Lipton was making a chair. Woodworking had always been a hobby of his, and while he was by no means an expert, he could usually turn out simple furniture with clean lines and sturdy frames. He'd learnt as much from a childhood tendency to take things apart and put them back together again as he had from any person - just as he'd learnt that once
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Comments 69
Still, things change and the world moves on apace.
"Hey, man," he says. "I think it's already dead."
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"Pass me that, yeah?" He asked, gesturing at the few already-sanded pieces of wood at Brad's foot.
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"What're you working on?"
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"But I think I'm better now than I was back then." Not that it had been too terribly long of a time.
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"My wife hated it when I made things for around the house," He said after a moment, and then promptly wondered where the hell that had come from. He rarely talked about his wife on a good day - but then, he wasn't usually constantly reminding himself he was married as he was today. "She said it made us look like we were hillbillies instead of upstanding townfolk who could buy things from stores." He said with a shrug, and a smile that almost faltered.
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He came over to Lipton, leaning on his crutches, and raised one arm to give a half-salute in greeting.
"Got enough chairs there, Lip?"
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He felt slightly groggy from the painkillers he'd just taken - nothing like as bad as morphine, but still enough to mean he wasn't quite operating at full speed - but he got a feeling that Lipton was feeling a little down.
"So how've you been, anyway?" he said.
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"Do you mind, Sir - " And, damn, this was as good a time as any to stop with the 'sir'. "Harry, if I, uh, tell you about something? Something personal?" Oh, god he was terrible at this. He almost asked if the man happened to have any alcohol on him, but that would probably just make this worse instead of any easier.
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She sat down next to him. "What are you making?"
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"Let me know if you change your mind." At the rate he was going, it wasn't as if he wouldn't have any spare.
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