[color=a2d39c][b]Samantha Brisinggart[/b][hr][/color]

She jerked awake, the bottles around her clanking softly from the sudden movements. Again, she had passed out in the night, working on the system for the Swansong. God knows it wasn't perfect, and to blow up before she did anything wasn't what she wanted. Another one morning waiting for the perfect time to bring it out.

Sam rooted around in the workshop's cooler, pulling out another bottle of alcohol. 

For someone who had already resigned herself to death, she seemed remarkably cheerful as she worked on the plane. There was no doubt in her mind that her father had long since died, considering what she had heard of what happened to criminals, and especially criminals thought to be in league with pirates. Now that her workshop had been associated with pirates as well, there was likely to be much much less people going to her, fearing that they too be accused of piracy or fraternizing with pirates. Her life, as it was, was essentially over. And when someone has nothing to lose...

Sighing, she polished off the bottle, before looking for another one. Unfortunately, only the cans of soda remain. It used to be those were the only things her father and her would drink at work. He had this horrid obsession with the orange soda, which in her opinion tastes horribly of fake. 

Hours later, and with several cans of soda gone, she finally decided to get a bite to eat, taking a light shower to wash off most of the smell clinging to her. 

The Venue was coming, and with it, her chance to humiliate those uppity Martians. She would never forgive herself if she passed out from hunger and miss her chance.