Obvs I have given up on taking out these "Re:"s. Just kill me.
-----
Eventually, she seems to gather up the words. "Had to do a bit of under-cover infiltration."
"Dressed like that?" He keeps his cool mostly due to long practice, but he can see where the implications are going.
"Big slaving operation." She waves a slightly lethargic, shaking hand, brushing it off as nothing. "Paradise Falls was just the proverbial spring feeding a river. The river, incidentally, flows north and dumps into a cesspool called the Pitt."
No amount of chems could strip her vocabulary from her, it seems. It's a good sign she's so lucid. Or maybe an awful one.
He watches her for a moment, willing her to go on without his having to ask again, 'what happened to you,' or more pointed and specific questions. All the possibilities that his mind is filling in, the ones no mane could prevent with her dressed like that and wearing those bruises on her skin and neck.
She glances at his face, then back down, and slumps a little, maintaining as best she can that worn-out quirk of a smile on her full lips. He takes in the pale frosting of dead skin across her lower lip for a moment, eyes drifting down to an angry black and purple bruise across the right side of her jaw. A small cut near her hairline. "We staged a revolution," she goes on.
"We?" Or you?
"Me, Wernher, Midea. The slavers are out of power. The Pitt belongs to the free slaves now. It took... a lot of work." She leans her head across the back of her chair and closes her eyes a moment, sighing, but as languid as she is closing her eyes seems be a chore. Keeping them closed. One moment she seems she'll pass out on the next breath, the next she's shaking with an unnatural energy that only seems to drain her more. "I have to go back, now and then. See how things are going. There's still so much to do to get everything stable... But we'll get there."
The note of hope sounds much more in character, and he's relieved to hear it.
"Did you miss me?"
The question is so candid and off-topic, he's taken aback for a moment. But the answer seems obvious, and comes easily. "Of course. Didn't you hear me say? The place is just shit without you."
She opens one eye and gives him a wry look. "Needed a hero?"
Three Dog snorts. "There's always someone to play hero. No one does it quite like you, though."
"That the only reason?"
He can't be bothered with being offended. "No."
She watches him a moment, maybe waiting for more, waiting for a list of reasons he'd miss her that aren't selfish, aren't things he needed done, people he wanted saved. He could give them to her, but he's not sure how to word it. So he doesn't. "Why didn't you stop to rest somewhere? Get yourself back in order. Why charge all the way here without even changing out of..." He gestures vaguely and helplessly at the slave outfit. She looks down at it again and shrugs.
"Had to stop at the Citadel anyway, see what's what, what needs doing now I'm back. Too much on my mind to stop, anyway."
"That doesn't make sense," he counters, brow knitting in confusion. "What, you've got a lot to think about, so you don't?"
"Ever notice how it's easier to not get dragged down by your problems if you throw yourself at someone else's instead?"
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timeasmymeasure
Since When, 2d/3
Date: 2012-06-18 07:06 pm (UTC)-----
Eventually, she seems to gather up the words. "Had to do a bit of under-cover infiltration."
"Dressed like that?" He keeps his cool mostly due to long practice, but he can see where the implications are going.
"Big slaving operation." She waves a slightly lethargic, shaking hand, brushing it off as nothing. "Paradise Falls was just the proverbial spring feeding a river. The river, incidentally, flows north and dumps into a cesspool called the Pitt."
No amount of chems could strip her vocabulary from her, it seems. It's a good sign she's so lucid. Or maybe an awful one.
He watches her for a moment, willing her to go on without his having to ask again, 'what happened to you,' or more pointed and specific questions. All the possibilities that his mind is filling in, the ones no mane could prevent with her dressed like that and wearing those bruises on her skin and neck.
She glances at his face, then back down, and slumps a little, maintaining as best she can that worn-out quirk of a smile on her full lips. He takes in the pale frosting of dead skin across her lower lip for a moment, eyes drifting down to an angry black and purple bruise across the right side of her jaw. A small cut near her hairline. "We staged a revolution," she goes on.
"We?" Or you?
"Me, Wernher, Midea. The slavers are out of power. The Pitt belongs to the free slaves now. It took... a lot of work." She leans her head across the back of her chair and closes her eyes a moment, sighing, but as languid as she is closing her eyes seems be a chore. Keeping them closed. One moment she seems she'll pass out on the next breath, the next she's shaking with an unnatural energy that only seems to drain her more. "I have to go back, now and then. See how things are going. There's still so much to do to get everything stable... But we'll get there."
The note of hope sounds much more in character, and he's relieved to hear it.
"Did you miss me?"
The question is so candid and off-topic, he's taken aback for a moment. But the answer seems obvious, and comes easily. "Of course. Didn't you hear me say? The place is just shit without you."
She opens one eye and gives him a wry look. "Needed a hero?"
Three Dog snorts. "There's always someone to play hero. No one does it quite like you, though."
"That the only reason?"
He can't be bothered with being offended. "No."
She watches him a moment, maybe waiting for more, waiting for a list of reasons he'd miss her that aren't selfish, aren't things he needed done, people he wanted saved. He could give them to her, but he's not sure how to word it. So he doesn't. "Why didn't you stop to rest somewhere? Get yourself back in order. Why charge all the way here without even changing out of..." He gestures vaguely and helplessly at the slave outfit. She looks down at it again and shrugs.
"Had to stop at the Citadel anyway, see what's what, what needs doing now I'm back. Too much on my mind to stop, anyway."
"That doesn't make sense," he counters, brow knitting in confusion. "What, you've got a lot to think about, so you don't?"
"Ever notice how it's easier to not get dragged down by your problems if you throw yourself at someone else's instead?"