01-08-2023, 04:13 AM
Jay nodded, and before he could stop himself, he was talking about the story of his great-grandparents buying the first of the farm. They’d immigrated during WWII, seeking asylum in the US, and ended up staying. The stories stopped about there, though. He did grow up on the farm, but he didn’t say anything else about it. Scenes with horses flashed his head. The barn. The cattle. Early mornings and after school chores. Pie and Thanksgiving dinner. It seemed to blur all at once. Settling eventually on that single moment, mid-bite of apple pie, when he made the best decision of his life. Made a few questionable ones since. Like blowing the brains out of a nobody drug lord with a brother who turned out to be double the Evil Nombre as the first. Tearing up the body with his bayonet was a good call though. Fucker had it coming.
Hard to imagine Seven on a horse. He grinned just thinking about it. He would have been a fancy rider, no doubt. Probably with those white pants and shiny black boots. Though Jay was a little jealous of those boots. Probably some kind of members only horserider club. He couldn’t say why, but Seven just felt like he came from money. Even if his parents named him after a number. Probably millennial hippies.
Stockholm explained a lot. Least of which the accent.
“First time meeting anyone from Stockholm. That I know anyway. I’ve never been that way. Other than the States, most of my service was in South America and later in western Africa.” He shrugged. Not particularly wanting to talk about it. Though he knew the next question would be what he did for a job. If the service word didn’t give it away, it was better to say it out right before the line of questions started to pour out.
“I was in the United States marines. It was a long time ago,” he added. Years ago to be exact. On one hand, it felt like yesterday, and on another it felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime since then. The Legion. Meeting Natalie. Moscow. Ascendancy. The Dominions.
Speaking of not long ago, it felt like last weekend he was at the bar a few miles outside base, telling as many stories as he was allowed to share about the marines. Nights that ended up with hours of karaoke and a tab of shots a mile long. Waking up the next day happy and hungover and dreading report on Monday morning.
Shit, what an idiot. An asshole. And an idiot. But glory days no less.
And like that base bar, there were a few “entertainment clubs” of their own around that he wouldn’t say no to a drop in.
“A strip club? I won’t say no to that,” he nudged Seven with his elbow. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for that kind of place,” he said with a jab of a grin. “But if it’s anything weird, I’ll need a few shots first.”
Hard to imagine Seven on a horse. He grinned just thinking about it. He would have been a fancy rider, no doubt. Probably with those white pants and shiny black boots. Though Jay was a little jealous of those boots. Probably some kind of members only horserider club. He couldn’t say why, but Seven just felt like he came from money. Even if his parents named him after a number. Probably millennial hippies.
Stockholm explained a lot. Least of which the accent.
“First time meeting anyone from Stockholm. That I know anyway. I’ve never been that way. Other than the States, most of my service was in South America and later in western Africa.” He shrugged. Not particularly wanting to talk about it. Though he knew the next question would be what he did for a job. If the service word didn’t give it away, it was better to say it out right before the line of questions started to pour out.
“I was in the United States marines. It was a long time ago,” he added. Years ago to be exact. On one hand, it felt like yesterday, and on another it felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime since then. The Legion. Meeting Natalie. Moscow. Ascendancy. The Dominions.
Speaking of not long ago, it felt like last weekend he was at the bar a few miles outside base, telling as many stories as he was allowed to share about the marines. Nights that ended up with hours of karaoke and a tab of shots a mile long. Waking up the next day happy and hungover and dreading report on Monday morning.
Shit, what an idiot. An asshole. And an idiot. But glory days no less.
And like that base bar, there were a few “entertainment clubs” of their own around that he wouldn’t say no to a drop in.
“A strip club? I won’t say no to that,” he nudged Seven with his elbow. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for that kind of place,” he said with a jab of a grin. “But if it’s anything weird, I’ll need a few shots first.”
Only darkness shows you the light.