The Company Gunnery Sergeant was shouting, shouting, shouting. His voice echoed off the parade deck, while the Marines of House Kilo stood motionless at parade rest outside the company holdfast.
"Seven Hells, if just one of you gets the pox this night from the maidens at Littlefinger's pleasure house, or pays the iron price instead of the gold price at the Exchange, I'll take a sword to the lot of your throats," Gunny Clegane shouted at them.
A half dozen corpsmen from House Navy lazily watched the formation from the smoke pit. The base loudspeaker was faintly playing John Philip Sousa, or somewhere a cart full of chimes had collided with a cart full of drums. It was hard to tell.
Lance Corporal Stark sat in a musty chair by the company clerk's desk, also watching the formation from above. Captain Frey must be deaf as well as dumb to call this a safety brief.
