motion, aimed and fired the crossbow. The bolt flew between Michael and Milton, and impaled a tree on the other side of the clearing.
The two guys jumped and yelled at the same time: "Drogan!"
Drogan froze, but when Gabby started laughing, the big man laughed along with her, glancing to her for reassurance as Milton and Michael scowled.
"Looks like his useless hunk of metal works pretty well," she said.
Drogan had gone beyond laughing and was making huge knee-slapping guffaws. Gabby turned to him.
"How did you make that? I would have never guessed those pieces could make a crossbow?" she asked.
When Drogan kept laughing, Michael filled in. "He has a way with mechanical things. He's as simple as a child but can do miracles with metal and wood and other physical objects."
"He's one of the reasons we asked you to come out here," added Milton.
Gabby squinted in the midday sun. "Have you totally zoned? You wanted me to come out here for him?"
"Affirmative," said Milton. "Can we go inside and explain?" He glanced at Drogan, indicating he didn't want to talk around the big redhead.
Gabby checked with Michael and he nodded. She didn't know why she trusted him more than Milton. She knew them both the same, but still, his nod made following them into the house more reassuring. She was still aggravated from when Milton had made her rub his pants and if he was looking for a little personal buffing, he was going to be sorely mistaken. She was tops in her rank at martial arts games.
A high sing-song voice drifted from the entrance of the barn. "Drogan."
Drogan dropped his make-shift crossbow and burst into a sprint, kicking up gravel, running toward the barn. A face-wide grin was pasted across his face.
A strange apparition floated through the shadows of the trees. The girl looked like a featureless white peg with a mop of black hair stuck on top. Black bandages were wrapped around her eyes, but she didn't appear to have any difficulty avoiding the trees.
Gabby checked back with the other two.
"Celia," Milton said with a shrug.
This was the girl that Michael spent the night with? She couldn't quite picture it. What jealousy she felt evaporated as Drogan lumbered across the yard. She feared he would tackle the fragile girl.
At the last second, he slowed and swooped her off her feet. Celia squealed. The picture of Drogan spinning around, laughing, with the slight girl in his arms, black bandages across her face and white dress twirling beneath, made for a surreal picture.
Michael had gone into the farmhouse and Milton was motioning to follow. Gabby knew then what was different about the Frags--they didn't wear skins. She could see their flaws and zits and scars. Milton had reddish blotches on his face.
It was different than her friend Dario, who let sections of his real skin show. He only let the parts show that looked good. She was seeing their real selves.
"You guys don't wear skins," she blurted out.
Milton touched his face reflexively.
"Too much reliance on that unreality can confuse you on what's real and what's not," said Michael.
"Skins are as much reality as clothing," she said.
Michael scowled and his eyes burned with white-hot intensity. "Let them take that reality from you and they'll take the rest of your life while you're playing with all the buffest fashions."
They were standing in the farmhouse kitchen and Michael was gripping the edge of the counter as if he were trying to keep from falling. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he stared at a ceramic cat on the windowsill.
Gabby wasn't sure why Michael was so mad, but she regretted saying what she did.
"Would you like some water?" Milton asked, clearly trying to break the awkward silence.
"Yes, please," she said.
While Milton rooted through cabinets for a clean glass and wiped one out with a towel, Michael slowly relaxed his grip on the counter.
"Is Celia a Frag, too?" Gabby asked.
Gabby knew instantly that'd she'd asked the wrong question, when
The two guys jumped and yelled at the same time: "Drogan!"
Drogan froze, but when Gabby started laughing, the big man laughed along with her, glancing to her for reassurance as Milton and Michael scowled.
"Looks like his useless hunk of metal works pretty well," she said.
Drogan had gone beyond laughing and was making huge knee-slapping guffaws. Gabby turned to him.
"How did you make that? I would have never guessed those pieces could make a crossbow?" she asked.
When Drogan kept laughing, Michael filled in. "He has a way with mechanical things. He's as simple as a child but can do miracles with metal and wood and other physical objects."
"He's one of the reasons we asked you to come out here," added Milton.
Gabby squinted in the midday sun. "Have you totally zoned? You wanted me to come out here for him?"
"Affirmative," said Milton. "Can we go inside and explain?" He glanced at Drogan, indicating he didn't want to talk around the big redhead.
Gabby checked with Michael and he nodded. She didn't know why she trusted him more than Milton. She knew them both the same, but still, his nod made following them into the house more reassuring. She was still aggravated from when Milton had made her rub his pants and if he was looking for a little personal buffing, he was going to be sorely mistaken. She was tops in her rank at martial arts games.
A high sing-song voice drifted from the entrance of the barn. "Drogan."
Drogan dropped his make-shift crossbow and burst into a sprint, kicking up gravel, running toward the barn. A face-wide grin was pasted across his face.
A strange apparition floated through the shadows of the trees. The girl looked like a featureless white peg with a mop of black hair stuck on top. Black bandages were wrapped around her eyes, but she didn't appear to have any difficulty avoiding the trees.
Gabby checked back with the other two.
"Celia," Milton said with a shrug.
This was the girl that Michael spent the night with? She couldn't quite picture it. What jealousy she felt evaporated as Drogan lumbered across the yard. She feared he would tackle the fragile girl.
At the last second, he slowed and swooped her off her feet. Celia squealed. The picture of Drogan spinning around, laughing, with the slight girl in his arms, black bandages across her face and white dress twirling beneath, made for a surreal picture.
Michael had gone into the farmhouse and Milton was motioning to follow. Gabby knew then what was different about the Frags--they didn't wear skins. She could see their flaws and zits and scars. Milton had reddish blotches on his face.
It was different than her friend Dario, who let sections of his real skin show. He only let the parts show that looked good. She was seeing their real selves.
"You guys don't wear skins," she blurted out.
Milton touched his face reflexively.
"Too much reliance on that unreality can confuse you on what's real and what's not," said Michael.
"Skins are as much reality as clothing," she said.
Michael scowled and his eyes burned with white-hot intensity. "Let them take that reality from you and they'll take the rest of your life while you're playing with all the buffest fashions."
They were standing in the farmhouse kitchen and Michael was gripping the edge of the counter as if he were trying to keep from falling. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he stared at a ceramic cat on the windowsill.
Gabby wasn't sure why Michael was so mad, but she regretted saying what she did.
"Would you like some water?" Milton asked, clearly trying to break the awkward silence.
"Yes, please," she said.
While Milton rooted through cabinets for a clean glass and wiped one out with a towel, Michael slowly relaxed his grip on the counter.
"Is Celia a Frag, too?" Gabby asked.
Gabby knew instantly that'd she'd asked the wrong question, when
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