Fic, Dreadnought, Part 2 of 8. Ryan, 15
Oct. 7th, 2020 09:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Dreadnought, Part 2 of 8
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Ryan, Claudia, Becker, Lester, Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 20,000, split into eight parts.
Summary : Waking up in the Permian under a pile of rock wasn’t a high point in Ryan’s life, nor was jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, but then help comes along from a very unexpected direction.
A/N : This fic was started four years ago for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial art fic challenge for this wonderful artwork by the very talented ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tli. Naturally, it grew into an utter monster all too quickly and when it became obvious I’d never finish it in time, I wrote The World After as a prequel.
Ryan’s three-round burst took the first predator in the head.
The force of the bullets knocked it backwards off the ledge as its skull exploded in a red ruin. But before Ryan even had time to relax his finger on the trigger, more of the fucking things started to appear, swarming up over the edge of the cliff all around him. They had him hemmed in against the cliff, and he knew that presented only the illusion of safety. The predators could climb like cockroaches.
He squeezed the trigger again, single shot this time. Another head exploded but two more creatures promptly took its place.
He didn’t stand a fucking chance.
Time slowed to its usual crawl as Ryan assessed the situation, the combat computer in his brain already calculating which of the fuckers to take out first before they overwhelmed him by sheer weight of numbers. They were close enough now for him to hear a wet, snuffling noise and the sharp rasp of their claws on the sandstone as they drew themselves up and over the ledge.
Only headshots stood any chance of stopping them. Their bony limbs were so skeletal that they presented little by way of useful target, and even a shot to the chest cavity didn’t seem to be guaranteed to stop the fuckers as he found out the hard way when one kept coming at him, even though he’d just put three rounds into its centre mass. Ryan quickly reversed his hold on his rifle and used it like a club, sending the predator flying sideways towards the edge of the promontory. A swift kick was enough to knock it over the ledge but yet again there were two more to take its place, scurrying like cockroaches towards him against the flat expanse of rock from which there was no escape.
“Climb!” The command came from above and was accompanied by the slap of something heavy landing less than a metre in front of him.
A brief break in the almost uniform cloud cover allowed weak sunlight to shine through, casting a large, dark shadow on the plateau.
Ryan looked up to see a massive airship holding position above him with several figures leaning over the side. A hail of missiles started to rain down around him, and rock fragments flew into the air. The sudden and unexpected assault from above bought him the time he needed to sling his rifle over his shoulder and grab the wooden rugs between heavy hemp sides of the rope ladder that dangled from the airship.
As soon as Ryan got both feet on the wooden rungs and started to climb, the airship began to move, dragging the end of the ladder along the rock platform. One of the predators grabbed the rung below Ryan but a size 10 army-issue boot in its face solved the immediate problem, although he knew there would be more.
“Keep climbing!” the imperious voice yelled in a tone that wouldn’t have been out of place on a parade ground.
With no breath to spare for discussion, Ryan did as he’d been ordered. A moment later, the rope ladder cleared the edge of the plateau, leaving him dangling in mid-air below the deepest canyon he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter.
He froze.
“I said, KEEP CLIMBING!”
Ryan clutched the rung above him and tried to do just that, but the airship was picking up speed now and the rope ladder was swaying alarmingly.
“DON’T LOOK DOWN!”
That order came along about a minute too late, but the note of authority in the voice was enough to unfreeze Ryan’s muscles. He climbed, and he kept on climbing. He knew there was a predator below him on the ladder. He could hear its snuffling and had felt its attempts to catch hold of his ankle with its long, three-clawed hand, but so far it hadn’t managed to grab hold.
His rescuers weren’t passive. A missile shot past Ryan’s elbow at speed, presumably aimed at the bastard thing below him. Ryan reached up, grabbed another rung and continued to haul himself upwards, doing his best to keep his weight on his feet rather than on his arms. It was hard work, fucking hard work, and for a moment, Ryan was tempted to lose weight by shrugging off his rifle and backpack, but it went entirely against the grain to abandon his kit. Doing his best to look up, not down, Ryan kept climbing. He lost count of the number of rungs he’d hauled himself up, but an open gate in the side of the airship’s hull was now in sight and coming closer with every step. He could see hands reaching out to grab him, but couldn’t make out any faces, as his rescuers were all wearing heavy aviator goggles.
With the end now very definitely in sight, Ryan powered upwards aided by yet another rush of adrenalin through his system.
Strong hands gripped his jacket and hauled him aboard the airship, dragging him away from the edge. A man jumped into the space Ryan had vacated, raised a shotgun to his shoulder, and let fly with both barrels. The report was thunderously loud in Ryan’s ears.
As the ringing cleared, he heard a woman’s coolly amused voice comment, “You’d better not have damaged my ladder, Becker, those things cost good money, you know.”
It took him a moment to connect the voice with the shouted commands that had undoubtedly saved his live. It took him another moment to realise that he recognised the voice. Ryan rolled onto his back just as the woman pushed her aviator goggles up onto the plain leather flying cap that kept her chestnut hair away from her face. The woman was wearing a brown leather flying jacket lined with sheepskin, rather than the simple suit jacket he’d last seen her in, but Ryan was in no doubt at all about who had just plucked him from the midst of a losing battle.
“Miss Brown?”
The woman looked down at him, her eyes giving every indication of not knowing him from Adam. “I don’t recall having had the pleasure of an introduction,” she said, raking him with an appraising gaze.
She held her hand down to Ryan. He took it and found himself being hauled to his feet by a surprisingly strong grip.
He glanced around, trying to take in as much of his surroundings as he could, prior to the inevitable questioning. It was already clear that this wasn’t the woman he knew as Claudia Brown, nor was this his world, or at least not the world he’d left behind. There were at least 20 men on the outer deck of the airship, and probably some more women as well, although it was hard to tell behind the aviator goggles, leather caps and bulky flying jackets. Several of them were armed, but the weapons looked strangely antique. The shotgun the man called Becker had used had a polished wooden stock inlaid with brass, with what looked to be a flintlock firing mechanism, but under the double barrel was something that looked like it held extra cartridges. It reminded him of a shotgun dating to about 1800 that his father’s neighbour displayed over his fireplace, but with some very unfamiliar modifications.
Becker was leaning against the polished brass rail that ran around the airship’s outer deck, looking over the side as two of the crew hauled up the rope ladder. Once satisfied that there was no threat to the ship from any unwelcome visitors, he stepped up to join the woman, standing at her side, his weapon resting casually on one shoulder.
“I said I didn’t recall having had the pleasure of an introduction,” she said, pointedly repeating herself.
Ryan did his best to gather his scattered wits. “Ryan. Captain Tom Ryan.”
The woman raised one elegant eyebrow in a gesture that reminded him rather forcibly of Lester. “You appear to know my name,” she commented. “Welcome aboard the Dreadnought, Captain Tom Ryan. Perhaps you’d care to shed some light on how you ended up on that plateau – alone. Did you annoy someone enough to strand you there?”
In the silence that followed the woman’s question, Ryan quickly weighed the options open to him. It came down to a simple choice: lie or tell the truth. The silence stretched to breaking point, during which the woman looked politely interested while the man called Becker simply caressed the stock of his shotgun with one hand while he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Ryan.
Ryan took a decision and hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it. “I’ve probably annoyed quite a few people in my life, but none of them were responsible for me getting stranded there.” He paused, then pressed on. “I came through something the people I work for call an anomaly. It looks like an enormous ball of light.”
Interest quickened on the face of the woman called Claudia Brown – and it was just going to be easier to think of her as simply Claudia, a woman he’d always liked and respected.
“You came through an anbaric unconformity?” she said, with a note of incredulity in her voice.
“I’ve got no idea what one of those is, ma’am,” Ryan said. “But if it looks like a bloody great big broken diamond and gives off a magnetic field, then yes, that’s what I came through.”
“Did anything come through with you?” Becker demanded.
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry about it. It didn’t stop running in time.”
Becker grinned. “They often don’t. It comes in quite handy at times.”
“Is it your job to deal with what comes through these…” he groped for the words Claudia had used and ended up with, “… uncomformities?”
For a moment, Ryan thought Becker was going to say he was the one asking the questions, but instead, the young man said, “Yes, amongst other things.”
Ryan thought he’d be pushing his luck asking what the other things might be, so instead, he just kept quiet.
“We need to talk,” Claudia said. “Are you willing to let Captain Becker have your weapons?”
Ryan didn’t like the idea of handing over his guns, but the woman and her crew had just saved his life and he had no reason to distrust their motives, but it still went against the grain.
“If it helps, you can put them in a locker yourself,” Becker offered, his eyes lingering with interest on the rifle slung over Ryan’s back and the pistol strapped to his right thigh. “I won’t touch them.”
It was a generous offer and Ryan knew it. “Thanks, Captain. That does help.”
Claudia nodded approvingly. “Becker, let him have a bath, find him some clean clothes and bring him to my rooms. We’ll talk and eat there.”
“Aye, Commander,” Becker acknowledged.
Ryan followed Becker into the main part of the airship. It looked and felt like he’d just gone inside an old-time sailing ship with polished dark wood and gleaming brass everywhere, lit by a warm, yellowish light emanating from globes attached to the ceilings. Becker led the way down a narrow corridor and into a small room that contained a bed, a wooden desk (bolted to the floor), a large chest, a gun rack (well stocked with shotguns and rifles, all looking antique whilst giving of a distinctly unfamiliar but serviceable vibe), and a pair of lockers built into one wall.
Becker opened both and stuffed the contents of one into the other to make room for Ryan’s kit. Ryan swung his pack off his shoulder and stowed it in the locker, placing the M4 carbine on top. He pulled the velcro to release his thigh-holster and caught the look of surprise on Becker’s face at the noise the material made when it parted company with itself. That rig followed the M4, as did the Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife from his left thigh. The two small knives he wore in ankle holsters went after them. The rest of his knives stayed in the pack, which joined his arsenal in the locker.
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of four men carrying a metal tub and two large copper kettles of hot water. Another followed with clean towels, soap and a shaving kit. Ryan quickly stripped off his filthy clothes, heedless of Becker’s presence, and settled down on the tub. Soldiers weren’t known for being shy, and Ryan had been fantasising about getting clean for longer than he cared to remember.
Becker looked amused by his sigh of appreciation, but then the expression on his handsome face froze when he saw the mess the predators had made of Ryan’s throat and chest. The tell-tale three-clawed scars were clearly well known to the young captain. The wounds had been deep, and the flesh still looked pink and tender.
“What happened?” Becker asked as Ryan stared to lather up the soap.
“The bastard things killed three of my men. I was mistaken for dead and left behind.”
“Left behind?” Becker sounded incredulous. “Who the fuck would do that?”
“Two civilians. One didn’t know any better and the other one wouldn’t have cared. They did do their best to bury us, though.”
Incredulity gave way to shock and horror.
“I have to admit, waking up under a pile of rocks next to three corpses wasn’t exactly bundle of laughs.” And he still had nightmares about it – when he managed to get some sleep – but he wasn’t going to tell Becker that.
“Where were you?” Becker asked.
“On the wrong side of one of your unconformities - we call them anomalies, by the way.” Ryan slid down as far as he could in the tub and stared to work the soap suds into his hair. There was so much he wanted to know about the world in which he’d ended up, but for the moment he thought it was better just to let Becker ask the questions.
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a man carrying a pile of clean clothes.
Once he’d shifted as much dirt as he could, Ryan lathered up his face and scraped the wickedly sharp cut-throat razor over his skin, working entirely by touch. Becker seemed a decent enough sort, but there was no way Ryan was letting him get that close with a blade. When Ryan reached for the towel, Becker turned away and looked out of the small, round portal window. Towelling off quickly, Ryan reached for the clothes and started to dress. Someone had done a good job of estimating his size and had provided clean underwear, warm trousers in a thick, grey woollen worsted that were a good deal softer to the touch than they looked, a loose-fitting black shirt and woollen socks. The boots that had been provided were too large, but Ryan’s own were still in reasonable nick, so he pulled them back on.
He ran his fingers through his wet hair. It was longer than he liked, but he was clean and presentable, that was what mattered. He still knew next to nothing about the people who’d saved his life, but his first impressions were very definitely favourable.
The next thing on the agenda was an audience with Commander Claudia Brown.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Ryan, Claudia, Becker, Lester, Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 20,000, split into eight parts.
Summary : Waking up in the Permian under a pile of rock wasn’t a high point in Ryan’s life, nor was jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, but then help comes along from a very unexpected direction.
A/N : This fic was started four years ago for the
primeval_denial art fic challenge for this wonderful artwork by the very talented tli. Naturally, it grew into an utter monster all too quickly and when it became obvious I’d never finish it in time, I wrote The World After as a prequel.Ryan’s three-round burst took the first predator in the head.
The force of the bullets knocked it backwards off the ledge as its skull exploded in a red ruin. But before Ryan even had time to relax his finger on the trigger, more of the fucking things started to appear, swarming up over the edge of the cliff all around him. They had him hemmed in against the cliff, and he knew that presented only the illusion of safety. The predators could climb like cockroaches.
He squeezed the trigger again, single shot this time. Another head exploded but two more creatures promptly took its place.
He didn’t stand a fucking chance.
Time slowed to its usual crawl as Ryan assessed the situation, the combat computer in his brain already calculating which of the fuckers to take out first before they overwhelmed him by sheer weight of numbers. They were close enough now for him to hear a wet, snuffling noise and the sharp rasp of their claws on the sandstone as they drew themselves up and over the ledge.
Only headshots stood any chance of stopping them. Their bony limbs were so skeletal that they presented little by way of useful target, and even a shot to the chest cavity didn’t seem to be guaranteed to stop the fuckers as he found out the hard way when one kept coming at him, even though he’d just put three rounds into its centre mass. Ryan quickly reversed his hold on his rifle and used it like a club, sending the predator flying sideways towards the edge of the promontory. A swift kick was enough to knock it over the ledge but yet again there were two more to take its place, scurrying like cockroaches towards him against the flat expanse of rock from which there was no escape.
“Climb!” The command came from above and was accompanied by the slap of something heavy landing less than a metre in front of him.
A brief break in the almost uniform cloud cover allowed weak sunlight to shine through, casting a large, dark shadow on the plateau.
Ryan looked up to see a massive airship holding position above him with several figures leaning over the side. A hail of missiles started to rain down around him, and rock fragments flew into the air. The sudden and unexpected assault from above bought him the time he needed to sling his rifle over his shoulder and grab the wooden rugs between heavy hemp sides of the rope ladder that dangled from the airship.
As soon as Ryan got both feet on the wooden rungs and started to climb, the airship began to move, dragging the end of the ladder along the rock platform. One of the predators grabbed the rung below Ryan but a size 10 army-issue boot in its face solved the immediate problem, although he knew there would be more.
“Keep climbing!” the imperious voice yelled in a tone that wouldn’t have been out of place on a parade ground.
With no breath to spare for discussion, Ryan did as he’d been ordered. A moment later, the rope ladder cleared the edge of the plateau, leaving him dangling in mid-air below the deepest canyon he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter.
He froze.
“I said, KEEP CLIMBING!”
Ryan clutched the rung above him and tried to do just that, but the airship was picking up speed now and the rope ladder was swaying alarmingly.
“DON’T LOOK DOWN!”
That order came along about a minute too late, but the note of authority in the voice was enough to unfreeze Ryan’s muscles. He climbed, and he kept on climbing. He knew there was a predator below him on the ladder. He could hear its snuffling and had felt its attempts to catch hold of his ankle with its long, three-clawed hand, but so far it hadn’t managed to grab hold.
His rescuers weren’t passive. A missile shot past Ryan’s elbow at speed, presumably aimed at the bastard thing below him. Ryan reached up, grabbed another rung and continued to haul himself upwards, doing his best to keep his weight on his feet rather than on his arms. It was hard work, fucking hard work, and for a moment, Ryan was tempted to lose weight by shrugging off his rifle and backpack, but it went entirely against the grain to abandon his kit. Doing his best to look up, not down, Ryan kept climbing. He lost count of the number of rungs he’d hauled himself up, but an open gate in the side of the airship’s hull was now in sight and coming closer with every step. He could see hands reaching out to grab him, but couldn’t make out any faces, as his rescuers were all wearing heavy aviator goggles.
With the end now very definitely in sight, Ryan powered upwards aided by yet another rush of adrenalin through his system.
Strong hands gripped his jacket and hauled him aboard the airship, dragging him away from the edge. A man jumped into the space Ryan had vacated, raised a shotgun to his shoulder, and let fly with both barrels. The report was thunderously loud in Ryan’s ears.
As the ringing cleared, he heard a woman’s coolly amused voice comment, “You’d better not have damaged my ladder, Becker, those things cost good money, you know.”
It took him a moment to connect the voice with the shouted commands that had undoubtedly saved his live. It took him another moment to realise that he recognised the voice. Ryan rolled onto his back just as the woman pushed her aviator goggles up onto the plain leather flying cap that kept her chestnut hair away from her face. The woman was wearing a brown leather flying jacket lined with sheepskin, rather than the simple suit jacket he’d last seen her in, but Ryan was in no doubt at all about who had just plucked him from the midst of a losing battle.
“Miss Brown?”
The woman looked down at him, her eyes giving every indication of not knowing him from Adam. “I don’t recall having had the pleasure of an introduction,” she said, raking him with an appraising gaze.
She held her hand down to Ryan. He took it and found himself being hauled to his feet by a surprisingly strong grip.
He glanced around, trying to take in as much of his surroundings as he could, prior to the inevitable questioning. It was already clear that this wasn’t the woman he knew as Claudia Brown, nor was this his world, or at least not the world he’d left behind. There were at least 20 men on the outer deck of the airship, and probably some more women as well, although it was hard to tell behind the aviator goggles, leather caps and bulky flying jackets. Several of them were armed, but the weapons looked strangely antique. The shotgun the man called Becker had used had a polished wooden stock inlaid with brass, with what looked to be a flintlock firing mechanism, but under the double barrel was something that looked like it held extra cartridges. It reminded him of a shotgun dating to about 1800 that his father’s neighbour displayed over his fireplace, but with some very unfamiliar modifications.
Becker was leaning against the polished brass rail that ran around the airship’s outer deck, looking over the side as two of the crew hauled up the rope ladder. Once satisfied that there was no threat to the ship from any unwelcome visitors, he stepped up to join the woman, standing at her side, his weapon resting casually on one shoulder.
“I said I didn’t recall having had the pleasure of an introduction,” she said, pointedly repeating herself.
Ryan did his best to gather his scattered wits. “Ryan. Captain Tom Ryan.”
The woman raised one elegant eyebrow in a gesture that reminded him rather forcibly of Lester. “You appear to know my name,” she commented. “Welcome aboard the Dreadnought, Captain Tom Ryan. Perhaps you’d care to shed some light on how you ended up on that plateau – alone. Did you annoy someone enough to strand you there?”
In the silence that followed the woman’s question, Ryan quickly weighed the options open to him. It came down to a simple choice: lie or tell the truth. The silence stretched to breaking point, during which the woman looked politely interested while the man called Becker simply caressed the stock of his shotgun with one hand while he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Ryan.
Ryan took a decision and hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it. “I’ve probably annoyed quite a few people in my life, but none of them were responsible for me getting stranded there.” He paused, then pressed on. “I came through something the people I work for call an anomaly. It looks like an enormous ball of light.”
Interest quickened on the face of the woman called Claudia Brown – and it was just going to be easier to think of her as simply Claudia, a woman he’d always liked and respected.
“You came through an anbaric unconformity?” she said, with a note of incredulity in her voice.
“I’ve got no idea what one of those is, ma’am,” Ryan said. “But if it looks like a bloody great big broken diamond and gives off a magnetic field, then yes, that’s what I came through.”
“Did anything come through with you?” Becker demanded.
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry about it. It didn’t stop running in time.”
Becker grinned. “They often don’t. It comes in quite handy at times.”
“Is it your job to deal with what comes through these…” he groped for the words Claudia had used and ended up with, “… uncomformities?”
For a moment, Ryan thought Becker was going to say he was the one asking the questions, but instead, the young man said, “Yes, amongst other things.”
Ryan thought he’d be pushing his luck asking what the other things might be, so instead, he just kept quiet.
“We need to talk,” Claudia said. “Are you willing to let Captain Becker have your weapons?”
Ryan didn’t like the idea of handing over his guns, but the woman and her crew had just saved his life and he had no reason to distrust their motives, but it still went against the grain.
“If it helps, you can put them in a locker yourself,” Becker offered, his eyes lingering with interest on the rifle slung over Ryan’s back and the pistol strapped to his right thigh. “I won’t touch them.”
It was a generous offer and Ryan knew it. “Thanks, Captain. That does help.”
Claudia nodded approvingly. “Becker, let him have a bath, find him some clean clothes and bring him to my rooms. We’ll talk and eat there.”
“Aye, Commander,” Becker acknowledged.
Ryan followed Becker into the main part of the airship. It looked and felt like he’d just gone inside an old-time sailing ship with polished dark wood and gleaming brass everywhere, lit by a warm, yellowish light emanating from globes attached to the ceilings. Becker led the way down a narrow corridor and into a small room that contained a bed, a wooden desk (bolted to the floor), a large chest, a gun rack (well stocked with shotguns and rifles, all looking antique whilst giving of a distinctly unfamiliar but serviceable vibe), and a pair of lockers built into one wall.
Becker opened both and stuffed the contents of one into the other to make room for Ryan’s kit. Ryan swung his pack off his shoulder and stowed it in the locker, placing the M4 carbine on top. He pulled the velcro to release his thigh-holster and caught the look of surprise on Becker’s face at the noise the material made when it parted company with itself. That rig followed the M4, as did the Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife from his left thigh. The two small knives he wore in ankle holsters went after them. The rest of his knives stayed in the pack, which joined his arsenal in the locker.
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of four men carrying a metal tub and two large copper kettles of hot water. Another followed with clean towels, soap and a shaving kit. Ryan quickly stripped off his filthy clothes, heedless of Becker’s presence, and settled down on the tub. Soldiers weren’t known for being shy, and Ryan had been fantasising about getting clean for longer than he cared to remember.
Becker looked amused by his sigh of appreciation, but then the expression on his handsome face froze when he saw the mess the predators had made of Ryan’s throat and chest. The tell-tale three-clawed scars were clearly well known to the young captain. The wounds had been deep, and the flesh still looked pink and tender.
“What happened?” Becker asked as Ryan stared to lather up the soap.
“The bastard things killed three of my men. I was mistaken for dead and left behind.”
“Left behind?” Becker sounded incredulous. “Who the fuck would do that?”
“Two civilians. One didn’t know any better and the other one wouldn’t have cared. They did do their best to bury us, though.”
Incredulity gave way to shock and horror.
“I have to admit, waking up under a pile of rocks next to three corpses wasn’t exactly bundle of laughs.” And he still had nightmares about it – when he managed to get some sleep – but he wasn’t going to tell Becker that.
“Where were you?” Becker asked.
“On the wrong side of one of your unconformities - we call them anomalies, by the way.” Ryan slid down as far as he could in the tub and stared to work the soap suds into his hair. There was so much he wanted to know about the world in which he’d ended up, but for the moment he thought it was better just to let Becker ask the questions.
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of a man carrying a pile of clean clothes.
Once he’d shifted as much dirt as he could, Ryan lathered up his face and scraped the wickedly sharp cut-throat razor over his skin, working entirely by touch. Becker seemed a decent enough sort, but there was no way Ryan was letting him get that close with a blade. When Ryan reached for the towel, Becker turned away and looked out of the small, round portal window. Towelling off quickly, Ryan reached for the clothes and started to dress. Someone had done a good job of estimating his size and had provided clean underwear, warm trousers in a thick, grey woollen worsted that were a good deal softer to the touch than they looked, a loose-fitting black shirt and woollen socks. The boots that had been provided were too large, but Ryan’s own were still in reasonable nick, so he pulled them back on.
He ran his fingers through his wet hair. It was longer than he liked, but he was clean and presentable, that was what mattered. He still knew next to nothing about the people who’d saved his life, but his first impressions were very definitely favourable.
The next thing on the agenda was an audience with Commander Claudia Brown.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2020-10-07 09:17 am (UTC)I was panting through the entire fight - that was scary as hell! As was the climb up the rope ladder! *shivers*
Then the meeting was beautifully done. Claudia does come across as a very level-headed commander, and Becker was a delight.
*g* I'm not surprised that they got him into a bath right sharpish. He probably stank pretty badly...
no subject
Date: 2020-10-07 10:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-08 07:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-08 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-09 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-09 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-10 07:45 pm (UTC)The Dreadnought is gorgeous! I love it :D
Hee, I think Becker will like Velcro.
Great action and drama.
no subject
Date: 2020-10-10 10:35 pm (UTC)*waits patiently (ish) for more*
no subject
Date: 2020-10-11 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-11 11:50 am (UTC)Yes, I think he'll appreciate that.
no subject
Date: 2020-10-12 09:30 am (UTC)Cracking work, m'dear!
no subject
Date: 2020-10-12 01:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-13 06:16 am (UTC)Ryan definitely deserves a nice, hot bath and clean clothes after this ordeal.
no subject
Date: 2020-10-14 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-11-20 05:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-11-20 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-26 09:39 pm (UTC)And the poor guy must have stunk to the high heavens. Glad he got his bath!
no subject
Date: 2020-12-26 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-04-17 04:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-04-18 05:05 pm (UTC)