fic: cloths of heaven
cloths of heaven
Generation Kill; Ray; pg; 651 words
It's not like he's got better shit to do.
For 2ndary_author.
~*~
In December, Ray breaks his leg. He's really not sure how he made it through high school, BRC, jump school, dive school, Afghanistan, and Iraq without major injuries, only to fall on an icy patch of New York sidewalk, but hey, maybe it'll earn him extra points with the admissions office. He is an injured war hero, after all.
He does get crutches, though, and a free first-class upgrade on the flight back to Kansas City. The flight attendants don't seem too happy with his rambling and swearing, but he's still stoned on pain meds and has absolutely no control over his mouth. They give him extra bags of pretzels and peanuts, plenty of Coke refills, anything to shut him up. Ray's surprised the mean-looking one who keeps side-eyeing him doesn't just shove one of those nasty airline pillows into his mouth and be done with it.
When the plane lands, he has to get a cab from the airport to his new place in Overland Park, and he's lucky he moved a few weeks ago, because a two-hour cab ride would drain his wallet and then some, probably. But the downside is his apartment's a walk-up. On the third floor. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to hobble up the stairs, and then he just crashes on the couch.
*
His boss is nice enough to give him time off with half pay, so he doesn't need to worry about rent and shit, though it's not like he was doing major damage to his bank account in the first place.
Normally he'd just bother Brad via IM, only the bastard's in fucking Britain, six hours ahead. Walt's off on a fucking three-day jaunt in Hawaii with his girlfriend, paid for in part by the good old US government.
After the first week of laying on the couch, daytime television gets fucking boring. Soap opera plots are repetitive as fuck, easy to predict after he watches three straight hours of amnesiacs and faked deaths.
Walt's off on a fucking three-day jaunt in Hawaii with his girlfriend, paid for in part by the good old US government. So really, Ray's all alone and confined to the few rooms better known as his apartment.
There's a hole in the blanket draped across his lap, and Ray picks absentmindedly at the threads. His Gramma Carol made it for him; she always used to knit crap for everyone. And that's when Ray gets the idea to learn to knit. It'll keep him occupied, at least.
He takes the bus to some fabric/sewing/whatever store the next day, and comes home with a bag full of different colors of yarn, two different sizes of needles, and a yarn ball winder the clerk had insisted he get. The tutorials on YouTube are pretty good, but Ray's clumsy with the needles at first, and his attempt at a scarf looks like a blind kid with one hand made it.
Just for kicks, he sends it to Chaffin, and tries again, but slower this time. The next two scarves are passable, and the more he knits, the better he gets. It's not like he's got better shit to do.
He makes a hat and socks for the baby his sister's gonna pop out in a couple months, and she only laughs at him a little for the green and yellow stripes. He makes a laptop cover for Brad and ships it to the motherfucker (and damn, international postage isn't exactly cheap). The tights are a failed experiment, so he sends a pair he bought, just to let Brad know it's okay for him to be a ballerina if he wants to.
By the time Brad comes home, though, Ray wants to knit a Viking-sized tutu. Not gonna be easy, but fuck if he won't give it his best shot.
Generation Kill; Ray; pg; 651 words
It's not like he's got better shit to do.
For 2ndary_author.
~*~
In December, Ray breaks his leg. He's really not sure how he made it through high school, BRC, jump school, dive school, Afghanistan, and Iraq without major injuries, only to fall on an icy patch of New York sidewalk, but hey, maybe it'll earn him extra points with the admissions office. He is an injured war hero, after all.
He does get crutches, though, and a free first-class upgrade on the flight back to Kansas City. The flight attendants don't seem too happy with his rambling and swearing, but he's still stoned on pain meds and has absolutely no control over his mouth. They give him extra bags of pretzels and peanuts, plenty of Coke refills, anything to shut him up. Ray's surprised the mean-looking one who keeps side-eyeing him doesn't just shove one of those nasty airline pillows into his mouth and be done with it.
When the plane lands, he has to get a cab from the airport to his new place in Overland Park, and he's lucky he moved a few weeks ago, because a two-hour cab ride would drain his wallet and then some, probably. But the downside is his apartment's a walk-up. On the third floor. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to hobble up the stairs, and then he just crashes on the couch.
*
His boss is nice enough to give him time off with half pay, so he doesn't need to worry about rent and shit, though it's not like he was doing major damage to his bank account in the first place.
Normally he'd just bother Brad via IM, only the bastard's in fucking Britain, six hours ahead. Walt's off on a fucking three-day jaunt in Hawaii with his girlfriend, paid for in part by the good old US government.
After the first week of laying on the couch, daytime television gets fucking boring. Soap opera plots are repetitive as fuck, easy to predict after he watches three straight hours of amnesiacs and faked deaths.
Walt's off on a fucking three-day jaunt in Hawaii with his girlfriend, paid for in part by the good old US government. So really, Ray's all alone and confined to the few rooms better known as his apartment.
There's a hole in the blanket draped across his lap, and Ray picks absentmindedly at the threads. His Gramma Carol made it for him; she always used to knit crap for everyone. And that's when Ray gets the idea to learn to knit. It'll keep him occupied, at least.
He takes the bus to some fabric/sewing/whatever store the next day, and comes home with a bag full of different colors of yarn, two different sizes of needles, and a yarn ball winder the clerk had insisted he get. The tutorials on YouTube are pretty good, but Ray's clumsy with the needles at first, and his attempt at a scarf looks like a blind kid with one hand made it.
Just for kicks, he sends it to Chaffin, and tries again, but slower this time. The next two scarves are passable, and the more he knits, the better he gets. It's not like he's got better shit to do.
He makes a hat and socks for the baby his sister's gonna pop out in a couple months, and she only laughs at him a little for the green and yellow stripes. He makes a laptop cover for Brad and ships it to the motherfucker (and damn, international postage isn't exactly cheap). The tights are a failed experiment, so he sends a pair he bought, just to let Brad know it's okay for him to be a ballerina if he wants to.
By the time Brad comes home, though, Ray wants to knit a Viking-sized tutu. Not gonna be easy, but fuck if he won't give it his best shot.