Buzzi: What the Water Said
Sure, they’d been there back on Kezan. They’d been called Environmental Engineers when they worked for the KTC, and weirdos when they didn’t.
Weedy Meg lived under a dock, peddled whatever garbage she dredged out of the water, to whatever sucker willing to shell out for it. J.W in the Slums could take any broken down wreck of a hot-rod and get it purring like an orphan’s white kitten, so they called him Jalopy Whisperer. behind his back. The KTC crowd were as slick as oil lapping over water. A cabal of them rolled into the dockside bar where Buzzi had worked on occasion.For the most part, they kept to themselves.
Fine with her, really. She wasn’t interested in whatever it was they did. Being a weirdo was pretty low on her priorities list. She had a job that didn’t have her drowning in gold, but kept her afloat. She rented a place that wasn’t a complete dump, a guy with a gambling problem who drifted in and out of her life with the regularity of a tidal pull
Her finest accomplishment had been the night she’d mixed some Kaja-Cola with a healthy splash of Volatile Rum and served it to a whole boat of Southsea Pirates on shore leave. Vitriolic was how the tabloids described the aftermath.
Her boss started it, calling her Buzzi Vitriol instead of Buzzi Greaseweld, and it got around like a mine fire.
All of that changed when the world broke apart. Mount Kajaro blew, and Gallywix’ slaving ship sunk to an Alliance cannon in the middle of the ocean. With her, and the rest of the Bilgewater Cartel aboard.
Somehow, she wound up in the open ocean. Sunk deep and sinking faster, with just enough breath in her lungs that she could thrash around. Trying to find the surface. Trying to figure out just what way was up.
The water closed in all around her as she continued to sink. Then, the water spoke.
I’ve been waiting for you, was what the water said.