[h2]Aden[/h2]

It was with little fanfare that Aden left the party. The aroma of cigars and the wafting scent of rich liquor a temptation. That and Zoe’s now freed dance card almost had the private stay. 

If not for the tumult of emotions he still felt. His chest still felt tight. Emotions and thoughts he couldn’t name bouncing around his head as he walked in an effort to clear his head. 

How he ended up in the cargo bay he could not say. The stacked crates of gold looking so innocuous. So benign. Not the cause of a semi-hijacked airship, an airborne firefight or the factions that seemed to be springing up onboard. 

Aden took a puff of his cigar. Not one of the rich ones, one of his half squashed trench rolls, the bitter mix filling his nostrils as he shifted the lid of the top most crate back. 

‘[i]So much effort[/i]’

The private mused as he ran a hand over a bar. The heft noticeable even through the slight touch. Wealth his father had always dreamed of possessing; and now Aden stood up such wealth with no more thought to it then a crate of curiosities. 

‘[i] Was I always like this? Or did the war just put things more in perspective. [/i]

The war. Realization dance in Aden. That when the airship landed and the gold was sorted out however it came; he would go back. Back to the meat grinder of the Communalist advance. 

The swinging of the bay’s door had Aden turn instinctively. Aden reaching for his pistol on reflex even as he tried to calm the jumpy motion.