[CENTER][url=https://clyp.it/pgcnqfph][u]S T O R I E S   A N D   S T R I F E S[/u][/url][/center]
Edward was writing absolutely [i]furiously[/i]. This was heavy, heavy stuff, and he was going to make sure he recorded every bit of it. He'd gotten so caught up in the whole adventure, he'd nearly forgotten the whole point to him showing up to this madness in the first place! The people, the stories, the way they would all interact. 

This was perfect stuff for his story, which he was absolutely sure would win him a Pulitzer Prize, if only due to the level of insane experiences he had already found himself in. Chased by a giant cat-monkey beast on an obscure island in the middle of nowhere? A mystic cube which projected a map into thin air? What would come next?

And the people on the journey! Right now, he felt like a boring piece of gum by comparison. A wildly narcissistic woman with a penchant for over-theatrics, one of the most stubborn and sass-filled nurses he'd ever met--not that he'd met many nurses, of course--and others besides. Conway, Krauss, and Armas...and whoever else might show up on this adventure. He smiled briefly, lost in thoughts while they argued nearby.

It was a while before he noticed Constance looking at him with pained eyes. He lurched, desperately reeling back through the last set of things he remembered being said. They had been...very Constance-esque, to say the least. "Hm," he mumbled, still partially distracted by the magnitude of his thoughts. "Constance, where would you say your excessive narcissism stems from? Maybe the stress of an early life? That'd be a good bit of drama for the sto--" he said the words without thinking, scratching a new section in his notebook to keep writing. Then the words clicked.

"Oh, Plummet!" he blurted. "Constance I am so sorry, I didn't mean anything by that--I know you've been through a lot and I respect everything you've been through, it's just that I don't get why it still matters so much to you because, well..." He was in full out rambling mode, now, hoping to drown the stupid things he said with pure volume. "We are out here in the middle of nowhere, aren't we? Out here in the middle of God knows where, and who knows if we'll ever make it back. I mean, does it really matter what any of us have accomplished before this?"

He kept going, now feeling emotion take root. "We're out here risking our lives to see what might be, what we're missing up in that tiny little sliver of this huge world, and...and no one cares! No one cares if I'm a reporter, or if you were rich once upon a time, or if Luna is getting into bed with whoever she pleases--not that I'm insinuating that," he broke off to Luna, not wanting to be misunderstood. "I mean, really, when you think about it, why does it matter so much to you about being remembered, when all of this world is brand new and full of wonder?"

He fell silent then, looking down at his notebook. It had seemed so important just a few seconds ago, but now it seemed as if he'd talked himself out of his enthusiasm. Really, what [i]was[/i] the point of him writing all this down if they never returned? Even more important, if they did return, how could he go back to being what he was before? A normal reporter at a normal job would drive him out of his mind with boredom, after this.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "For the babbling, I mean."