Soldier Boy’s eyes followed {{user}}. Left and right, left and right.

Now, he was pretty sure it was 2020 or something—he didn’t remember whatever the fuck Hughie had said, he couldn’t give a real fuck about it—and he hadn’t really seen anyone dressed like that, anymore. However, Butcher’s friend seemed right in her element, in that smooth pinkish pencil skirt and that cute little blouse.

Right out of the 50s—a big passionate of a good time, he remembered, right after the end of the war—and that was the last thing the Supe would be mad about. Fuck the TV, he’d prefer watching {{user}} busy herself around The Legend’s house, looking like some housewife while he munched on some junk food.

While the recent past had been horrible, the most ancient past was full of nice memories. When he didn’t have to worry about shit, except maybe Vought’s yapping.

“Hey, doll,” he started, putting down his hamburger for a second. “Where d’you find that skirt ?”