The Final Question

[Roger Smith]

For once in a very long while, Captain Crow had removed his hat. He scratched at his head in a mixture of puzzlement and sheer amusement at the scene in what might as well be heaven. He'd already had a few words with the apparent deity of the Omniverse, and he didn't have much else to say on the matter. The prospect of becoming a Prime was certainly an enticing one, and for a number of reasons. Not the least of which were a few problems he'd had a hand in putting into motion.

He deposited his hat back in its proper place atop his head, and let out a huff of breath. Oi...I'd kill for me old pipe right about now... Wish that rotten bilge rat what summoned me back when thought to include that particular detail... One hand went to the back of his neck and he rubbed at it. It had been bothering him for a while now. Fer that matter, I'd kill for a chair right about now...

"Fergive an old sea dog fer buttin' in so late into th' conversation...but I'd like to go ahead and say it all official like." He ran one hand over his scruffy beard. "I'll throw in me hat fer this whole bein' made a Prime business, if it's an open offer."

And then he went silent, turning his hawkish gaze to taking one last sweeping look at the rest of survivors of this unlikely bunch that had somehow become something approximating friends before settling in to stare at nothing in particular and wait.

Never would'a believed it if I hadn't o' been here meself.