Death and taxes, baby.

My favorite sorts of fiction are the kind that take weird, fantastical stuff and make it look super-duper normal. I like characters who act as though their insane, world-changing, tales of the ages are just another 9-to-5. There’s something about that contrast that I find incredibly appealing.

That’s why way back when the kernel that was to eventually becomes Vagabond Starlight was forming in my insomnia-addled brain, I knew they needed an accountant. Accountants are great because they’re never heroes. They’re boring. They’re pragmatic. They’re incredibly tedious. They remind a crazy, insane, impossible world that, hey, somebody has to pay for all this shit. And I love them for it.

They drag everyone down to the earth with them, and then bury them in a mountain of minutiae.  And baby, if that ain’t comedy, what is?