Once Badou asked him if he saw the world in black and white.
It was a smart-ass question, of course, likening him to a dog. So his only answer was a swift smack to the back of the ginger’s head.
No, he didn’t see the world in black and white. Though, in their time, it might has well have been. The constant murk of the atmosphere saturated the colour spectrum, making everything dull and boring.
Everything… Except that dumbass.
He was a flurry of oranges and reds and colours, colours, colours.
So much so it almost hurt Heine’s eyes, watching that idiot scramble around pumping bastards full of shitty-tasting bullets.
The colours were as irritating as the man himself.
But if ever there came a time where he did see the world in black and white— he prayed to the God he knew didn’t exist that he’d at least be able to see those obnoxious oranges.
