KillerMuffin
Seraphically Disinclined
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2000
- Posts
- 25,603
She was one of those huge numbers, capable of accomodating guests numbering in the hundreds. She berthed a crew of 15 with an additional compliment of 20 servants and 20 of his private army.
The captain was an ex-navy Chief named Strike. He was a retired SEAL, capable at the helm and even more capable elsewhere, if you get my drift here. Strike was deep as they come, didn't have much to say, his haunted past in his eyes. The XO, a man named Hunter, hailed from the British Army oddly enough, where he picked up his abilities with a ship was never revealed. He was a crazy bastard, even Masters tread lightly around him.
Masters owned the yacht. He dealt in weapons, if they made it he could move it. Understandably, several law enforcement agencies in the world wanted a little "chat" with the man. It was a slap in the face to every last one of them that he named his floating city "Gunrunner's Lady."
He demanded perfect loyalty from his people and he paid well enough to get it. His hobby was collecting his people from the so called "prestigious" military units around the world. Marantha, the woman in charge of the servants, spent most of her early life doing things for Israel's Mossad in South America. Gregori, the man in charge of the little army, retired from the KGB somewhere during Gorbachev's reign.
Most of Masters' Army hailed from SOGs that didn't even have names. As famous as his Army was in international circles, his servants were even more coveted. Most of the servants came from the more mainstream military arenas, evenly split male and female. They were trained to see to the comfort of Masters and his guests. In any way requested. Is it any wonder that invitations for a cruise were so coveted?
Me? I'm Muffin, late of the US Army, bet you can't guess where *wink.* I belong to Captain Strike's crew, I operate the galley. I'm one of the very very few people on this ship who can get away with pretty much anything. I'm Masters' cook, I won't be lured away, so don't bother trying.
I like my job, the only people I answer to are Strike and Masters, and even then not too well. I get to see the world and meet the most fascinating people. Take this cruise we're about to start, for example. We've boarded a couple of celebrities, some political figures, some terrorists, other arms brokers, and a couple of CIA critters. Playboys and girls with too much money and too much free time, their entourages and toys. What are they called? Ah yes, the beau monde.
This is going to be a long trip. Masters is up to something, I can feel it in my bones. He had me provision the ship with double rations (I always giggle when he calls things like brie and caviar and Dom rations) and hired three helpers for me.
Strike bitched about the extra crew, he always does. If he could narrow it down to just him and Masters he'd be happy. Security risk this, security risk that. The people didn't bother me, what did bother me was the extra unmarked crates being put into the hold. Masters never used the yacht to run arms.
Maybe if I did that thing with the white chocolate mousse and my tongue I could get it out of him...
The captain was an ex-navy Chief named Strike. He was a retired SEAL, capable at the helm and even more capable elsewhere, if you get my drift here. Strike was deep as they come, didn't have much to say, his haunted past in his eyes. The XO, a man named Hunter, hailed from the British Army oddly enough, where he picked up his abilities with a ship was never revealed. He was a crazy bastard, even Masters tread lightly around him.
Masters owned the yacht. He dealt in weapons, if they made it he could move it. Understandably, several law enforcement agencies in the world wanted a little "chat" with the man. It was a slap in the face to every last one of them that he named his floating city "Gunrunner's Lady."
He demanded perfect loyalty from his people and he paid well enough to get it. His hobby was collecting his people from the so called "prestigious" military units around the world. Marantha, the woman in charge of the servants, spent most of her early life doing things for Israel's Mossad in South America. Gregori, the man in charge of the little army, retired from the KGB somewhere during Gorbachev's reign.
Most of Masters' Army hailed from SOGs that didn't even have names. As famous as his Army was in international circles, his servants were even more coveted. Most of the servants came from the more mainstream military arenas, evenly split male and female. They were trained to see to the comfort of Masters and his guests. In any way requested. Is it any wonder that invitations for a cruise were so coveted?
Me? I'm Muffin, late of the US Army, bet you can't guess where *wink.* I belong to Captain Strike's crew, I operate the galley. I'm one of the very very few people on this ship who can get away with pretty much anything. I'm Masters' cook, I won't be lured away, so don't bother trying.
I like my job, the only people I answer to are Strike and Masters, and even then not too well. I get to see the world and meet the most fascinating people. Take this cruise we're about to start, for example. We've boarded a couple of celebrities, some political figures, some terrorists, other arms brokers, and a couple of CIA critters. Playboys and girls with too much money and too much free time, their entourages and toys. What are they called? Ah yes, the beau monde.
This is going to be a long trip. Masters is up to something, I can feel it in my bones. He had me provision the ship with double rations (I always giggle when he calls things like brie and caviar and Dom rations) and hired three helpers for me.
Strike bitched about the extra crew, he always does. If he could narrow it down to just him and Masters he'd be happy. Security risk this, security risk that. The people didn't bother me, what did bother me was the extra unmarked crates being put into the hold. Masters never used the yacht to run arms.
Maybe if I did that thing with the white chocolate mousse and my tongue I could get it out of him...
