There was no point in telling a lie. "I was set on fire." A pause. "As were you."
She shrugged, nonchalance a hard shell formed by years of drunk Wasteland fucks coming in to get their rocks off and blurting out the first thing they thought upon seeing her.
Joshua tapped a fingertip on the railing, a heartbeat staccato of crusted tissue struck against the wood. "Out of curiosity," he said. Tap, tap, tap. "Have you heard much about the work done by the New Vegas Medical Clinic?"
"For..." She gestured at herself, her chest, the rivulets of melted skin pouring down her neck.
"Yes." He stopped tapping and looked at his hand. Some time this evening the skin had cracked along his knuckles and he hadn't noticed, so used to the thousand little agonies of each day that the arrival of another weeping wound had passed his attention entirely. "I assumed you would know."
Pretty Sarah shrugged, her expression unreadable. "I tried. I got a few tendons working, could turn my head again."
The unspoken sentence was as obvious as if she'd shouted it. It was more than I'd expected. It wasn't enough.
Pretty Sarah swallowed and folded her arms tight, her mask of businesslike indifference returning to its rightful place. "Don't forget to settle with Marco when you leave in the morning." She paused. "Good luck. Guess you'll be needing it."
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy," quoted Joshua, and he tapped his finger once, twice more. "Good luck to...?"
"Sarah," she supplied. "It's Sarah."
"Joshua." Tap. "Good luck to us both, Sarah, and the skins we live in."
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timeasmymeasure
Joshua Graham + Pretty Sarah, 'The Skin We Live In' 2/2
Date: 2012-04-05 11:08 pm (UTC)She shrugged, nonchalance a hard shell formed by years of drunk Wasteland fucks coming in to get their rocks off and blurting out the first thing they thought upon seeing her.
Joshua tapped a fingertip on the railing, a heartbeat staccato of crusted tissue struck against the wood. "Out of curiosity," he said. Tap, tap, tap. "Have you heard much about the work done by the New Vegas Medical Clinic?"
"For..." She gestured at herself, her chest, the rivulets of melted skin pouring down her neck.
"Yes." He stopped tapping and looked at his hand. Some time this evening the skin had cracked along his knuckles and he hadn't noticed, so used to the thousand little agonies of each day that the arrival of another weeping wound had passed his attention entirely. "I assumed you would know."
Pretty Sarah shrugged, her expression unreadable. "I tried. I got a few tendons working, could turn my head again."
The unspoken sentence was as obvious as if she'd shouted it. It was more than I'd expected. It wasn't enough.
Pretty Sarah swallowed and folded her arms tight, her mask of businesslike indifference returning to its rightful place. "Don't forget to settle with Marco when you leave in the morning." She paused. "Good luck. Guess you'll be needing it."
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy," quoted Joshua, and he tapped his finger once, twice more. "Good luck to...?"
"Sarah," she supplied. "It's Sarah."
"Joshua." Tap. "Good luck to us both, Sarah, and the skins we live in."