Dionysus Vose [d4 - fin]

Cold and broken, but not quite dying. Something altogether more resolute. A heartbeat hitting out against the icy fingers of winter. These months are long, and the days are short. A life that I chose long ago, and although the hours are difficult and my body suffers, it is all worth it tenfold.

It is all quiet but for the gentle splash of waves lapping at the hull of my ship. It is a comforting sound on these lonely mornings, where I long for my little home on the corner of the south market. Visions of happier days keep me focused on my work, they give me the determination I need to not succum to the laziness that isolation enduces. Having navigated through a thin fog that shrouded the outer boundaries of Four, my vessel is now resting still atop the surface of one of the most plentiful fishing regions in the District. My livelihood swims in these waters, and it all depends on where I'm casting my nets.

I place a cigarette loosely between my lips and dig into the pockets of my overalls for a light. With little wind I have no problems sparking up, and it's not long before I'm puffing on a second. I can smoke as much as I want out here, away from the baby. It's one of those things I'm going to have to cut down on now that I'm a father. Still, it makes the mornings out here a fair bit easier, and it's not like my life expectancy is that great anyway.

This is a dangerous job.

A swollen yellow light bleeds through the fog. I can make out a much larger boat with masts that rise high above into the mist. My face is not one of surprise, I was expecting them. I take a long drag of my cigarette and force myself to stand as the other vessel approaches. It is a Capitol patrol ship, or at least it used to be, it's been hijacked and now runs as a pirated craft. I don't like dealing with pirates - they're nasty fuckers. Can't trust them. They pay a good chunk though - what they lack in human decency they make up in money.

Three men board my ship, carrying large sacks underarm.
"Just dump them there." I point starboard without so much as making eye contact with the mercenaries, they do so. I eye them up as they jump back to their deck to fetch more of the illegal goods.

I've always been a good fisherman, I've built a livelihood on it, but I've never been someone who's happy with just getting by. I want the best life possible for my wife and newborn son. I don't want to be stuck on the corner of shit-street for my whole life, I want a life of comfort, the best that I can afford for my family. So, I'm a smuggler. It's not a consistent job and it sure as hell isn't easy, but it's worth the money. Usually I deal with exports - dump shit at sea, take a crate to a drop off point, rendezvous with a similar ship, whatever. Imports are more difficult, but pay much better. Importing for pirates is probably the best work I'll get all season.

"What's in these?" I size up the leader of the band of at-sea bandits. He is taller than me, with a scraggled blonde beard and a heavy jaw. He presses the nose of a machine gun against my chest playfully.
"It's none of your fucking concern what's in them, just get them into the District and you'll get your other half." His voice is strained and coarse, I can tell that he hasn't been on dry land in some time. I often get this response - anger and paranoia, like I'm against them. It doesn't even matter what they say, I'll just look inside once they're gone anyway.

"Safe travels, friends." I wish upon them. They are the scum of the earth, but they're putting food on my table, and I'm okay with that.

I pull up my anchor and move further out to sea. I have a few bodies to dump before I can head back to Four.