[ Stuffed away somewhere is a notepad, the thick cardboard cover coated with a fine layer of grease. The first few pages are merely grocery lists, followed by a poorly drawn picture of male genitalia, and then a number of journal entries. Whoever wrote this didn't care to date it, or sign their name anywhere. ] New sector, new journal; that's just tradition. Now I'm in council-controlled space or something. Can't help but picture a bunch of foppy white-wigged aliens pointing at a war table and moving the pieces around like it's the newest edition of space monopoly. Never learned to take governmental shit seriously in space. And hey, the sector isn't the only change I'm making. My leaf? It's turning, and it's a new one. Fixing to live a nice, honest life. No more blagging or tagging, picking or kicking. Guns never felt right in these hands anyway. Gotta take my gloves off to grip the trigger, or it's a proper mess to fire--not that I've had to, thank fuck. I like my gloves, anyway. Not worth taking them off. Dosh shmosh. Pix don't do any but make things complicated, and I'm a simple boy. I'll find a nice quiet place to pitch my tent (still got a ship but my engine's rumbling resembles a harpy with throat cancer) and have a nice relaxing time, necking it out, surrounded by mercs and psychopaths. Met some interesting faces here already. Not enough, but I haven't been long. Saw a bird--the chirping kind, not the minxy kind--who offered me a construction job. He had ebony feathers, traditional look to him but not raggedy or tribal looking. My memory fucking fails me when it comes to the poor bloke's name. Anyway, he was like "do you want a job or what mate" and I was ABSOLUTELY SMASHED, so I don't remember shit. Hopefully I turned him down, I hate heavy lifting stuff. All I do remember was that he got proper racist right after. Offered the same job to some glitch, that's what he did. Said that because they were mechanical, they'd do good at his labor stuff. It got real heated, white-hot. Was ready to jump off the balcony if things got too slippery. I also saw some scary-bright novakid and white-haired bird (the minxy human kind) breaking up or something. Drama, intense as it comes. It looked kinda funny, but I had some business to attend to. No time for taking the piss when you've got to take a piss, yeah? At least they put their relationship struggles on hold to tell me where the bathroom was. Worthy cause, that. And hey, maybe I'm being a bit direct, but I can already tell you're the diary for me. Always know how to put up with me when I get a touch cheeky, you know. Never mouth off, never overstep boundaries. You and me, we're going places, I can taste it. -J
Got a little update for you diary. I'm stuck in a tent with two strangers, Michelle and Luna. I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of birds, you know? Again, not the feathered kind. Everyone in the sector is a goddamn girl, I swear. Being in a crew of guys nonstop for almost a year, you'd think I'd be excited by the constant female interaction. Nah. Just makes me want to chop my cobblers off to conform. So, Michelle. Cutthroat type. Told me to call her Serpentine around other people. Space hobos -- sorry, vagabonds such as myself need to develop a good sense of judgement when it comes to strangers like her. Said right off the bad that she's a bounty hunter, described how she constructs things to help her kill. Said she had interest in purchasing bliss, one of the absolute worst drugs on the market (the stuff that killed my crewmate Terry), implied it'd be used for poison or something. Oh, and she briefly mentioned her shitty morality. So in review, she seems like a real trustworthy girly, potential best mate material. Not the slightest risk sleeping in this cramped tent two inches away from her. Luna, Luna, Luna. The finest gift on God's green earth. Not really. Emphasis on the green, though. Like a porcupine with spliffs for pins. She's living the good life, though I'd personally have nought of it. Not a fan of dulling my mind with much other than a nice bevvy and holo show. Still a nice girl to hang out with, even if she's making the tent smell like it's made of hemp. And saw a Framer, a genuine Framer, first time in months. What a rarity. Goth, too. Haven't seen one of those in a while either, not since secondary school. She had some style to her, I'll admit. Dazzled me proper. Her name is Katherine--or maybe Kathrine, not sure how to go about spelling that one--and she's got a street name, Gruel. Pronounced "GROOOOO-UHHL", like that. She demonstrated. Gotta admire that extra emphasis. Not a horrific psychopath unfortunately, and she's a real square who already has someplace to be sleepin', but eh, could make a proper mate I guess. Alright, time to nod off and hope Serpentine doesn't disembowel me. Much love diary, fit as always. Pains me to part with you again.
