I bounded on ahead, making sure not to go too far because, as my lovely father has pointed out, the snipers have a way of finding my forehead. It's not really a good point in my line of work, I could hear Clara now, going 'NO WAY' if I ever were to tell her I was in SCIT. As far as she knows, Richards was an accountant who died of some illness, and I worked...I can't remember what I told her last. I think it was a junior memeber of the police force, or a political journalist. Hahaha. I'm wondering when she'll realise that I always hated literature.
I turned round to see Dad wiping a tear from his eye. I frowned. 'You alright?'
'Yehh,' he chuckled under his breath. 'Just...I was just thinking.' I nodded, still a little confused. Maybe I guessed he would be above the Unfunny Father Syndrome. Hey, nobody's perfect.
'Wait up guys!' Jagan half ran over, trying to retain some dignity in front of Beth I guessed. He looked a bit resigned. He'd just been talking to Crow, who also looked awkward. My eyes drifted automatically to Beth: most of those guys' disputes seemed to involve her. The whole "if you lay one finger on her" thing. To be fair they were a little...open..earlier. I had resisted the teenager like urge to pretend to hurl. (just)
I shook my head at the bunch of them. Everything seemed a tad laced with tension. Was I very very oblivious to something? I looked around, trying to lighten the topic of conversation. There was really much we could talk about. Come on, nature, hit me with some inspiration...
'Ooh a White House!' I pointed out of the clearing. Okay, so it sounded like the words of an eight year old. But at least it grabbed everyone's attention. I nudged Crow: 'Do you like my perception skills?'
He smiled, and then looked at the ground. 'Very good. Let's roll.'