The Courier didn’t though, just leaned over him in, what in his mind was, patronizing manner.
“I wear protective gear. You wear these,” her finger was quick and flicked lightly across the bridge of his sunglasses. It surprised him and he hit the back of his head against the wall behind. Not much, it didn’t hurt… and he immediately pulled upright once he realized that he had backpedaled from her touch. She didn’t seem to notice, or pretended not to as was Dean’s conclusion, and had returned to trying to repair the machine.
He sneered at how nauseating it was. Dean Domino did not backpedal. He might make a tactical retreat or use the long way around, but he did not balk like a frightened schoolgirl. And what possessed her to constantly intrude upon his personal space bubble?! He felt ill prepared for this; which was absurd because Dean Domino had once been the master of the game – on top of it! Sierra Madre wasn’t kind on his looks, now it looked like his ability to charm was affected as well.
His head turned to the sound of familiar loud hissing and a thick metal clang coming from the outside. By the sound of it, it had to be the furthest one out. She had reset the bear-traps all the way up to the collapsed wall and Dean suspected that one of the Ghost People had walked right into one. Hopefully, it would serve as a warning to the rest to keep their distance. Unless they knew how to dismantle them. There was always that little worm of doubt, nagging, questioning… Making him wonder what exactly did the Ghost People know to do. Still, there was always a second line of explosive defense.
“They are crawling back on the streets out there. Your tinkering had better work, postman, or no hologram will be able to save us.”
“I have a name, singer,” she called from the table, her voice sapped in patience as she didn’t want the bother of correcting him. Courier, postman… how would the ghoul stuck in a desert resort for 200 years know the difference in the new world? Couriers did more than just deliver mail.
“Not one for introductions, then. Manners must have gone the way of the bombs.” Deep sarcasm was punctuated by him dragging in smoke of his cigar.
“You haven’t asked.”
“Me? I introduced myself when we first met. I cannot say the opposite happened.”
‘No you didn’t,’ she corrected him silently. Elijah had given her his name. “Guilty.”
“You certainly are.”
She paused, lips pressed into a thin line under that helmet. “…That’s my name.”
Silence stretched like an old world rubber, only to be punctured by a cough and a puff of smoke. “Pardon?”
She let out a sigh. It was a bad idea to tell him. There was a snigger behind her. The type of snigger that had a snigger all of its own. A capricious sound of superiority which could only be accredited to Dean Domino. Hell, he might own a patent of it.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” More silence, as she was determent not to react. There was no point to it. After all, this was not the first time her name had run into this kind of reception. Dean snorted a twisted laugh. “Well, I wasn’t far off the mark when I said your Ma thought you to be something special.”
“I guess you weren’t. Then again, being a ghoul she had the time to cultivate intuition.”
A swift click of a jaw. As predicted, the comment made him snap shut, and the moment stretched into a lengthy silence. It allowed her to work in peace for once. Hacking through the system which was on the verge of collapsing, she mulled over choking strangeness of Sierra Madre and individuals she was forced to team up with. Big MT made her feel excitement and tantalizing fear at every turn, every facility a playground to be explored; Sierra Madre made her fight for each breath and minute of her life. It might be equally enticing in some masochistic way… but, there was no Sink here to return to, to rest her feet and to let the chatting of its inhabitants lull her to sleep.
“How did that work exactly?”
Of course, it was only a matter of time before his curiosity got the better of him.
“How did what work?”
“Ghoul. Being your mother. I can’t imagine many family traits being passed down-…”
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timeasmymeasure
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5b
Date: 2013-03-20 08:10 am (UTC)“I wear protective gear. You wear these,” her finger was quick and flicked lightly across the bridge of his sunglasses. It surprised him and he hit the back of his head against the wall behind. Not much, it didn’t hurt… and he immediately pulled upright once he realized that he had backpedaled from her touch. She didn’t seem to notice, or pretended not to as was Dean’s conclusion, and had returned to trying to repair the machine.
He sneered at how nauseating it was. Dean Domino did not backpedal. He might make a tactical retreat or use the long way around, but he did not balk like a frightened schoolgirl. And what possessed her to constantly intrude upon his personal space bubble?! He felt ill prepared for this; which was absurd because Dean Domino had once been the master of the game – on top of it! Sierra Madre wasn’t kind on his looks, now it looked like his ability to charm was affected as well.
His head turned to the sound of familiar loud hissing and a thick metal clang coming from the outside. By the sound of it, it had to be the furthest one out. She had reset the bear-traps all the way up to the collapsed wall and Dean suspected that one of the Ghost People had walked right into one. Hopefully, it would serve as a warning to the rest to keep their distance. Unless they knew how to dismantle them. There was always that little worm of doubt, nagging, questioning… Making him wonder what exactly did the Ghost People know to do. Still, there was always a second line of explosive defense.
“They are crawling back on the streets out there. Your tinkering had better work, postman, or no hologram will be able to save us.”
“I have a name, singer,” she called from the table, her voice sapped in patience as she didn’t want the bother of correcting him. Courier, postman… how would the ghoul stuck in a desert resort for 200 years know the difference in the new world? Couriers did more than just deliver mail.
“Not one for introductions, then. Manners must have gone the way of the bombs.” Deep sarcasm was punctuated by him dragging in smoke of his cigar.
“You haven’t asked.”
“Me? I introduced myself when we first met. I cannot say the opposite happened.”
‘No you didn’t,’ she corrected him silently. Elijah had given her his name. “Guilty.”
“You certainly are.”
She paused, lips pressed into a thin line under that helmet. “…That’s my name.”
Silence stretched like an old world rubber, only to be punctured by a cough and a puff of smoke. “Pardon?”
She let out a sigh. It was a bad idea to tell him. There was a snigger behind her. The type of snigger that had a snigger all of its own. A capricious sound of superiority which could only be accredited to Dean Domino. Hell, he might own a patent of it.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” More silence, as she was determent not to react. There was no point to it. After all, this was not the first time her name had run into this kind of reception. Dean snorted a twisted laugh. “Well, I wasn’t far off the mark when I said your Ma thought you to be something special.”
“I guess you weren’t. Then again, being a ghoul she had the time to cultivate intuition.”
A swift click of a jaw. As predicted, the comment made him snap shut, and the moment stretched into a lengthy silence. It allowed her to work in peace for once. Hacking through the system which was on the verge of collapsing, she mulled over choking strangeness of Sierra Madre and individuals she was forced to team up with. Big MT made her feel excitement and tantalizing fear at every turn, every facility a playground to be explored; Sierra Madre made her fight for each breath and minute of her life. It might be equally enticing in some masochistic way… but, there was no Sink here to return to, to rest her feet and to let the chatting of its inhabitants lull her to sleep.
“How did that work exactly?”
Of course, it was only a matter of time before his curiosity got the better of him.
“How did what work?”
“Ghoul. Being your mother. I can’t imagine many family traits being passed down-…”