Merry Christmas fans of Markov's death!

(If you're here about Pet and Chivalry, then this is not the blog you're looking for)

SO, Christmas was awesome on my end of things. Family bonding time, eggnog, Skype with my missionary brother, presents, the whole shebang.
blah, blah, blah, good stuff, good stuff.

Anyways, just thought I'd post this little thingy here. It's just a little something I threw together featuring one of my favorite characters from the upcoming sequel to "A Moment of Peace". She's still a ways away from publishing but it's never too early to start the hype train!

Captain John Rathbone closed his cabin door on the festivities that were happening all around the ship. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he took the extra time to lock it. He sat down at his desk and nursed his mug full of Eggnog. He took a swig and pulled a face. Pulling a small glass bottle from his captain’s coat, he went to empty it into the mug. He stopped and instead threw it against the far wall with a loud crash. It wouldn’t do to have the crew see the captain drinking his troubles away.
He gave a sigh and leaned back into his chair and allowed his thoughts to roam freely. Part of him wanted to get back out there and re-join the rest of the crew. The other part of him was busy thinking over the discussion he had just left.
Commander Warren and Chief Engineer Hoffman had pulled him aside and shared the grim news. Their ship, The Meriwether, had sustained some damage on her way through the blockade. At first they had thought nothing was wrong and had shared a few drinks over it. Now, six years later, the “slight damage” had resurfaced, jeopardizing the lives of the entire crew and their mission.
It had been six whole years since Meriwether had broken the invading blockade of Earth and made it into free space. That whole time her crew had been preparing for whatever they might find on their target, the planet Praespero, which meant hope in some dead language. Latin, if the good captain was not mistaken.
Six years and forty-five souls would all go to waste because of one lucky shot to their engines. They’re fuel lines had decided to wait until now to let them know that there was a leak. They’d have enough to complete their burn to the planet, but the precision adjustments needed to land safely would be impossible. The ship would enter the gravitational pull then plummet in freefall to the planet’s surface.
It had been decided that there was nothing they could do.
Nothing to do but wait another week for the burn to finish and pray that their captain had the skill to land without fuel.
John was beginning to regret throwing the contraband brandy against the wall.
“Merry Christmas John…” he muttered to himself as he fell into a fitful sleep. He had a feeling that he would hear the song again. The song who’s words he couldn’t understand, but for whatever seemed to tear right into his heart. He had heard it before in his dreams. Faintly at first, but growing stronger as the planet neared.
The song gave him hope that night, and every night after, preparing him to do the impossible.
The survival of humanity demanded nothing less.

((yes, in my head cannon Celestia sang that to Luna every night))