Draco-Love

Beaten and bruised, she walks side by side with him, head held high, and he is still in awe. Burma is not much better than the muddy trenches of the Somme, but he can see her now, not crouching down, without a tin hat shielding her face, without the Lee-Enfield perpetually slung over her shoulder. She is weaker, he knows, because of the famine that has racked her land and her bones with sickness and hunger. Yet the difference is almost imperceptible; she stands toe to toe with any other, eyes still fiercely brilliant as ever. He passes off his ever constant interest in her as a product of boredom. He does not accompany the scraggly infantry

As the woman opened her eyes, she was greeted with a dark, muffled nothing. Letting out the quietest of groans, she reached a hand over the pillow, and tugged it from over her face, the onslaught of bright yellow rays peering in from their window causing her to squint slightly in discomfort, moving just a tad, so that she could avoid the unwelcome sunlight. Letting out a long, slow exhale, she pushed the stray tresses of her dark hair out of her eyes, her mouth turned down just a tad in a light grimace, as Amira looked toward the alarm clock on her side of the bed. It was only seven AM. Sighing, Amira fell back on the bed, shutting her eyes

A pale hand smacked the table, his exhausted green eyes positioned on the wooden floor, "A shot of whiskey." The bartender looked up in surprise, taking in the man, his only customer at this moment, many of the others having left a couple hours ago. The man hadn't been in here in quite a while, but when he did come, he usually drank his weight in alcohol. Ahh, but he was one of his best customers, so he didn't mind...too much. The man always mumbled under his breath, whenever he got drunk, sometimes yelling rather loudly. It made him pity him a bit, but many other men here had done the same. People drank to forget, and to relieve their burden