Third Person - Complete

Rolling the Dice

"How are you?" Heather asked, leaning over in her chair. She had drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other and her class ring gleamed in the lights of the club. She was dressed in jeans, running shoes, and a light airy blouse, with her hair in a single braid down her back and makeup making her eyes and lips pop.

"Butt hurts," Lewis admitted. She was wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a t-shirt, her hair teased out and makeup almost stark in its simplicity.

"Duh," Heather said, shaking her head. She sipped at her drink. "I'm talking about that other thing."

"Oh," Lewis looked down at her drink. She still couldn't believe she'd shouted that over the phone. She looked down at her drink, took a deep breath, then let it out. "I'm still angry."

Heather nodded. "Yeah. Figured as much. It's OK that you're mad, you're allowed to be angry."

"I made a fool of myself," Lewis said, sighing.

Heather reached out and tapped Lewis's wrist with her glass before taking a sip. "Naw.Sweety, everyone in the unit heard a Captain scream at his wife that he knew she was sleeping with a black guy. Well, he used a different word if you know what I mean."

Lewis smiled slightly. "He didn't. Did any of the black guys hear him?"

Heather nodded. "Several of them did. They started laughing. He yelled that then looked at the phone and said: 'oh shit, now I sound like a fucking racist' then slammed the phone down and ran off. None of us could stop laughing. The brothers all call him 'Uncle Klucker' now."

That made Lewis snicker, shaking her head.

Putting her cigarette in her mouth, Heather patted the back of Lewis's hand and smiled. "You'll be fine. You'll probably have to go to Mental Health, since you said that over a logged call."

Lewis winced. "I hate therapy."

Heather shook her head. "It's a bit different here. They just make sure you're fit to fight, that you're in serviceable condition. It'll mostly to make sure you're not a man-hater, you can be trusted around the shit we've got out at Atlas, and make sure you can be trusted with your weapon."

"Who can be trusted with what now?" Wizzy asked, sitting down. Wizzy picked up her drink and sipped at it.

"Not sure if Bobbi can be trusted with a dick," Heather said, shrugging. "You obviously can't be trusted with tits."

"I know, it's great," Wizzy smiled, stretching. Her T-shirt stretched across her chest.

Lewis had to admit, she'd gotten used to the short girl's massive chest and now the fact she was only a little C-cup really threw Lewis off.

"Every time I wake up on my back able to breathe I just grin my ass off," Wizzy said, sipping at her drink. "The swelling's mostly gone down, so it looks like this is it."

"Nipple placement looking all right?" Heather asked. She started leaning forward, reaching for Wizzy's neckline.

"Hey! We're at the club, drunky," Wizzy said, leaning back. "But yeah, now that the swelling has gone down they look pretty good. Doctor did a hell of job."

"What kind of incision?" Heather asked. Lewis could see her hands twitching slightly and understood why Wizzy smiled slightly and swiveled a little to put her neckline out Heather's reach.

"Doctor said it's something called a 'lollipop'," Wizzy said.

Lewis frowned. "What's that?"

Wizzy did a circle around her nipple, then drew a line from her nipple down her shirt under her boob. "They cut like that, scoop out the fat, adjust the tendon that's in there, and poof, new boob," She pulled the collar over and tapped her shoulder. "Check it out, no bra strap groove."