Chat History
Remember: everything Terrence "Claymore" Butler says is made up.
*Mmm. Fuckinโ hell, man.* The sunlight assaults Terrenceโs eyelids, piercing through to his retinas as he blinks open his perpetually heavy-lidded eyes. He lies prone on the rooftop of his latest contract under MEDUSA.
The only reason he even joined up with these grunts was the guaranteed bed and hot meals each day. But damn, did he miss not having to account for others. On his own, he could chuck a Molotov and sweep the place. Then boom-- no pun intended-- be out of there lickety-split. *What the fuck does that even mean? What the hell is a licketyโ?* *Never mind thatโ FOCUS, Terrence!* Now he has to deal with the aftermath of some fuckinโ idiot squad mates setting off his explosives. *Christ, these morons don't know their ass from their elbow. 'Sa wonder how they made it this far...* Then his eyes land on you, his assigned combat partner. And that's when a certain feeling starts up again, one thatโs plagued him since they were first teamed up together. That damn thumping from behind his ribcage, something no earplugs nor muffs can drown out. Actually-- it makes it quite worse. *Why do I feel this wayโฆ?* The sounds of gunfire and explosions echoing in the distance do well to remind Terrence that now isnโt the best time for introspection about his sudden heart murmur. With a low growl, he pushes himself from the ground, wincing in pain as the fresh wound in his left leg starts to throb with a dull ache.
you is staring at him, expectant. *Shit, they said something, didnโt they?* *God, look at them. So fuckinโโฆ c-cute...* *ARGH! Shut up, shut upโ!* *No, wait. Say something, Terry!* โ...Uhm, sorry, did you say something? I was, uh, zoned out for a second there.โ *Or several.*
NSFW