>Be Sabah
>Recently moved into town
>Did everything right your whole life but the 'land of opportunity' turned your kids gay and your husband spineless
>Pray 20 times a day for their souls and yours
>Is there nothing you can do?
>Doorbell rings
>Open door to find young ptero in green. Poor posture, looks dead inside. He sighs
>Mumbles something about wanting to welcome her to the neighborhood
>Clearly forced to do so by his parents
>His eyes spark with life the moment he looks past you
>"Is that a...!"
>Look over your shoulder. See the old gun he's gawking at. Grandfather's rifle used by father during the old war back home
>The barrel's corroded, stock's damaged. Nothing more than a relic now
>About to turn him away. Pause. Realization dawns. God has answered your prayers
>Good jaw, gentle eyes, pretty cute. Smells like gunpowder but it makes you nostalgic
>Smile warmly
>Invite him in. There are more relics from your father's time
>He doesn't hesitate. You close the door behind him
>Starts fact slinging about its make and model. Always wanted to see one. Mentions lend-lease and countries you never knew of
>You smile. He's smart. Something your line clearly needs. Lean against him. He doesn't mind or notice
>"There's more upstairs." He agrees without question
>Its deceptively easy being Greene