“Call me whatever you want,” he gravelled. His voice made my ears hurt. Hoarse, low, indistinct. Let’s just hope and pray this pony was not of those who liked to talk.
“Well, then…” And how was I supposed to call him? Mister Sadie-Maisie? Leather Jacket? Wheezy Voice? But if to think about it, there was one option. “Gas Mask. Are we going or what?”
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Artwork for a fanfic: Apocalypse After Us