The first mate sighs and puts his hands in his hips as he stares at the mountains of dirty laundry in the cabin where the crew sleeps. Normally he wouldn’t give a damn how disgusting his fellow crew mates are… but when he is stuck sleeping in the same cabin- he fucking cares.
Yeah…
It smells. It’s nasty. It’s offensive to any woman. Larson sighs as he grabs the basket he had on his own bed, kneeling down and shoveling some of the laundry into it. Sure… clean clothing can be hard to get while you’re on a ship and yeah, it’s easy to be a slob when everyone else around you is one too. But this is ridiculous…
He ignores his own bed and piles of laundry.
————
Larson sighs and sits down on the floor, no longer in the cabin but out leaning his back against the railing of the bow. Jesus… all that cleaning and not a single thank you. He scrubbed the floors- scrubbed the dirty laundry… it’s not even his job. But he did it anyway. He’s the damn First Mate- he deserves respect.
But no.
He sighs and reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a cigar.
Hell… Larson only did all that cleaning because he had to. He was caught gambling with the cook and a simple deck mate by Captain Lund, his brother. Of course, Lund made sure to give Larson the worst punishment.
Larson lights the cigar with a match, tossing the match in the water when he’s done with it.
God damn he’s pathetic. He grumbles and he takes a drag from the cigar…
He shouldn’t have been gambling. He shouldn’t have yelled at his brother, maybe then he wouldn’t have had to clean the cabin.
He sighs and shuts his eyes. His hands, arms and knees sore.
Did all that and not even a ‘thank you’.