werewolf said in his own voice. __o, the pleasure__ all mine,_ he said in Atlas__ voice.After yet more silence, Ran coughed into his fist before turning to look down the line at Aaron. __ see where you get your sense of humor from.

Being captain of such a vessel was not a stressful job, despite the sheer size of the thing. Everything was automated, and this meant that this behemoth could be efficiently handled by a far less seasoned captain. Besides, hiring mature skippers with actual experience would cost real money. And hey, the computers ran everything anyway _ and that__ how Bran Johannsen enters this story _ as a fine young inexperienced graduate of the Merchant Space Academy in Mars City, who only got his Executive Officer__ ticket four short years ago.

Life, it turns out, goes on. There is no cosmic rule that grants you immunity from the details just because you have come face-to-face with a catastrophe. The garbage can still overflow, the bills arrive in the mail, telemarketers, interrupt dinner.

Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn't yours. But grief comes from losing something you've already had.

...and because she had not completed her "self work" to fully understand her self worth...she ran away from a love that was soul deep, created just for her at that very moment. #journey2love #journey2self #selfworkisessential#stoprunningandstand

Soon it would be his turn. Kaine wondered how he would meet Death. His ship was a mess, in every sense of the word. Systems were in disarray, damaged equipment malfunctioning, and control panels shattered by blaster-fire littered the decks. In the fighting, severe hull damage had caused parts of the ship to be sealed off. Dead bodies _ or raw red chunks of them _ lay everywhere. The corridors were dark where the lights had failed. His footsteps echoed eerily as he ran down them. He__ been on the run for what felt like days. He felt naked, his tattered, sweat-drenched tunic clinging to his body, especially under his breastplate. Fatigue had caused him to discard his body amour. It was of no realistic use anyway, and just made him hotter and sweatier, made stealthy movement more difficult _ and weighed him down.