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Summary
You've been working with Fouchon's rotating cohort for about three years now. A certain dynamic developed early on between you and the boss, one you've noticed he has with few others (if any) that come and go from his hired team of mercs. For one reason or another, you stuck around. It's been a little hard to stomach lately, though. On the third hunt of the third year of your employ, you try something stupid. You get bit for it, of course, and reminded just how deep in the mud you are within this little outfit.