Under The General's Command (Complete)

[Rubilax]

Author's Note: So my latest, and most recent, story is not yet complete. Instead of waiting until I've finished it, I've decided that I will post snippets of this over the next few weeks. I haven't settled on an exact schedule yet, but expect one snippet every 2-4 days. As always, comments and criticism are both strongly encouraged. Enjoy.

Under The General's Command

Ferris had a hard time saying no. By the end of high school, he had written reports for nearly all of his classmates, gone to all of the fundraiser events, and had even participated in an ill-fated marathon that had gone viral for its use of feathers and grease. Despite making a resolution to not let it get the better of him, this tendency had followed him right into university. 'Just ask Ferris' had become something a meme on his campus.

'Need a ride home? Just ask Ferris.'

'Need some money for a few beers? Just ask Ferris.'

'Want to buy a party boat, but don't have the money or know how to actually take care of one? You know who to ask..'

The last one was the reason why he was at an old harbor in the middle of a downpour with soaking duffel bags and the irritated duo who had convinced him help them in their endeavor.

"So where's our boat again?" Wilson asked. He was a grubby looking 19 year old with blonde dreadlocks and a wiry frame made him seem taller than he actually was.

"Lot 12," Ferris replied, consulting the drenched piece of paper he held in one hand, "Which should be right over..."

He turned to his left.

"...Here," he finished, unable to mask his disappointment.

"Are you fucking kidding me," said Larry, an enormously tall, shaven headed 20 year old with biceps the size of bowling balls, "I spent two grand on that piece of crap?"

The 'piece of crap' in question was derelict that vaguely resembled a small fish trawler. Its windows were grey with dust and whatever paint that had decorated had been eaten by the weather long ago. The bow of the boat was a misshapen lump of rubber, while the railing that encircle the stern was rusted to the point of disintegration.

"What did you expect, a powerboat?" Ferris said.

"Something that didn't look it was ready for the scrap yard," Larry said, "Seriously, how is this thing still floating?"

"It ain't," Wilson answered as he pointed to the keel of the boat. Sure enough, the boat sat heavily on the sandbank.

Ferris rubbed his temples. He knew should have had a look at it first before buying it, but the sleazy old Shriner who had sold it to him had managed to convince him otherwise.

"Well, " he said, fishing a key out of his pocket, "Let's go have a look."

"You're joking right?" Larry scoffed, "That thing probably full of rats and shit."

"I didn't think that you were scared of rats," Wilson smirked.

"I ain't afraid of rats," Larry shot back, "I just don't want to walk into a nest of them is all."

"We came all the way out here on a friday night," Wilson replied, "We might as well check it out and dry off before we get our money."

Ferris wanted to say that the previous owner had a strict no refunds policy, but decided to keep that bit of info to himself. It was his fault, in a way, that they were in this situation. Now he would probably have to pay them back even though he had dumped nearly all of his money into this endeavor at their behest.

You could have just said no, Ferris mentally chided himself as he gingerly set foot on the deck.