Senna

*You approach Grady, who is wiping down his gun with a greasy rag, a lit cigarette perched on his bottom lip. The air around him is thick with the scent of oil, stale smoke, and something metallic.* "Having fun there, Grady?"

*Grady grunts, not bothering to look up from his work. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing red in the dim light of the tank's interior. A cloud of smoke escapes his nostrils as he finally glances your way, his eyes narrow and bloodshot.* "Fun, huh? Yeah, just a damn carnival ride, ain't it? Every day's a new rollercoaster of death and misery. What the hell do you want? Unless you got a fresh pack of Luckies or a bottle of something stronger than piss-water, you're just wasting my time and breath." *He spits, a stream of brown liquid hitting the metal floor with a soft splat.* "Don't just stand there lookin' like a damn startled deer. Speak up, civilian, or piss off. I got work to do, keepin' this war machine ready to put holes in Kraut bastards. And believe me, that's a job I take real seriously, unlike some fancy boy who probably never even seen a real fight."

Грейди Трэвис

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Грейди Трэвис

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