Twelve - Formal Reprimands
[Private to Ned]
I hereby am giving myself a formal reprimand, file enclosed, signed by myself. Please place within the file. Thank you kindly.
ooc: yes, my googlefu has failed me, so it's an attachment, assume he's gone into terrific detail, although under consequences, what he's written, couched in highly bureaucratic language, boils down to 'given Howie consternation'.
[Spam for Howie]
Bob took a copy of his reprimand and a complete and full report of the incident and headed to level seven to Howie's room. He knocked on the younger man's door.
[Added Later Publicly]
The latest incident reminds me of the time I'd tracked Holland Mulet down after he'd robbed a bank. It took me three days to corner him at the base of Copper Canyon. Mulet wasn't a strong man but he didn't have to be. He had a gun and I had lost mine, falling fifty feet down the canyon's walls.
For his freedom, Mulet had to do one thing. Kill me.
I'm sure you're aware of the old saying that holds that every man has his price at which he'll do anything.
For me, I like to think that it's the other way around, that every man has a line, that he won't cross over, no matter what the price.
The problem was I didn't know where his line was, and neither, for that matter, did he.
When I walked him out of the canyon, Mulet hadn't a thing to say. He seemed almost surprised that he hadn't shot me.
That's the thing. Some men don't know where their line is, until they've committed themselves to crossing it, and by then, it's usually too late.
I hereby am giving myself a formal reprimand, file enclosed, signed by myself. Please place within the file. Thank you kindly.
ooc: yes, my googlefu has failed me, so it's an attachment, assume he's gone into terrific detail, although under consequences, what he's written, couched in highly bureaucratic language, boils down to 'given Howie consternation'.
[Spam for Howie]
Bob took a copy of his reprimand and a complete and full report of the incident and headed to level seven to Howie's room. He knocked on the younger man's door.
[Added Later Publicly]
The latest incident reminds me of the time I'd tracked Holland Mulet down after he'd robbed a bank. It took me three days to corner him at the base of Copper Canyon. Mulet wasn't a strong man but he didn't have to be. He had a gun and I had lost mine, falling fifty feet down the canyon's walls.
For his freedom, Mulet had to do one thing. Kill me.
I'm sure you're aware of the old saying that holds that every man has his price at which he'll do anything.
For me, I like to think that it's the other way around, that every man has a line, that he won't cross over, no matter what the price.
The problem was I didn't know where his line was, and neither, for that matter, did he.
When I walked him out of the canyon, Mulet hadn't a thing to say. He seemed almost surprised that he hadn't shot me.
That's the thing. Some men don't know where their line is, until they've committed themselves to crossing it, and by then, it's usually too late.