Dorsitt was on his third drink of the morning and it wasn't dawn yet. Of course, he barely slept anymore so day and night were just exchanges of light levels. He preferred the mixed grain whiskey of his native Ennostwell but several reductions in salary had left him drinking some kind of potato wine that the Voy Diurne seemed to go on and on about.
He always had three drinks when he sat down to it. One for every failure in his life that had brought him to the harbor on the ass end of Palan Voyd. The only thing that differed was how much he put in the glass each time. And that was driven by his mood of the moment.
Dorsitt had always been cruel. It started as a boy when he would pull the wings off injured birds and split squirrels in half. Slowly. It continued as he beat his younger siblings and argued with his parents. As he grew it became obvious that he couldn't remain in the family horse breeding business. His father simply had had enough of mysteriously lame horses needing to be put down and Dorsitt always volunteering to do it. When Dorsitt left for his mandatory military service it was strongly suggested that he should never come back. He didn't.
Military life had begun as a true calling. Conflict on Malkwell (or Yimalkin, whatever the silver wretches were calling it nowadays) had earned him esteem and decorations and promotions. He could maim and kill as many of the silver skins as he wanted and be rewarded for it. But like all wars, it eventually ended when he had killed his way to victory. Then he found that his cruelty was 'misplaced' and his violent nature 'inappropriate'. His rough tactics were 'unnecessary' and a handful of massacres were judged to be 'inexcusable'. Only his previous fame and glory had kept him from the gallows.
He heard some discussion in his office on the other side of the door. The day was starting early and he'd be needed to settle something or other. He downed the last of his wine and got up off his bed. The cup didn't quite settle on the sidetable before he let it go and it tipped over, rolling slightly towards the edge. Just like his life.
