Brenan Kilgore

Brenan moved about the captain’s cabin of the small ship which he was now the owner of, running his fingers over the simple wooden table that stood just a few feet away from his bunk, trying hard to come to terms with the fact that he had finally gotten what he wanted.

“She’s a sweet little thing, isn’t she?” Davy said of the ship, and turned his wrinkled face into a grin and scratched the stump of his left arm as he watched Brenan move about. The two of them had served on the same ship until Davy’s arm had been sawed off by the doctor after it got peppered with an awful lot of shrapnel. Happily enough, he had had enough tucked away that he could set up a business selling and buying ships, supplies and commodities. He had a wife now, and two sons that could take over the family business when he got too old for it.

“Yeah, where’d you find her anyway?” Brenan asked, grateful that his old friend had come to see him and told him that the ship was available to be bought.

“Her old owner was a friend of mine,” Davy began to explain, “and I got her cheap from his window after he died in a bar-brawl.”

“Too bad,” Brenan didn’t sound too affected by the mention of someone dying; nine years as a soldier in Veertor’s armies before deserting and then five ones as a pirate had left him pretty accustomed to ****.

“Yeah, he was a crazy son of a bitch…” Davy praised his departed friend.

“Anyway,” the dreamy glint had disappeared from Davy’s eyes, “how about you paying me for the ship.”

“Well, I already gave you the money for it.” Brenan smiled at his friend, but then reached down into the satchel that he was carrying and pulled up a stocky vault-tec pistol which he handed over to Davy.

“It’s unloaded,” Davy noted as he examined the last part of his payment, “don’t you trust me?”

“Not particularly.” Brenan’s mouth formed into a thin, ironic smile as Davy let out a soft, clucking laugh.

“I’m touched,” Davy told his black-haired friend.

“But still,” he continued talking, “you’ve got another one of these right?”

“Uh-huh…” Brenan replied, feeling the weight of the pistol that he carried in a holster under his jacket.

“Need my help in finding a crew?” Davy asked as the two of them moved up on deck to see the sun slowly sink down behind the horizon.

“I’d appreciate it. You got any recommendations?” Brenan figured that the ship, which was sleek and fast vessel designed for quickly transporting small amount of goods rather than to serve as a ship of war or a bulk freighter, would need a crew of seven or eight, himself included. The fact that it wasn’t designed for combat was fine by him, since he intended to use it to travel among the islands and up and down the coastline in search of hidden vaults.

“I know a couple of people that are in need of a new ship and a new captain,” Davy replied as he leaned over the railing and glanced out over the ocean, “you’re still going to have to find a few crewmembers on your own though.”

“Yeah…” Brenan mumbled out.