Stark wanted to play this game as he likes being asked questions. He's obviously never been nicked by the dome police, that's all I can say. Fair enough, I thought up three for him but now I have to say this:
I want everyone who reads this to ask me three questions, no more, no less. Ask me anything you want. Then I want you to go to your journal and copy and paste this allowing your friends (including me) to ask you anything.
Cally and Stark did these, so I thought I would.
I didn't understand all of them, and I did have to change some of the strange dialect used--and they couldn't spell 'spaghetti'. One question, number 32, assumed I lived on a particular planet which was a bit bloody insular--probably one of those outer ones settled by political nutters--so I changed it.
What is your New Year's Resolution?
To still be alive to make one next year?
I've managed that 33 times so far, but I don't know how I did it this last time. Losing the Liberator and Cally, constant defeat, Avon resenting me for surviving when Cally didn't, contempt and
vilafication vilification (or did I get that right the first time?), being excess weight on a shuttle (73kgs, though the worry's taken 3 more off), getting shot in the back (and me not even running away)... And they wonder why I drank so much.
Let's see. I resolve to:
Drink less. Wine, I mean; water's not bad without the suppressants. But booze only makes me forget for a short time, drugs never worked that well on me. And anyway, I've run out so that one'll be easy.Actually, you know that thought's made me feel better already.
Get more sleep. You may laugh if you knew me on the Liberator, but I've lost the ability to nap at the teleport controls or on the flight-deck. Can't say the nightmares help either: Cally calling to me and shuttles and headless robots and green vampire sand are just a few of many fun and entertaining themes.
Like myself better. People think I've got a big ego because I know I'm the best thief around, but that's just fact. And it's all I've ever been wanted or valued for (except by my mum, and she had to love me), and you know something, it really isn't enough. When you're at the bottom of the pecking order in a tough and bloodthirsty rebel crew, you start to think they're right and you are useless and worthless as well as the harmless I've always claimed.
Take charge of my life. I could've run away, but I stayed out of loneliness (better the insults you know than the hairy aliens and faceless Feds you don't) and inertia I suppose. I let everyone else make decisions. Yeah, I know they never listened to me when I objected (and I was always right about danger, you know) but if I stay with them now, it'll be because I decide to. And I probably will.
Live forever or die trying. An old favourite, my motto actually. It might look like a contradiction considering the previous one, but it's worked for me so far.