Wasted Potential

Arived in Working

Dawson Feeds – Medic, Archaeologist, Merchant, Beholder Associate, and paranoid Spaz.

With a slight groan Dawson stirred from his slumber on the floor of his tugboat ‘The Swimming Duck’. His vision was hazy and he was sure that the floor was not the bedroom of his boat. Sitting up slowly he rubbed his eyes and blinked repeatedly to clear the weariness from his eyes. Dawson’s head throbbed as he slowly stood up apprently his hangover was worse then he thought as he moved about his morning routine. The boat was fairly run of the mill save for the middle which contained a large tarp covered Mobile Home APC.

His first and original mode of transportation he acquired the tugboat shortly after arriving in Newark off of some Job dealing with necromancers and a floating castle. The Job had happened a while ago and he didn’t really remember it too clearly other then getting the tugboat as a bonus. After checking the tarp and straps securing the Mobile Home APC to the deck of the boat he slid under the tarp and into the MH-APC. Inside Dawson went about his daily routine of making some cheap coffee and munching on whatever could make a decent short term breakfast.

After the meal and coffee a few facts came to the forefront of Dawsons mind. The first being that his mobile home was a mess far beyond a simple bachelor lifestyle. anything not bolted down was strewn across the inside and many cabinets were half ajar their contents spilled onto the floor. The Second thing that came to mind was the lack of rocking back and forth. His boat was docked in the harbor and while it didn’t shift around comically appropriate manner it did still move when docked. The third and last most important thing he realized was that someone had been screaming at ‘that idiot in the tugboat docked on my HOUSE!’.

Slowly and surely Dawson began to realize something was very very wrong. With speed and agility he didn’t know he had Dawson bolted from his table out his door, under the tarp and securing lines and to the edge of the Duck and spoke for the first time since he woke up.

“What the FUCK!?!”

Staring out across the city of Working he was treated to a magnificent view of the city. Normally one to appropriate such beauty in the hellish world he lived in his mind was however distracted by the very fact that he had such a view across the city. Situated on top of a middle class apartment building his boat rested, somehow balanced, on the roof. The person who had been shouting himself horse finally saw Dawson and resumed his yelling with vigor.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON MY APARTMENT YOU IDIOT!?”

Dawson looked down at the man as he continued the shouting along the same vein and blinked multiple times like a computer’s processing light before eventually figuring out that he had to go down there and explain the situation as best he could without actually knowing what the hell just happened.

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