‘What happened?’ All fury had been replaced with terror. He considered helping Sad-case with his handkerchief but it wouldn’t do to be, you know, girly about a bit of blood. Sad-case brushed his face with his sleeve, sneering at the minor nature of his war wound and grinning madly at Yoreth. David followed him inside where his bloody friend beckoned them towards a thick circular beam of marble or some alien rocky stuff a few paces from the window. About five feet thick, it towered above them to the ceiling in a beam-ish sort of way.
‘You see that?’ He pointed to a strangely clean patch on the green fluted pillar about five feet above the floor.
‘Well I didn’t.’
Derrick stifled a giggle.
‘Anyway, a scar helps my street cred.’ He hawked disgustingly and spat a glob of blood accurately onto the beam.
‘You don’t got no street cred.’ Derrick glared, revolted by the sound and the sight.
‘More than you’ll ever have slime gob!’
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