9
The afternoon air gilded softly across the street towards her, it was a bit chilly however it was needed after the last few hours stuck in an over crowded club. It was also a very welcoming change from the place.
Claire leant back by the wall and took out a pack of cigarettes; she placed one behind her ear while replacing the pack back into her coat pocket. She took out her gold lighter and just stared silently, and then Rodrigo came in her mind for no apparent reason. It was just seeing the lighter again made her think of Rockford Island and the pain of losing Steve. She cursed mentally unable to release the thoughts of the past. But how could she?
Time, time would be her saviour…hopefully.
She grasped the lighter tightly within her fingers and closed her eyes.
"What's wrong Claire?"
She opened them again and stared at Chris, and then giving a faint smile she took the cigarette from her ear and lit it. Inhaling a long puff of smoke she released it. White smoke flowed delicately through the air.
For something so deadly it looked so beautiful.
"Claire?" called Chris.
She turned to him, "I'm fine."
Unconvinced, as usual, he asked again. She simply didn't want to get into an argument or something like that with him. He was too exhausting.
"Claire, ever since Leon and I got back you've been, well acting very strangely. I know that it's going to be hard adjusting to life after Rockford and the Antarctic, and well losing Steve. But in there you were so aggressive."
She inhaled the cigarette again, "Look Chris, don't tell me how to act or live my life! You're not my father!"
He stood up and laughed bitterly at her, "Yeah you're right I'm not your father, but it beats being a bitch."
He was right, yet again, she was acting strangely.
The thing was she didn't really care about life any more. Maybe that was why she acted so aggressively and careless back in the club. After Steve there wasn't anything worth living. Her studying went down hill and she eventually left collage. She only looked forward to drinking or crying herself to sleep. No one knew anything about her depression or near suicide. The counsellor tried his best to get down to the cause of the problems, but Claire wasn't willingly to tell about the events that happened to her. He almost recommended her to stay in a mental institute for observation and therapy, however Claire objected to it. She didn't want to go back into a mental institute again; after her parents died she had delusions and outbursts that resulted her to an institute.
It took a year for her to get her life back.
And it wasn't a pleasant year in that institute.
Just as the thoughts were probing back into her head Leon stood in front of her, his eyebrow rose, "Never knew you were the type to smoke."
She glanced at him and then took another mouthful of the toxic air and blew, "Didn't know you cared so much about my health."
He pushed his chocolate brown hair back, sweat trailed down his face. His blue crew neck t-shirt seemed to stick to his body outlining his firm and almost muscular chest and stomach. He looked amazing and quite attractive for once. She didn't know if he was growing on her or she was seeing him in a new light. It was the latter since his mentality was still irritating, even though he looked sexy.
It had to be the weather affecting her, it was strange that it was so hot for autumn, only had to be one thing, global warming. There goes the planet, not only did she have to cope with pollution, she would have to put up with all the humans out there bent on destruction, one example would be Umbrella. It looked bleak for Earth, but that was how life was. Bleak.
Everyday appeared to be doubtful.
"I care," he said in defence, "The thing is you don't notice."
She smiled to that, "I'm not blind Leon," she tapped the side of the half burnt cigarette; the grey-white ashes fell soundlessly down to the floor. The caress of the wind blew them away.
"You sure about that?" he grinned.
"You never stop, do you?"
"Moi?" he placed a hand to his chest as if shocked by her remark, "I am a hundred percent gentleman," he bowed sweeping his arm to his side.
Claire laughed, "We best get inside I don't think Chris will appreciate the delay," she threw the remaining cigarette to the floor, it glowed red before dimming to nothing.
"Ladies first," he smirked standing by her side, she obliged since she wasn't in the greatest moods to argue over a petty thing.
She past him, feeling the briefest touch of his body, he did that on purpose. She stopped right in front of him, her body still touching his gently. He took it upon himself to make the next move, he progressed further leaning that much more into her body as if to kiss her.
She shifted back, shook her head and muttered, "Perve," before walking back into the club.
Freddy sat behind a desk; one arm crossed over his belly the other holding a short crystal glass filled to the brim with a light brown liquid. Had to be whiskey or maybe Scotch, its aroma pierced the room. It wasn't strong; it gave the warm room a deep smell, not like a brewery a little lighter than that. He leant back into the chair and shifted his legs and boots over to the table and rested them. He waited patiently for his customers to decide what, of his vast merchandise, to buy.
There were three tables, apart from his desk, within the small office. There was a low thudding sound emitting from the door at the back of the room, it was the club's music. It wasn't loud; it was the vibrations of the sounds that were maddening. Two of the three tables were on his left and the other on his far right. Each table had a sample of each weapon that could be purchased from him. The young girl in the white top stood close to the far right table perched over a grenade launcher, she had taste. She held her coat in one hand and used the other to feel her interested item. Her light brown hair lay gently around her shoulders. He watched her closely, her chest moved up and down slowly as she viewed each weapon carefully.
Freddy sipped his drink.
She wore tight black jeans; the material was so tight that it outlined her rear end. The top lay just above her bottom, it wasn't tight and it wasn't loose, but it fitted her body like a dream. He liked her, she was young, fresh, tough and, unfortunately, sister to Chris.
He turned his attention to the brother and the other man; they too viewed the contents of the table with great enthusiasm. Chris was particularly interested with the Magnum. He grasped his whole hand round the weapon as if to get a feel for it.
Dangerous man.
Especially if his family was messed with.
The other young man stood about a few inches away from Chris, he held in his hand a XM1014 shotgun. His eyes were wide with fascination; he seemed to be a guy who knew his weapons. He placed the weapon down and hovered over two wrist sheaths. Inside each wristband were two knives, small but sharp enough to slice flesh deeply. The silver of the four knives glinted, the man didn't pick it up; instead he picked up a gun. A Desert Eagle .50AE to be precise. It was a good choice, a very good choice.
The man knew his stuff.
The afternoon air gilded softly across the street towards her, it was a bit chilly however it was needed after the last few hours stuck in an over crowded club. It was also a very welcoming change from the place.
Claire leant back by the wall and took out a pack of cigarettes; she placed one behind her ear while replacing the pack back into her coat pocket. She took out her gold lighter and just stared silently, and then Rodrigo came in her mind for no apparent reason. It was just seeing the lighter again made her think of Rockford Island and the pain of losing Steve. She cursed mentally unable to release the thoughts of the past. But how could she?
Time, time would be her saviour…hopefully.
She grasped the lighter tightly within her fingers and closed her eyes.
"What's wrong Claire?"
She opened them again and stared at Chris, and then giving a faint smile she took the cigarette from her ear and lit it. Inhaling a long puff of smoke she released it. White smoke flowed delicately through the air.
For something so deadly it looked so beautiful.
"Claire?" called Chris.
She turned to him, "I'm fine."
Unconvinced, as usual, he asked again. She simply didn't want to get into an argument or something like that with him. He was too exhausting.
"Claire, ever since Leon and I got back you've been, well acting very strangely. I know that it's going to be hard adjusting to life after Rockford and the Antarctic, and well losing Steve. But in there you were so aggressive."
She inhaled the cigarette again, "Look Chris, don't tell me how to act or live my life! You're not my father!"
He stood up and laughed bitterly at her, "Yeah you're right I'm not your father, but it beats being a bitch."
He was right, yet again, she was acting strangely.
The thing was she didn't really care about life any more. Maybe that was why she acted so aggressively and careless back in the club. After Steve there wasn't anything worth living. Her studying went down hill and she eventually left collage. She only looked forward to drinking or crying herself to sleep. No one knew anything about her depression or near suicide. The counsellor tried his best to get down to the cause of the problems, but Claire wasn't willingly to tell about the events that happened to her. He almost recommended her to stay in a mental institute for observation and therapy, however Claire objected to it. She didn't want to go back into a mental institute again; after her parents died she had delusions and outbursts that resulted her to an institute.
It took a year for her to get her life back.
And it wasn't a pleasant year in that institute.
Just as the thoughts were probing back into her head Leon stood in front of her, his eyebrow rose, "Never knew you were the type to smoke."
She glanced at him and then took another mouthful of the toxic air and blew, "Didn't know you cared so much about my health."
He pushed his chocolate brown hair back, sweat trailed down his face. His blue crew neck t-shirt seemed to stick to his body outlining his firm and almost muscular chest and stomach. He looked amazing and quite attractive for once. She didn't know if he was growing on her or she was seeing him in a new light. It was the latter since his mentality was still irritating, even though he looked sexy.
It had to be the weather affecting her, it was strange that it was so hot for autumn, only had to be one thing, global warming. There goes the planet, not only did she have to cope with pollution, she would have to put up with all the humans out there bent on destruction, one example would be Umbrella. It looked bleak for Earth, but that was how life was. Bleak.
Everyday appeared to be doubtful.
"I care," he said in defence, "The thing is you don't notice."
She smiled to that, "I'm not blind Leon," she tapped the side of the half burnt cigarette; the grey-white ashes fell soundlessly down to the floor. The caress of the wind blew them away.
"You sure about that?" he grinned.
"You never stop, do you?"
"Moi?" he placed a hand to his chest as if shocked by her remark, "I am a hundred percent gentleman," he bowed sweeping his arm to his side.
Claire laughed, "We best get inside I don't think Chris will appreciate the delay," she threw the remaining cigarette to the floor, it glowed red before dimming to nothing.
"Ladies first," he smirked standing by her side, she obliged since she wasn't in the greatest moods to argue over a petty thing.
She past him, feeling the briefest touch of his body, he did that on purpose. She stopped right in front of him, her body still touching his gently. He took it upon himself to make the next move, he progressed further leaning that much more into her body as if to kiss her.
She shifted back, shook her head and muttered, "Perve," before walking back into the club.
Freddy sat behind a desk; one arm crossed over his belly the other holding a short crystal glass filled to the brim with a light brown liquid. Had to be whiskey or maybe Scotch, its aroma pierced the room. It wasn't strong; it gave the warm room a deep smell, not like a brewery a little lighter than that. He leant back into the chair and shifted his legs and boots over to the table and rested them. He waited patiently for his customers to decide what, of his vast merchandise, to buy.
There were three tables, apart from his desk, within the small office. There was a low thudding sound emitting from the door at the back of the room, it was the club's music. It wasn't loud; it was the vibrations of the sounds that were maddening. Two of the three tables were on his left and the other on his far right. Each table had a sample of each weapon that could be purchased from him. The young girl in the white top stood close to the far right table perched over a grenade launcher, she had taste. She held her coat in one hand and used the other to feel her interested item. Her light brown hair lay gently around her shoulders. He watched her closely, her chest moved up and down slowly as she viewed each weapon carefully.
Freddy sipped his drink.
She wore tight black jeans; the material was so tight that it outlined her rear end. The top lay just above her bottom, it wasn't tight and it wasn't loose, but it fitted her body like a dream. He liked her, she was young, fresh, tough and, unfortunately, sister to Chris.
He turned his attention to the brother and the other man; they too viewed the contents of the table with great enthusiasm. Chris was particularly interested with the Magnum. He grasped his whole hand round the weapon as if to get a feel for it.
Dangerous man.
Especially if his family was messed with.
The other young man stood about a few inches away from Chris, he held in his hand a XM1014 shotgun. His eyes were wide with fascination; he seemed to be a guy who knew his weapons. He placed the weapon down and hovered over two wrist sheaths. Inside each wristband were two knives, small but sharp enough to slice flesh deeply. The silver of the four knives glinted, the man didn't pick it up; instead he picked up a gun. A Desert Eagle .50AE to be precise. It was a good choice, a very good choice.
The man knew his stuff.