Inspired by Milk with two sugars, thanks. by NeverwinterThistle.
At his desk, Jon closes his eyes. He waves a vague hand in the man’s direction. “This is Michael-uh, Mike Crew,” he mumbles. “Ex Altiora, Lichtenberg scars, tosses people off skyscrapers.”
“Oh," Martin says. Recognition strikes a moment later. Like lightning, he thinks, and immediately feels tactless. "Oh. I see.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Mike Crew says pleasantly. “I really just want to be left alone. It’s what I’m trying to communicate here, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other.” Again, Martin feels that awful swooping in his stomach, as if the floor is lurching away under his feet.
