Skirting Bodily Harm

“So, the shirt?”

“Ah-ah. What was that about Sydney?”

Hendrick pushed his shot glass forward with two fingers. Gregori barked out a laugh and poured out another round. “Not my story to tell,” the soldier said smoothly, taking back the refill.

The titan shook his head. “Unbelievable.” He pointed a scarred finger at the old man. “May I remind you: that’s my alcohol?”

Gulping down the gin, Hendrick leaned back and considered the shock-trooper across the table. Then a corner of his mouth kicked up. “I like my spine where it is, Bogeyman. But, I like keeping my sanity more.”


Previous – Mutual Hopes

Next – The Real Stuff


About azhwi

An editing student, graduated Feb 2012. An avid fan of video games, fanfiction, anime, writing, and the serial comma.
This entry was posted in Man-Made Wings, Post-Trauma and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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