Sweetheart-Darlin'

Chapter Two

Jim Raynor popped the cork on a bottle of whiskey and drank it all in one long drink, because he was a drunk. He used to be a colonial marshal but now he was just a drunk. He felt the whiskey burn its way down his throat—which was super-cliché of the whiskey, but the liquid couldn't help it. Then he threw the bottle across the room.

Matt Horner dodged the bottle. "Sir, maybe you wanna—"

"No, Matt!" said Jim Raynor. He poured five shots and then drank them all in machinegun succession. "You don't understand! I lost her. I lost her to the Zerg! My sweetheart-darlin' Sarah! She's gone now, never to return!"

"I know, sir, but perhaps—"

"I don't wanna hear it! You can't heal these wounds with anything but alcohol!" Raynor pointed an angry finger at his second in command. "It's so easy for you to judge. You, who've never loved and lost. What do you want to tell me, Matt? To get over it? To move on and become the great leader you want me to be? To rally the troops, huh? Go ahead and say it, you sonunvabitch."

Horner tightened his lips. "I was just going to suggest that maybe the bridge isn't the best place for you to ride your Vulture."

Raynor leaned back in the saddle and crossed his arms. The turbo fan of his hoverbike groaned quietly, blowing papers and shit everywhere. "Well, well, well," he said, his eyes bubbly from the drink. Raynor smiled and began hovering around the bridge. It was like pacing, but with more injuries as the bladed prow of his gigantic bike cut into the legs of the bridge crew. Some avoided it, only to suffer first degree burns from his roaring thrusters. "Tryin' to separate a Mar Saran from his loyal steed and beloved drink. What kind of a man are you?"

"The kind of man who would like to be able to maneuver around his own command center, sir."

"Yer a pussy boy."

"Sir, please leave. We're trying to work here."

"Let's get something straight, Matt." Raynor hovered around to glare at Horner. "I'm in charge on this here stolen spaceship. If I wanna drink my brains out while scootin' about on this here scooter, I'll damn well feel obliged to do so. You get me?"

Horner frowned. "I get you, sir."

"Good." Raynor checked his saddlebag, but it was empty. "Shit. I'm gonna leave now, but not because you said so. I'm just out of whiskey."

"Absolutely, sir."

"Yeah, now then." Raynor sat up in his saddle and adjusted his very cool leather vest that was never buttoned. "Matt, please get the door for me."

Horner got the door. A week later they crash landed on Char.