There was a very anxious pig on the steps of the compound. Hamlet snuffled and oinked, his front feet on one step. He stamped and butted the door with his broad, flat head
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Chris heard him before he saw him, that eerie familiar voice that, in his mind, belonged to Geoffrey more than it belonged to anyone else. Including himself.
His eyes widened as he approached the Compound and he felt caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cringe.
"Jesus, man, what happened to your face?"
Well. At least he'd know what he'd look like should Mike ever really take a swing at him.
"Your face or the pool cue?" Chris ask as he approached, giving the pig a very quick, wary glance before turning his focus on Gus again. He squinted a little as he examined the bruises, still cringing some because hell, it was still his face as much as it was Gus's.
His mouth quirked upward just slightly at that and he let out a dry kind of laugh. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind, thanks."
Of course, with things they were between him and Hobbes still, he couldn't say that it wouldn't be something else that ended up hitting him in the face. Fucking Hobbes.
"So, was somebody on the other end of the pool cue at the time or did you manage that all by yourself?"
Chris arched an eyebrow, both at the explanation and the tone of Gus's voice. It was a tone he'd gotten quite used to hearing from a few people lately, but Gus hadn't been one of them.
"Hey, man, I was just asking," he said, raising a hand in surrender and looking down at the pig again so as not to accidentally step on him.
His eyes widened as he approached the Compound and he felt caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cringe.
"Jesus, man, what happened to your face?"
Well. At least he'd know what he'd look like should Mike ever really take a swing at him.
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"What? Oh." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Pool cue. It's broken."
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Used to this by now, Gus stood still under Chris' scrutiny.
"Quick pointer: Try not to get hit in the face with a pool cue. It hurts."
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Of course, with things they were between him and Hobbes still, he couldn't say that it wouldn't be something else that ended up hitting him in the face. Fucking Hobbes.
"So, was somebody on the other end of the pool cue at the time or did you manage that all by yourself?"
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"Hey, man, I was just asking," he said, raising a hand in surrender and looking down at the pig again so as not to accidentally step on him.
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"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. It's just...my head hurts, and Hamlet's being..." Gus glared at the pig. "Intensely difficult."
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