Alistair Raven and the Stormtrooper in Stilettos (Book 1)

Part 3 - Chatter 5

For Alistair, it had been no traditional Christmas morning. In lieu of gift swapping and festivity, nervousness knotted his stomach whilst he killed time. Dressed and ready, he tried to put his mind at ease as he read one of Flash's Sly-Fi novels. The Tommies had cleared out, already infiltrating their positions and other than Capt Baker, who had set about heaving another cache of ammo on his bristling shoulders, there was no other noise. The sky-pilot noticed Alistair, set the cache down and sat beside the boy on his bed.

"Scared?" he probed. Alistair nodded, his young face so unsure. Capt Baker reassuringly patted the boy on the shoulder.

"It's enough you're growing up in such a hurry. But you've got to believe, it will be alright in the end. We'll get Archie back and we'll be on our way."

"I hope so," Alistair swallowed.

"If you're all packed, you can take your mind of things by making sure Julian get's himself ready in time. Do you think you can keep an eye on him for me?" Capt Baker requested; Alistair agreed. Meeting up with Chelsea, she tagged along with Alistair has they proceeded to Julian's quarters. They could hear grunting and groaning and cursing and Alistair knocked on the slightly ajar door.

"Help me with this?" Julian implored.

Julian was sat in a club chair, struggling with his boots; he wore his battle-pants but his torso was unclothed. Decorated with tattoos, the most obvious being the '000' within a barcode inked on the nape of his neck and the pink triangles emblazoned on each rounded contour of his shoulder. A playful scroll twirled around his belly button and read 'we let the weirdness in'; his abdomen was stained with the words Cark Diem; and stamped across his chest in gill sans bold extra condensed was Silence = Death. Julian spotted Alistair gawking.

"You got ink?" Alistair shook his head no.

"And before you ask," Julian added, pointing to a 'Q' branded into the front of his left breast, just above the heart. "That stands for 'quality'. Now...be a pet and help with these!" Holding up his boots, both children knelt, taking a boot each and toiled to fit them over his calves. With some elbow grease, choice words and cajoling, the boots finally were on.

"Damn those cankles," Chelsea puffed.

"Damn you to hell," Julian fired, offended. He stood and zipped up the boots to his knees, then tested the fit with a couple of steps; the sole and heel were thick and nasty. In better light, Alistair saw faded scars hatched across Julian's back and waist, the skin was marred by patches of bubbled, long ago burnt flesh, kept company by three bullet scars up his right side.

"Beauty marks," Julian admitted, holding out a stretch mesh singlet. "Now flex this out and I'll slip my way in to it."

"Have you put on weight?" Chelsea asked and Julian ran his hands down the side of his lithe torso to his hips.