mooncalf

 "You've got to be kidding me!" Ashton's face was flushed, panic clear in his voice. He flapped both hands uselessly in midair as if that could somehow ward Bowman off. Dias knew better. Dias knew that nothing less than the threat of immediate violence could ward off that fast-talking snake-oil salesman. Even if Ashton could admit that to himself, though, there was no way he'd ever put that knowledge to good use. "I'm no weaponsmith, I haven't worked a forge since I was twelve, I-I only ever helped my father repair his armor and stuff! All I did was carry coal and, and hand him things!" "Yeah?" Bowman's grin spread like he'd won something;

Tsutsui jutted out his jaw and knotted his hands into fists. "I could too," he said. "No you couldn't," Kaga said, sliding down in his seat until he was nearly parallel to the ground and kicking his legs out. A lit cigarette jutted out from between his first two fingers; once he was occupying enough space he brought that hand up and took another deep, lazy drag, making the tip glow its deep fiery orange. It was the only light in the little bus stop shelter, and it stood out like a beacon against the rapidly darkening night. Tsutsui watched this process covertly, out of the corners of his eyes. "I-I could," he said defiantly, "if I wanted to