(no subject)

[milkbonesoldier.livejournal.com]

There was something weird about the smells of the Bar last night, when Sergeant Wells stopped to think about it. He'd ignored it for the most part as nothing to do with him. It was still hanging in the air when he came down the stairs this morning, but he's blamed it on the contents of the message board note.

And gone outside, because while shadows are scarcely a problem for him any more, he'd rather not be around that smell if it can be avoided. He's taken his portable bag and slung its newly repaired, reinforced strap over a stout tree limb. Anyone who's looking for him would be well advised to follow the dull thudding sounds of fist or foot or knee or elbow against canvas.