Us vs. the Apocalypse
Title: It's Called Pop, Dammit
Word Count: 460
Note: Non-canon, from a previous version of the novel.
"You're lucky," Eli said, using his glove to mime wiping down the mahogany desk like the surface of a bar. "It's last call."
"Lucky would be a cold bottle of Corbin Crossing Pale," I replied, shrugging out of my jacket and pulling up a chair.
"Alas, the powers that be have declared this building a no alcohol zone."
"A cold pop, then?"
"A cold... what?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.
"Pop."
"The fuck is a pop?" When I cocked my jaw to the side, he laughed and waved a hand dismissively at me. "I'm just kidding. You mean soda, right?"
"Same difference," I muttered.
"Well, no." He was grinning now. "Soda is the proper word. Pop is what you neanderthals across the border -"
"Last I checked, there wasn't a border," I shot back, wagging a finger at him.
"Oh, I know. All you dirty heathen lumberjacks flowing into our fair city, polluting our bloodlines..."
"Man, the way you wax poetic, I'm amazing the girls aren't hanging off you," I quipped. He shrugged dramatically.
"I'm just as confused as you are," he said, and reached into the cooler beside him, pulling out a red and silver can and tossing it over the desk at me. "So what's on your mind, my good Captain?"
"Ah ah, don't go around calling me that or the big bad wolf will hear you," I chided, though there was a hardness in my voice I couldn't quite mask. I was still stinging from Doug's harsh remarks, and though I was trying my best to make light of it, I had a feeling he and I really weren't going to get along in the long run. "Wouldn't want to get in trouble."
"Ha, clearly you don't know me that well," Eli remarked, winking. "I've spent the last two years on Doug's bad side. If I ever got out of trouble, I'd be shocked." He twisted the cap off a bottle of water and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk. I absently traced the intricate detailing on the desk's edge, wondering what kind of executive or vice president or Somebody Very Important sat at this desk before the world ended. I'd found these thoughts depressing at first, because as a sniper I really don't get to do a lot of searches, but after a while it just became another fact of what remained of life. Nobody got to be marketing directors or vice president of sales or any positions that once seemed to be so important but were now just frivolous memories. It was something that had been given up, like hockey games and late night shows of questionable content and yes, even the border between our countries.
Word Count: 460
Note: Non-canon, from a previous version of the novel.
"You're lucky," Eli said, using his glove to mime wiping down the mahogany desk like the surface of a bar. "It's last call."
"Lucky would be a cold bottle of Corbin Crossing Pale," I replied, shrugging out of my jacket and pulling up a chair.
"Alas, the powers that be have declared this building a no alcohol zone."
"A cold pop, then?"
"A cold... what?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.
"Pop."
"The fuck is a pop?" When I cocked my jaw to the side, he laughed and waved a hand dismissively at me. "I'm just kidding. You mean soda, right?"
"Same difference," I muttered.
"Well, no." He was grinning now. "Soda is the proper word. Pop is what you neanderthals across the border -"
"Last I checked, there wasn't a border," I shot back, wagging a finger at him.
"Oh, I know. All you dirty heathen lumberjacks flowing into our fair city, polluting our bloodlines..."
"Man, the way you wax poetic, I'm amazing the girls aren't hanging off you," I quipped. He shrugged dramatically.
"I'm just as confused as you are," he said, and reached into the cooler beside him, pulling out a red and silver can and tossing it over the desk at me. "So what's on your mind, my good Captain?"
"Ah ah, don't go around calling me that or the big bad wolf will hear you," I chided, though there was a hardness in my voice I couldn't quite mask. I was still stinging from Doug's harsh remarks, and though I was trying my best to make light of it, I had a feeling he and I really weren't going to get along in the long run. "Wouldn't want to get in trouble."
"Ha, clearly you don't know me that well," Eli remarked, winking. "I've spent the last two years on Doug's bad side. If I ever got out of trouble, I'd be shocked." He twisted the cap off a bottle of water and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk. I absently traced the intricate detailing on the desk's edge, wondering what kind of executive or vice president or Somebody Very Important sat at this desk before the world ended. I'd found these thoughts depressing at first, because as a sniper I really don't get to do a lot of searches, but after a while it just became another fact of what remained of life. Nobody got to be marketing directors or vice president of sales or any positions that once seemed to be so important but were now just frivolous memories. It was something that had been given up, like hockey games and late night shows of questionable content and yes, even the border between our countries.