“Drummer.” Blue Scarf is Drummer, who knows how she got the name.
“That’s me, Boss,” Drummer agrees, drops her chin, makes like she’s going to duck her head, grins as she buried her chin in her scarf.
“I’ll remember,” Lucinda agrees, turns back to the tent flap. “You three, follow me.”
“Yezzum,” Dice Pouch agrees, steps out of the tent first, followed by Lucinda, then Nose-Woman, then Maybe-Braids.
She leads them up toward the Fort, and to weather station, Dice Pouch dropping back behind Nose-Woman and Maybe-Braids both, leaving Nose-Woman at Lucinda’s elbow as they wind across the dam and up the hill.
“So, shit, you really are the courier,” Nose-Woman keeps up a running commentary, her hands folded together and resting on top of her stomach. She’s still agile, for as heavily pregnant as she is. Keeps up easily. “You, uh, shit, you're not really what any of us thought you’d be, you know? You’re a lot shorter, first off. Was expecting someone who looked like Twist here.” Nose-Woman jerks her thumb at Maybe-Braids. That’s what the hairstyle is--twists. “Big fuckin’, brick house of a woman, right? Not--no offense, but--not some weedy tribal fuck y’know?”
“I’m not that weedy,” Lucinda replies. Digs her hands into her pockets, swings her feet wide as she walks. She’s shorter than all three of the other women--Twist must be over six feet, Nose-Woman has to be over five and a half, same with Dice Pouch-- but she’s not that short. She’s well-fed. She’s not weedy.
“Everyone’s weedy when you think you’re gonna get Twist, though,” Nose-Woman points out. “Shi,t man, I’m weedy when you stick me next to her and I ain’t no scrawny little starving tribe remnant. They kept feeding me, ain’t gonna starve out an occupied womb, right? Ain’t gonna kill off two bodies when you can still maybe turn one of ‘em into a soldier or a slave, right? Ain’t no reason to kill off two when you can still get a fresh one outta the other.”
Twist snorts, and so does Lucinda. Nose-Woman takes it as encouragement.
“I mean, shit I heard, uh, the older kid. The real pregnant one?” Lucinda nods when Nose-Woman pauses. “Heard she ain’t got a choice with the kid.”
Lucinda hums, doesn’t say anything about Pregnant Teen, bulls her shoulders wider as they approach the training ring. There are hundreds of new boys here, now, who don’t know who she is. Maybe they’ll respect the scarf, but more likely they won’t.
“Y’know, she’s a good kid.” Nose-Woman continues, gets her hands in on the act. “She cooks real nice, y'know, can do a whole lot with what shitty stuff they’ve been giving us this whole time.”
“Well, rations probably aren’t going to get better,” Lucinda offers. “They’re not doing this to keep us alive.”
Nose-Woman stays quiet for a minute, but Twist laughs, and Dice Pouch snorts.
“How dead they want you?” Twist asks.
“Pretty fucking dead,” Lucinda replies. She can see the man coming before he reaches them, braces for it.
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timeasmymeasure
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (3c/?)
Date: 2016-02-23 10:29 pm (UTC)Lucinda nods.
“Drummer.” Blue Scarf is Drummer, who knows how she got the name.
“That’s me, Boss,” Drummer agrees, drops her chin, makes like she’s going to duck her head, grins as she buried her chin in her scarf.
“I’ll remember,” Lucinda agrees, turns back to the tent flap. “You three, follow me.”
“Yezzum,” Dice Pouch agrees, steps out of the tent first, followed by Lucinda, then Nose-Woman, then Maybe-Braids.
She leads them up toward the Fort, and to weather station, Dice Pouch dropping back behind Nose-Woman and Maybe-Braids both, leaving Nose-Woman at Lucinda’s elbow as they wind across the dam and up the hill.
“So, shit, you really are the courier,” Nose-Woman keeps up a running commentary, her hands folded together and resting on top of her stomach. She’s still agile, for as heavily pregnant as she is. Keeps up easily. “You, uh, shit, you're not really what any of us thought you’d be, you know? You’re a lot shorter, first off. Was expecting someone who looked like Twist here.” Nose-Woman jerks her thumb at Maybe-Braids. That’s what the hairstyle is--twists. “Big fuckin’, brick house of a woman, right? Not--no offense, but--not some weedy tribal fuck y’know?”
“I’m not that weedy,” Lucinda replies. Digs her hands into her pockets, swings her feet wide as she walks. She’s shorter than all three of the other women--Twist must be over six feet, Nose-Woman has to be over five and a half, same with Dice Pouch-- but she’s not that short. She’s well-fed. She’s not weedy.
“Everyone’s weedy when you think you’re gonna get Twist, though,” Nose-Woman points out. “Shi,t man, I’m weedy when you stick me next to her and I ain’t no scrawny little starving tribe remnant. They kept feeding me, ain’t gonna starve out an occupied womb, right? Ain’t gonna kill off two bodies when you can still maybe turn one of ‘em into a soldier or a slave, right? Ain’t no reason to kill off two when you can still get a fresh one outta the other.”
Twist snorts, and so does Lucinda. Nose-Woman takes it as encouragement.
“I mean, shit I heard, uh, the older kid. The real pregnant one?” Lucinda nods when Nose-Woman pauses. “Heard she ain’t got a choice with the kid.”
Lucinda hums, doesn’t say anything about Pregnant Teen, bulls her shoulders wider as they approach the training ring. There are hundreds of new boys here, now, who don’t know who she is. Maybe they’ll respect the scarf, but more likely they won’t.
“Y’know, she’s a good kid.” Nose-Woman continues, gets her hands in on the act. “She cooks real nice, y'know, can do a whole lot with what shitty stuff they’ve been giving us this whole time.”
“Well, rations probably aren’t going to get better,” Lucinda offers. “They’re not doing this to keep us alive.”
Nose-Woman stays quiet for a minute, but Twist laughs, and Dice Pouch snorts.
“How dead they want you?” Twist asks.
“Pretty fucking dead,” Lucinda replies. She can see the man coming before he reaches them, braces for it.