PILOT / VALET

    Slams against frame, as much as weakened limbs allow       those that remain, others like phantoms of sharp pain, no, agony. Hisses become whimper against longer frame, curled weakly and broken and covered in gashes. Bare registers futile words. Mussed black hair and the rigor of a hospital gown, the indignity far belittled in the wake of the pain of nightmares, reliving the explosion without full recall. 

    She wakes up without remembering what happened. The realization devastates. 

    Breathing eventually evens, croaking softly against throat. Exhaustion compels relaxation, even as the pain rides her spine, throbbing in new amputations. Shakes her head. 

❝Rather the opposite.❞

DOES not comment on state, or what caused it – has no right to remind of rules, when  she  herself  so  frequently  breaks  them. Little  distance  separates, once Harriette takes a seat, crossed legs nearly, though never quite, touching wounded ones. Her remaining eye catches blues with usual, steady calm.

❝Would you offer the truth, if I asked?❞

        ALWAYS CHEEKY, GALAHAD. Even though Harriette has another title now (several,  in fact,  beyond that of Arthur)  she will  always  be Galahad, even though Eggsy carries the mantle quite well, with occasional penchant for getting into just the same amounts of trouble as his predecessor. Greer downs the last inch and puts down the glass, fingers still possessing grace to play Tchachovsky if requested, the dullness far inferior to the one wanted. 

Bitter are we