The getup is... racy to say the least, moreso even than some of what he's seen raiders pass for clothes. It really doesn't look like something any wastelander dons on purpose, either -- the criss-crossing leather straps and meager stretch of cloth wrapped tight around her chest (would barely qualify as a proper shirtsleeve on any other set of clothing), paired with nothing but a scant, dangerously short fringe of dirty fabric hanging off her hips, is most definitely not protecting her from the elements, let alone an assault. The unique axe he's heard-tell of is strapped to her back, blood dried on it still, but even with such a huge and intimidating weapon, she still looks small and fragile, dressed either for hard and humiliating labor or... maybe dressed for someone's sick fetish.
It strikes him again that she's utterly stunning, but what hits even harder is that at the same time she looks terrible. Smeared with soot and dirt, bare feet scratched and smeared with dried blood from a long walk without protection, she probably never even went through the gates at Megaton, else she'd likely have cleaned up and changed. If not slept, as she's obviously elected not to. On her rare stops through GNR her backpack is usually stuffed with more rations, medical supplies, weapons and ammo than even her suicidal schedule requires, gifts from grateful townsfolk that she by all accounts usually pays forward to the needy if they so much as cough in her presence. Right now, it looks mostly empty, but as she sets it down he can hear the all-too-familiar rattle of pills and syringes among (or maybe solely comprising) its few contents. Which explains the look of her, the unprecedented amount of visible skin blanched despite the tan she's developed since those first awful weeks of sun, the only distinct color left at the moment being an unhealthy darkness around her eyes so deep they look more bruised than anything. Her limbs tremble, slightly but visibly, either weak or wired.
Her smile is exhausted, as it should be, and she looks to be operating solely on a chem-assisted second wind. Her hound barks accusingly at him, and does a small circuit around 101's legs, hackles raised.
Three Dog is halfway out of his chair already, and realizes he just cut off mid-sentence. He pauses long enough to consider apologizing and finishing what he was saying, but can't remember off hand exactly where he was and figures they probably got the gist anyway, so he hurriedly mashes the keys to get the music going. Another button press quiets the speakers here in the studio, and he's satisfied enough having done that to finish bolting to his feet.
"Uh--hey, don't get up on my account," she says with a casuality that completely flies in the face of her beaten appearance, holding out a placating hand. "Really, sit back down. I'll pull up a chair, too. I could use a sit."
"No offense, kid, but you could definitely use more than that."
Her expression turns defensive, uncharacteristically angry for one heated moment. "Since when do you care if I--"
She stops and shakes her head, apparently realizing that particular uncharacteristic jab was the chems and the exhaustion talking. That bruised and battered and hyped up, he'd probably be pretty cranky too, but the unbidden memory of her return from the Museum of Technology freezes him in place for a moment.
When it passes, he's got the presence of mind not to lash out right back at her. Since when do I care my ass.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Since When, 2b/3
Date: 2012-06-18 07:03 pm (UTC)It strikes him again that she's utterly stunning, but what hits even harder is that at the same time she looks terrible. Smeared with soot and dirt, bare feet scratched and smeared with dried blood from a long walk without protection, she probably never even went through the gates at Megaton, else she'd likely have cleaned up and changed. If not slept, as she's obviously elected not to. On her rare stops through GNR her backpack is usually stuffed with more rations, medical supplies, weapons and ammo than even her suicidal schedule requires, gifts from grateful townsfolk that she by all accounts usually pays forward to the needy if they so much as cough in her presence. Right now, it looks mostly empty, but as she sets it down he can hear the all-too-familiar rattle of pills and syringes among (or maybe solely comprising) its few contents. Which explains the look of her, the unprecedented amount of visible skin blanched despite the tan she's developed since those first awful weeks of sun, the only distinct color left at the moment being an unhealthy darkness around her eyes so deep they look more bruised than anything. Her limbs tremble, slightly but visibly, either weak or wired.
Her smile is exhausted, as it should be, and she looks to be operating solely on a chem-assisted second wind. Her hound barks accusingly at him, and does a small circuit around 101's legs, hackles raised.
Three Dog is halfway out of his chair already, and realizes he just cut off mid-sentence. He pauses long enough to consider apologizing and finishing what he was saying, but can't remember off hand exactly where he was and figures they probably got the gist anyway, so he hurriedly mashes the keys to get the music going. Another button press quiets the speakers here in the studio, and he's satisfied enough having done that to finish bolting to his feet.
"Uh--hey, don't get up on my account," she says with a casuality that completely flies in the face of her beaten appearance, holding out a placating hand. "Really, sit back down. I'll pull up a chair, too. I could use a sit."
"No offense, kid, but you could definitely use more than that."
Her expression turns defensive, uncharacteristically angry for one heated moment. "Since when do you care if I--"
She stops and shakes her head, apparently realizing that particular uncharacteristic jab was the chems and the exhaustion talking. That bruised and battered and hyped up, he'd probably be pretty cranky too, but the unbidden memory of her return from the Museum of Technology freezes him in place for a moment.
When it passes, he's got the presence of mind not to lash out right back at her. Since when do I care my ass.