[center][hr][hr][h1][b][color=9e005d]Constantin Kolev[/color][/b][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/7abab444934e1f8f30e883bdad0f71a0/tumblr_nrisnnDhEA1rmcs4lo6_500.gif[/img]
[hr][b][color=9e005d]Location:[/color][/b]  The Bristol Ship 
[b][color=9e005d]Skills:[/color][/b] Tretiy Glaz(passive), Fal'shbort(passive) [hr][/center]

	The discomfort in his stomach was ever growing despite his best attempts at calming it. The initial success in resisting the urge to throw up was nice and he observed how Vlad the ever loud and proud and really Russian individual sprinted for a bucket. He took a deep breath trying to keep the relative calm in his stomach while the Russian man was away and was relatively successful at this undertaking, which made him almost relaxed at one point. Well that continued just about until Vlad returned to the cabin.

	It was that precise moment that everything shifted. From the relative calm in his stomach area, something twisted like mad. In what amounted to a mere brief moment, he was rendered from someone who held in his urge to puke, to someone who was about to throw up! Constantin jumped from the bed thing he was laying on and dashed away towards Vlad with visible intent on the bucket in his eyes.[color=9e005d]" Bucket! Need! aghhu..."[/color]

	The firewalker descended on the bucket like an eagle to grab it out of Vlad's hands and grab it he did, bringing it to his own embrace before his head leaned forward and he threw up bile. His mind was filled with endless curses that would probably make even a soulless blush if they were heard. These days were not his best... it's either bile or snot or him throwing up bile. He missed Russia. It may have been cold a lot of the time, but there was no ships or deep water... He couldn't even curse aloud because his throat was busy transferring the bile out of his stomach and into the bucket, making no spare capacity for taking.[color=9e005d][i]' Bloody damned hate ships...'[/i][/color] He thought again.