The air was warm, under the fading sunset, but the metal railing on the sniping deck of Teufort was as chilly as if it had just been teleported from Coldfront. Spy had leaned on it, while he lit another cigarette, but that quickly became uncomfortable. He settled for crossing his arms instead, as he gazed out over the two bases. Nothing but him, the sun, a frown on his face, and his own musings.
“Penny for yer thoughts?”
Spy looked sidelong at Sniper, standing in the doorway with a beer can in hand. He took a long drag of his cigarette, and blew it in the Australian’s direction.
“That would be a centime in my case, Monsieur,” he said.
Sniper looked puzzled for a moment. “What’s a-”
“The equivalent unit of currency in my homeland.”
“Alright, take it easy, mate.” He held out the can. “I was gonna ask if you wanted a tinny.”