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Warning: Mature content

IX
UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE

While Pike’s story thus so far had been as expected, nothing even slightly shy of not remotely amusing at all, to either Hex nor Chaff, his lengthy banter had afforded Chaff a few good moments worth of calm, and he’d used it by fading to the head of the airlock, and out of Pike’s line of sight, to dress his damaged ear as best he could. Cutting a thin strip of cotton free from the inner lining of his damaged environment suit, Chaff had then wadded up the strip and stuffed it into his mangled ear, before gently wrapping a healthy length of electrical tape twice around his head to hold it in place. While the field dressing did little to stop the mind numbing ring in his head, and the bolts of near incapacitating pain, jetting throughout the whole of his skull, that morphine would have been better suited for besting, it had in a fashion offered Chaff some small relief if be it little more then psychological. Content with his work, and paying little attention to Pike’s story, or the fact that his left arm had gone numb for that matter, Chaff was about to find a more comfortable possession to sit in, when something very unexpected happened. Pike said something that drew his uncontested attention back to the open air lock, and his hard bitten opponent.
“B-B-B-Bloody hell.” Chaff stammered.
“What?” Asked Hex over his shoulder.
Without another word, Chaff responded by mobbing the MP5 up into his hands, and hustled back to the open airlock, taking every care to stay as low and against the wall as one with the an over zealous case of vertigo could. Ever vigilant, Hex had remained at the open end of the airlock the entire time, having not once lowered the sights of his Colt Commando, or his eyes for that matter, off the crates their hit was currently hiding behind. Even as Chaff wrestled himself back into a decent firing position, Hex held fast as a statue, doing so little as even letting an eye lid flutter.
“What’s the commotion?” Hex finally asked.
“Ah, well. I see you’ve finally found some deep hollowed tree stump to salt away that temper of yours.” Chaff chuckled with a clearly uncomfortable drunken like slur.
“Mmm, yep. Conspicuously affiliated with your dauntless retreat to the far end of this airlock a moment ago, I might add.”
“Cheeky.” Chaff cooed with a sarcastic smile.
“Thought you’d like that? Mind offering forth some, Hex is a little curious as to why you’ve suddenly decided to rejoin story time with Pike, information?”
“Ah. Take it you weren’t really listening to the little bog stain either.”
“Nope.”
“Is he still talking?” Chaff asked, while taking a quick peek up towards the shadowed crates for himself.
“Yep…Still talkin.”
Indeed, from across the mud room, hidden behind the stack of poorly assembled crates, Chaff could still hear Pike’s near monotone voice, hacking aimlessly away about the rendezvous with his new colleges at the Create Steam pub.
“I’m pretty sure that was the last time I ever visited Crate Steam to be perfectly honest. You know…I‘m not even sure if I could even tell you how to get back there now, and I really can’t see a down side to that. The genuine ass hole of the galaxy if you ask me.” Pike continued.
Chaff cleared his throat, and then boomed out the hatch. “Hey! Piker!”
“Fuck, what dude?” Pike snapped back.
“Chaff? Fuck!” Hex bellowed. “What the fuck are you doing? He’s still got a bead, and a round or two. Get the fuck back n‘ shut the fuck up.”
Ignoring both Hex and the uncontrollable convolutions that had over taken his body, Chaff continued. “Let me get this s-s-s-s-strait, because I’m having a little trouble understanding a few of the finer details here, and, and, and, I’m pretty sure…I’m pretty sure, as you have noticed, we are running just a hair, A HAIR, short on time.”
“Then shut the fuck up, so I can tell the story, you slurtatious son of a bitch.” Pike barked back. “It’s not like I got something better I could be doing right now.”
“Did he say where the shit was yet?” Chaff suddenly whispered to Hex.
“Naw.” Hex groaned.
“Fucking lame.” Chaff muttered under his breath, before returning to his mock Pike interrogation. “The group you put together. The seven Flanigan assembled for his little steal Mr. Nakatater’s-”
“Nakayama.” Hex cut in.
“Whatever.” Chaff scolded.
“Yeah, what of it?” Pike asked.
“You’re telling me Rufus Schorzburg was one of the seven?”
The mud room feel silent. Moments passed and neither Chaff nor Hex heard so much as a rustle of motion, or even the faint sigh of Pike finally coming to terms with the reaper man. Allowing the uncomfortable pausation to open a floodgate of concern, Chaff offered his oddly focused companion Hex a quick glance, and prepared himself for the possibility that more small arms fire exchange was about to take place. Hex however responded without so much as a flinch, adding only more concern to Chaff’s already cluttered thought process. A process that seemed to be growing more di

While St. Bonk might look like a chicken or a whizzed out duck, he appears in a manner that reflects the supplicant's bad relationship: how the person was described or presented is not so far afoot as how St. Bonkus will manifest to the one seeking his wisdom and advice as to how to bounce back from the poor engagement.


Contusion

Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.

In a pit of a rock
The sea sucks obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.

The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.

The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.

--Sylvia Plath