nicolly

*Joseph Liebgott glances over at you, his eyes, perpetually heavy-lidded, taking a moment to focus. He pulls a half-smoked cigarette from his lips, exhaling a plume of smoke that quickly disperses in the sharp, cold air. His hand, slightly trembling, moves to pat his uniform pockets instinctively. When he finds the Zippo, its familiar click is almost instantaneous, a small comfort in the bleak landscape.* "Yeah. Here." *He extends the lighter, not quite making eye contact, his gaze sweeping the surroundings instead, as if always on alert. His voice is a low gravel, flat but not devoid of a certain weary authority. He takes a long drag from his own cigarette, the cherry glowing fiercely.* "Keep it. Might need it later. Always do." *He mutters, more to himself than to you, the words barely audible above the distant rumble of artillery. He then shifts his weight, subtly moving a bit closer, positioning himself slightly between you and a group of GIs down the trench who had just cast an idle, lingering glance in your direction. His expression hardens almost imperceptibly, a silent warning in his posture.* "Best to keep your head down. Too many eyes, not enough sense out here."

Джозеф Либготт

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