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Tired
"Ping."
Another day, another dozen messages, thought Eonis as he checked his commscreen to see who was bothering him this time. Was it drazed, asking him another question about the inner workings of his ship's interface? Or Nautargos, pimping his latest creation? Or perhaps it was Yukimaru and Gray, griping about the Coalition of Itan in their disjointed, bipolar way? None of the above. Instead, a message from Miharu. "Ugh, probably more guild business; I'll read it later," he muttered to himself, and powered down the comm. He glanced over at the disabled form of MC Spammer, lying in a heap in the corner of his small room above the Makchuga, and thought about how well this particular project was going - his greatest work, so far. Then, he thought about all the bugs still lingering in the software, and grimaced. He was too tired to tweak it right now.
He leaned back in his chair, pondering the ways in which he was tired. A silly thing to contemplate, perhaps, but it was more interesting than his navel. Obviously, he was in need of sleep. The bags under his eyes had grown more pronounced as of late, and the midnight trysts between him and a bottle of alcohol (usually tequila, these days; someone had to drink it while LeberMac was away, to help maintain the equilibrium) were taking their toll on his body. He was withering, having dropped several pounds over the past week alone. He barely touched food anymore, eating only what was necessary for sustenance.
Depression? Perhaps. Life had been sucking lately. The CommNet was filled with sheer idiocy, even more so than usual. Rude, ignorant fledgling pilots; old salts with the minds of children; grinning morons who thought acting like assholes to the general public was the greatest hobby since crate arrangement. These stereotypes were always there, but lately they seemed to have increased in number. Perhaps they were breeding. It seemed like the logical next step. He just hoped that they never discovered fertility drugs, or the universe would never recover.
But more than that, and also another facet of his tiredness, was that he was tired of being caught in the middle. He thought of himself as a nice, likable guy; the good terms he was on with everyone seemed to validate his point. He'd always been the person everyone was friends with, whether back in flight school, where his robotic creations and sense of humor netted him popularity, or on the spaceways today, where everyone he got to know seemed to end up liking him. He found it hard to hate people; even when his ship carrying valuable cargo got obliterated by pirates, he couldn't stay angry for long. They were just trying to make a living too, after all.
Unfortunately, the inevitable issue of people liking him but not liking each other cropped up plenty. Whether it was Miharu and tumblemonster sniping at each other, or Yukimaru and Smittens butting heads, or Daggoth arguing with... just about everyone, come to think of it, people whom he liked did not share the same feelings toward each other. The enemy of my friend is my friend? That doesn't seem right, he thought, cracking an all-too-rare smile as he recalled the ancient Itani Education Disks he'd been forced to use teaching him the friend/enemy system of dealing with negative numbers.
Eonis sighed. He could be introspective forever, but that wouldn't result in anything except him feeling worse. He grabbed a hydrospanner off his desk and chucked it at MC Spammer. "I'll fix you tomorrow," he mumbled as he swallowed a couple of Hibernex tablets and trudged off to his cot. He collapsed onto the hard mattress as the sounds of laughter drifted from the bar directly below him. As he sank into a deep sleep, the thought crossed his mind, "I need to talk to Miharu about getting a better room..."
Another day, another dozen messages, thought Eonis as he checked his commscreen to see who was bothering him this time. Was it drazed, asking him another question about the inner workings of his ship's interface? Or Nautargos, pimping his latest creation? Or perhaps it was Yukimaru and Gray, griping about the Coalition of Itan in their disjointed, bipolar way? None of the above. Instead, a message from Miharu. "Ugh, probably more guild business; I'll read it later," he muttered to himself, and powered down the comm. He glanced over at the disabled form of MC Spammer, lying in a heap in the corner of his small room above the Makchuga, and thought about how well this particular project was going - his greatest work, so far. Then, he thought about all the bugs still lingering in the software, and grimaced. He was too tired to tweak it right now.
He leaned back in his chair, pondering the ways in which he was tired. A silly thing to contemplate, perhaps, but it was more interesting than his navel. Obviously, he was in need of sleep. The bags under his eyes had grown more pronounced as of late, and the midnight trysts between him and a bottle of alcohol (usually tequila, these days; someone had to drink it while LeberMac was away, to help maintain the equilibrium) were taking their toll on his body. He was withering, having dropped several pounds over the past week alone. He barely touched food anymore, eating only what was necessary for sustenance.
Depression? Perhaps. Life had been sucking lately. The CommNet was filled with sheer idiocy, even more so than usual. Rude, ignorant fledgling pilots; old salts with the minds of children; grinning morons who thought acting like assholes to the general public was the greatest hobby since crate arrangement. These stereotypes were always there, but lately they seemed to have increased in number. Perhaps they were breeding. It seemed like the logical next step. He just hoped that they never discovered fertility drugs, or the universe would never recover.
But more than that, and also another facet of his tiredness, was that he was tired of being caught in the middle. He thought of himself as a nice, likable guy; the good terms he was on with everyone seemed to validate his point. He'd always been the person everyone was friends with, whether back in flight school, where his robotic creations and sense of humor netted him popularity, or on the spaceways today, where everyone he got to know seemed to end up liking him. He found it hard to hate people; even when his ship carrying valuable cargo got obliterated by pirates, he couldn't stay angry for long. They were just trying to make a living too, after all.
Unfortunately, the inevitable issue of people liking him but not liking each other cropped up plenty. Whether it was Miharu and tumblemonster sniping at each other, or Yukimaru and Smittens butting heads, or Daggoth arguing with... just about everyone, come to think of it, people whom he liked did not share the same feelings toward each other. The enemy of my friend is my friend? That doesn't seem right, he thought, cracking an all-too-rare smile as he recalled the ancient Itani Education Disks he'd been forced to use teaching him the friend/enemy system of dealing with negative numbers.
Eonis sighed. He could be introspective forever, but that wouldn't result in anything except him feeling worse. He grabbed a hydrospanner off his desk and chucked it at MC Spammer. "I'll fix you tomorrow," he mumbled as he swallowed a couple of Hibernex tablets and trudged off to his cot. He collapsed onto the hard mattress as the sounds of laughter drifted from the bar directly below him. As he sank into a deep sleep, the thought crossed his mind, "I need to talk to Miharu about getting a better room..."
Eonis...likes me? So that was friendly mean-ness?
Of course, Smittens. Especially when you give me money. <3