“Maybe,” Julianna agreed, distractedly, at his observation. “If I’m honest, I think it’s just going to make things harder.” She paused in her work to smile at him gently. It was brief and she quickly returned to the task of cleaning the individual pieces she’d extracted from his arm. “That wildfire sort of attitude she had now probably isn’t going to extinguish. I’m not sure if I want it to.”
“If…” the mechanic had begun to say something, but stopped. Instead, she turned away from him in the stool before standing and moving to pull some more supplies from one of the overfilled shelves in her workspace. If she’s still alive had almost been the beginning of the sentence until she realized that she didn’t want to think that way. Her daughter was alive. She couldn’t bear to think of it in any other way. She was alive and this situation would only make her stronger.
More tools and solutions clattered on the table she had been using as she set them down before returning to the stool. “Yeah, that’s probably why,” she agreed, leaning over the synthetic arm. Her ponytail dropped over her shoulder as she squinted and tried to peer closer at the smaller and more ingrained components that couldn’t be removed. “Replacing them should help.” Using that small screwdriver again she began popping the nodes out and removing the leads from them. “I’m going to remove the limiter, but I can adjust the threshold. So, basically, like, if a resulting force is above so many Newtons, you won’t feel it. So, say, if you touch someone you will feel it, but if you punch someone you won’t.” She laughed softly, and began using a can of compressed air to sift sand and dirt out of the little nooks and crannies.
For a while she was silent, as if she wasn’t going to answer his personal question. Julianna was mostly hit or miss when it came to talking about herself, and she’d much rather talk about his arm. It was easier. “Yeah,” she said finally, attaching the wiring to new nodes and snapping them into place. “You could say I was something like that.” Again, she was quiet as she continued to put the arm back together.
“When I put this piece back in the feeling is going to return. It’s probably going to feel weird with the new thresholds, but you will get used to it.” With that as a warning she settled the final piece into place, and began re-situating the larger protective panels.
“If…” the mechanic had begun to say something, but stopped. Instead, she turned away from him in the stool before standing and moving to pull some more supplies from one of the overfilled shelves in her workspace. If she’s still alive had almost been the beginning of the sentence until she realized that she didn’t want to think that way. Her daughter was alive. She couldn’t bear to think of it in any other way. She was alive and this situation would only make her stronger.
More tools and solutions clattered on the table she had been using as she set them down before returning to the stool. “Yeah, that’s probably why,” she agreed, leaning over the synthetic arm. Her ponytail dropped over her shoulder as she squinted and tried to peer closer at the smaller and more ingrained components that couldn’t be removed. “Replacing them should help.” Using that small screwdriver again she began popping the nodes out and removing the leads from them. “I’m going to remove the limiter, but I can adjust the threshold. So, basically, like, if a resulting force is above so many Newtons, you won’t feel it. So, say, if you touch someone you will feel it, but if you punch someone you won’t.” She laughed softly, and began using a can of compressed air to sift sand and dirt out of the little nooks and crannies.
For a while she was silent, as if she wasn’t going to answer his personal question. Julianna was mostly hit or miss when it came to talking about herself, and she’d much rather talk about his arm. It was easier. “Yeah,” she said finally, attaching the wiring to new nodes and snapping them into place. “You could say I was something like that.” Again, she was quiet as she continued to put the arm back together.
“When I put this piece back in the feeling is going to return. It’s probably going to feel weird with the new thresholds, but you will get used to it.” With that as a warning she settled the final piece into place, and began re-situating the larger protective panels.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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Owen laughed at the description of Julianna’s daughter’s attitude. Wildfire. “Like her mother, eh? Wouldn’t want her to be too much like you, or how would you handle her?” He smirked at her and winked. Owen was trying to keep it light for Julianna’s sake. He would sense that speaking of her daughter pained her given the circumstances. Still, it helped to know what he would be dealing with.
Children could be unpredictable and any information he could get about the child’s disposition might be of help to them. Knowing she was a little fighter was a small comfort. He wouldn’t be dealing with some helpless mewling pathetic little human. Well, he would just have to see how pathetic the girl would be. It’s not like he could entirely trust an objective opinion from her mother.
Owen kept watch of what Julianna did with his arm. Partly because he figured it would be of benefit to learn how things worked in there and partly because he liked the nimble way her little fingers worked on him. There was a confidence to her touch that he couldn’t feel but could certainly see.
“Right. Sciency whatnot. Punching won’t hurt. Got it.” He made a finger gun with his other hand at her and grinned. Owen fell silent and listened to Julianna give a vague affirmative as to her personal history before she continued on explaining how his arm would function differently.
He felt a shock - nothing too terrible but it did make him jerk - when she reconnected the node that gave his arm sensation. It did immediately feel differently. Especially her hands working at replacing panels on his arm. He could really feel it but it had been so long since he had any decent sensation in the arm he almost didn’t understand what he was feeling. Owen lifted his head off the table and frowned at her as she worked connecting the visual with the sensation his brain was receiving.
“Huh.” When she was finished he sat up and lifted his arm to test the shoulder socket, elbow, wrist, and fingers all in turn. Everything functioned properly and it felt much more comfortable. He circled his arm around in the socket reveling in the lack of any grainy feeling to irritate him.
“This is great.” There was genuine enthusiasm in his voice having been freed of some seriously annoying discomfort. Unthinkingly Owen reached for her ponytail that rested over her shoulder from where it had fell. He felt the strands and cocked his head as if it were curious. “I think I forgot what soft felt like on this side. It’s really strange. It doesn’t feel like my arm. But it does. If that makes any sense? I don’t know.”
Owen snapped to from his reverie realizing that he was standing there stroking her hair. “Well, I guess I’m ready to do that job then.”
Children could be unpredictable and any information he could get about the child’s disposition might be of help to them. Knowing she was a little fighter was a small comfort. He wouldn’t be dealing with some helpless mewling pathetic little human. Well, he would just have to see how pathetic the girl would be. It’s not like he could entirely trust an objective opinion from her mother.
Owen kept watch of what Julianna did with his arm. Partly because he figured it would be of benefit to learn how things worked in there and partly because he liked the nimble way her little fingers worked on him. There was a confidence to her touch that he couldn’t feel but could certainly see.
“Right. Sciency whatnot. Punching won’t hurt. Got it.” He made a finger gun with his other hand at her and grinned. Owen fell silent and listened to Julianna give a vague affirmative as to her personal history before she continued on explaining how his arm would function differently.
He felt a shock - nothing too terrible but it did make him jerk - when she reconnected the node that gave his arm sensation. It did immediately feel differently. Especially her hands working at replacing panels on his arm. He could really feel it but it had been so long since he had any decent sensation in the arm he almost didn’t understand what he was feeling. Owen lifted his head off the table and frowned at her as she worked connecting the visual with the sensation his brain was receiving.
“Huh.” When she was finished he sat up and lifted his arm to test the shoulder socket, elbow, wrist, and fingers all in turn. Everything functioned properly and it felt much more comfortable. He circled his arm around in the socket reveling in the lack of any grainy feeling to irritate him.
“This is great.” There was genuine enthusiasm in his voice having been freed of some seriously annoying discomfort. Unthinkingly Owen reached for her ponytail that rested over her shoulder from where it had fell. He felt the strands and cocked his head as if it were curious. “I think I forgot what soft felt like on this side. It’s really strange. It doesn’t feel like my arm. But it does. If that makes any sense? I don’t know.”
Owen snapped to from his reverie realizing that he was standing there stroking her hair. “Well, I guess I’m ready to do that job then.”
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Scooting back in her chair to let him sit up, julianna watched as he tested the not-new but hopefully improved arm. Owen was surprised at first which she took as a good sign. She didn’t know how long ago he had lost the arm, but the sensations he was feeling now would have been lost to him since then, with the limiter in place. She stood when he stood, but didn’t move back farther, which left the two of them standing rather close. He reached for her and she almost pulled back, until she realized his intentions.
Julianna listened to him speak, working through all the new things he was feeling. Lost in what he was going. He blinked back into the present, and before he could pull away she grabbed his hand. “So, you can feel this?” She asked. She had turned his palm upright, and was stroking her own fingers gently over his. Julianna knew she could get away with touching him a bit longer under the guise of more tests. “And this?” She lifted his hand and placed it against the side of her face, cupping her cheek. She liked the way he had been touching her before. There was something needy in the way she gazed up at him, holding his hand against her face. Julianna wanted her daughter back, but a small part of her didn’t want him to go.
Julianna listened to him speak, working through all the new things he was feeling. Lost in what he was going. He blinked back into the present, and before he could pull away she grabbed his hand. “So, you can feel this?” She asked. She had turned his palm upright, and was stroking her own fingers gently over his. Julianna knew she could get away with touching him a bit longer under the guise of more tests. “And this?” She lifted his hand and placed it against the side of her face, cupping her cheek. She liked the way he had been touching her before. There was something needy in the way she gazed up at him, holding his hand against her face. Julianna wanted her daughter back, but a small part of her didn’t want him to go.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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His hand was easily yielded to her further testing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt someone touch that hand. The warmth of her finger tips seemed to radiate over the metallic surface of his hand. He could even feel that kind of tickling electric sensation that was elicited with gentle touch shooting from the center of his hand outward. It felt better than he remembered.
“Yes I can.”
His hand remained malleable for her to do as she pleased. He soon found the apple of her cheek, warm and soft, contained within his palm again. He exerted a gentle pressure against her cheek in response to the way she leaned her face into his touch.
“Yes. I can feel that.” His thumb skirted down her cheek to touch the swell of her bottom lip.
There was a hesitation between them. She failed to immediately dispatch him and he didn’t volunteer to excuse himself just yet. There was something in the moment that neither of them quite wanted to give up yet. He stepped closer to her. Even if she wanted to back away, he wouldn’t have let her. His arm free arm curled around her back to pull her against him as his mouth replaced the thumb that had touched her lips.
“Yes I can.”
His hand remained malleable for her to do as she pleased. He soon found the apple of her cheek, warm and soft, contained within his palm again. He exerted a gentle pressure against her cheek in response to the way she leaned her face into his touch.
“Yes. I can feel that.” His thumb skirted down her cheek to touch the swell of her bottom lip.
There was a hesitation between them. She failed to immediately dispatch him and he didn’t volunteer to excuse himself just yet. There was something in the moment that neither of them quite wanted to give up yet. He stepped closer to her. Even if she wanted to back away, he wouldn’t have let her. His arm free arm curled around her back to pull her against him as his mouth replaced the thumb that had touched her lips.
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Owen’s lips on hers somehow stole all the air from Julianna’s lungs as if she hadn’t expected him to kiss her just then. Why wouldn’t he? She had not been subtle in the way she had been asking him to do so. Since she had woken up beside him, with that same arm he had wrapped around her now thrown heavy across her abdomen. Since he had retrieved her bandana, without those pesky questions about what happened to her eye. She had wanted him to kiss her, because she felt like she could afford to be selfish just this once. This hell of a desert wasteland had taken everything from her, and now it’s inhabitants dared to claim her daughter.
What harm was there in one kiss goodbye from a handsome stranger at the the end of the world?
Pulling away was as easy as dropping off of her toes. Feet flat on the floor she was too short to reach unless he bent further down. And even if he did she had already turned her face away from him. Chin tilted downwards, she focused on the hollow point between his collarbones. Hands that had, at some point, reached for his face, smother down his arms until they dropped to hang at her side. “You should...uh.” Her voice was hoarse. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “You should probably go.”
Julianna turned out of his arms and started putting away the tools she had used on Owen’s arm. It wasn’t a proper goodbye. It was flippant and dismissive. It said a lot of things, she didn’t say. Like she expected him to come back so she could say them. She didn’t want to watch him leave.
He better come back.
What harm was there in one kiss goodbye from a handsome stranger at the the end of the world?
Pulling away was as easy as dropping off of her toes. Feet flat on the floor she was too short to reach unless he bent further down. And even if he did she had already turned her face away from him. Chin tilted downwards, she focused on the hollow point between his collarbones. Hands that had, at some point, reached for his face, smother down his arms until they dropped to hang at her side. “You should...uh.” Her voice was hoarse. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “You should probably go.”
Julianna turned out of his arms and started putting away the tools she had used on Owen’s arm. It wasn’t a proper goodbye. It was flippant and dismissive. It said a lot of things, she didn’t say. Like she expected him to come back so she could say them. She didn’t want to watch him leave.
He better come back.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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He let her pull away. The contact had already been too much. He had let himself go too far with her and now he would have to go back out into the unforgiving dust with the feeling of her lips burned into his mind.
His hands fell away from her.
“...go.” He said in time with her. “Yeah.” He agreed immediately after.
He watched her for a moment longer. She was occupying herself with the tools as if that were the most pressing task. But he knew her internal struggle. He resisted the urge to hug her from behind. Nuzzle her neck. And tell her everything would be fine.
Maybe he would have done that if they had been a couple five years ago standing around the kitchen worrying about bills.
But they weren’t.
And he wasn’t in the habit of making promises he couldn’t keep. Nothing was certain.
He left without another word. Only the sounds of his boots scraping the floor marked his departure.
Owen was markedly less loquacious upon his return to Darcy and the loaded truck. He brushed by his father and jerked open the truck door with a loud squeak. Owen wordlessly loaded up and slammed the door shut. He leaned out of the open window and pounded his hand on the door.
“Let’s fucking go already.”
Owen harangued Darcy moodily when it had been his own tete-a-tete with Julianna that was the reason for their delay.
His hands fell away from her.
“...go.” He said in time with her. “Yeah.” He agreed immediately after.
He watched her for a moment longer. She was occupying herself with the tools as if that were the most pressing task. But he knew her internal struggle. He resisted the urge to hug her from behind. Nuzzle her neck. And tell her everything would be fine.
Maybe he would have done that if they had been a couple five years ago standing around the kitchen worrying about bills.
But they weren’t.
And he wasn’t in the habit of making promises he couldn’t keep. Nothing was certain.
He left without another word. Only the sounds of his boots scraping the floor marked his departure.
Owen was markedly less loquacious upon his return to Darcy and the loaded truck. He brushed by his father and jerked open the truck door with a loud squeak. Owen wordlessly loaded up and slammed the door shut. He leaned out of the open window and pounded his hand on the door.
“Let’s fucking go already.”
Owen harangued Darcy moodily when it had been his own tete-a-tete with Julianna that was the reason for their delay.
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Darcy had finished loading the supplies, and was leaning against the driver’s side door. Toying with an old, defunct pocket watch and waiting for Owen to return. He could read his son’s sour mood from a mile away, and didn’t react when the other man snapped at him. He shoved the watch down in his coat pocket and climbed into his own side of the truck.
They left Sierra Madre, and kept a steading heading east, towards another outpost. The spot wasn’t full of the greatest personalities that the apocalypse had to offer, but it was a good place for information if you wanted to pay the price. Given Julianna’s determination to get her daughter back, they had plenty to throw around.
Owen remained mostly bitter and silent, which was not at all unusual, but there was something thicker about this silence and Darcy knew exactly what it was. “How’s the arm?” He spoke over the rumble of the truck and tested his son for conversation. “Or you just gonna be all shitty cuz you went and got all attached to a pretty mechanic.”
Well. Test over.
They left Sierra Madre, and kept a steading heading east, towards another outpost. The spot wasn’t full of the greatest personalities that the apocalypse had to offer, but it was a good place for information if you wanted to pay the price. Given Julianna’s determination to get her daughter back, they had plenty to throw around.
Owen remained mostly bitter and silent, which was not at all unusual, but there was something thicker about this silence and Darcy knew exactly what it was. “How’s the arm?” He spoke over the rumble of the truck and tested his son for conversation. “Or you just gonna be all shitty cuz you went and got all attached to a pretty mechanic.”
Well. Test over.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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Owen was perfectly happy stewing in his own irritated resentment for the state of the world until Darcy had to breach the silence. It was childish the way Owen refused to look at his father. He kept his eyes gazing out the window, focused in the far distance where the mountains passed slowly.
“I’m not attached.” He muttered before he fiddled with the radio. Maybe a few years ago there would have been something to blast to avoid conversation, but nowadays nothing but static played on the radio. That and the occasional help beacon, warning messages, and the military channel that played the same emergency message it had been playing for who even knew how long.
Owen shut the radio off as quickly as he had turned it on. “She fixed my arm is all.”
He shifted around and patted his pockets for the packet of cigarettes he had bargained someone for before they had left. Owen opened the pack and settled one between his lips. He held the pack out, a peace offering, if Darcy wanted one.
“She just fixed it.” He said again as a flame glowed in his cupped palms. He inhaled experimentally and peered at the cigarette suspiciously. It tasted well enough and was surprisingly not stale “For now that is. It’s only a matter of time before the thing is completely useless, so.” Owen finished dramatically. He had a flair for catastrophizing.
“I’m not attached.” He muttered before he fiddled with the radio. Maybe a few years ago there would have been something to blast to avoid conversation, but nowadays nothing but static played on the radio. That and the occasional help beacon, warning messages, and the military channel that played the same emergency message it had been playing for who even knew how long.
Owen shut the radio off as quickly as he had turned it on. “She fixed my arm is all.”
He shifted around and patted his pockets for the packet of cigarettes he had bargained someone for before they had left. Owen opened the pack and settled one between his lips. He held the pack out, a peace offering, if Darcy wanted one.
“She just fixed it.” He said again as a flame glowed in his cupped palms. He inhaled experimentally and peered at the cigarette suspiciously. It tasted well enough and was surprisingly not stale “For now that is. It’s only a matter of time before the thing is completely useless, so.” Owen finished dramatically. He had a flair for catastrophizing.
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Anita didn’t know where she was, and she didn’t know who had taken her. All she knew for sure was that she was very, very mad about it. Only a few days had passed while in the custody of her abductors, and she had been throwing an absolute fit over it the entire time. They had shackled her to the floor in the decrepit remains of an old jail. How convenient for them, to have these wrought iron cells still standing in the middle of the desert. Especially if kidnapping was their crime of choice for ill-gotten gains.
She had been riding with a scavenging party when she had been taken. Posted up on the back of Teagan’s Harley because her mother wouldn’t, yet, let her have her own. Whoever this rival gang was had been hiding in the dunes of a ghost town that the Sierra Madre had ridden through. Their bikes were accented in blue (as opposed to Sierra Madre’s signature green) and they had split up the party with ease and efficiency, weaving their bikes in and out of side streets unfamiliar to Anita and her procession. They’d singled out Teagan and Anita, and a rider had pulled up right next to them with no fear of a potential collision. He’d grabbed the back of Anita’s jacket and pulled off the back of the bike and to the ground. She rolled and skidded across rough red sand. Her jacket and jeans protected most of her body from unfortunate road rash, but her hands and her face stung with abrasions now filled with that shitty fucking dirt.
While the other rider continued to keep Teagan from doubling back to get her, a beat to hell pick-up truck, pulled up beside her before she could get her bearings. The two passengers got out and tossed her into the bed like she was nothing, despite efforts to fight them off.
The young woman hadn’t slept more than a few hours since she had been deposited in her keep. She screamed, instead. Yelling obscenities that characterized her annoyance, and rattling the chains and bars that kept her in place. Fading bruises still ached and the healing scabs on her face and hands felt stiff and itchy, but still she paced and disturbed the peace like a caged wildcat, and now she was a hungry wildcat since she’d turned away whatever they had tried to bring her that morning.
“What’s a girl got to do to get some fucking food around here,” she hollered, while knocking her chains against the bars.
She had been riding with a scavenging party when she had been taken. Posted up on the back of Teagan’s Harley because her mother wouldn’t, yet, let her have her own. Whoever this rival gang was had been hiding in the dunes of a ghost town that the Sierra Madre had ridden through. Their bikes were accented in blue (as opposed to Sierra Madre’s signature green) and they had split up the party with ease and efficiency, weaving their bikes in and out of side streets unfamiliar to Anita and her procession. They’d singled out Teagan and Anita, and a rider had pulled up right next to them with no fear of a potential collision. He’d grabbed the back of Anita’s jacket and pulled off the back of the bike and to the ground. She rolled and skidded across rough red sand. Her jacket and jeans protected most of her body from unfortunate road rash, but her hands and her face stung with abrasions now filled with that shitty fucking dirt.
While the other rider continued to keep Teagan from doubling back to get her, a beat to hell pick-up truck, pulled up beside her before she could get her bearings. The two passengers got out and tossed her into the bed like she was nothing, despite efforts to fight them off.
The young woman hadn’t slept more than a few hours since she had been deposited in her keep. She screamed, instead. Yelling obscenities that characterized her annoyance, and rattling the chains and bars that kept her in place. Fading bruises still ached and the healing scabs on her face and hands felt stiff and itchy, but still she paced and disturbed the peace like a caged wildcat, and now she was a hungry wildcat since she’d turned away whatever they had tried to bring her that morning.
“What’s a girl got to do to get some fucking food around here,” she hollered, while knocking her chains against the bars.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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Charlie was posted up down the prison hall at the end. She was leaned back in an executive chair of cracking leather with her boots up on a semi-crumbling desk. Her hands were folded over her abdomen and she was snoozing. Until the yelling started up again.
She woke with a start and her boots slipped off the desk with a dull thud on the floor. She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly in protest.
Charlie didn’t usually mind guard duty. Typically, it was the easiest of the things she was tasked with. It wasn’t like it was atypical for the captives to yell protestations to their captivity. But usually they tired of it very quickly. Thirst and the arid climate made yelling like that quite hard on the throat.
This one, though, kept at it. The prisoner had taken a break for a short nap for which Charlie was grateful, but now she was back making a racket again.
She should have ignored it. Just waited it out like the rest.
Charlie usually kept her head down. It was better that way.
If you looked at the ground, you didn’t have to look at all the horror going on around you. It wasn’t that Charlie was a weak person. She could only care her herself and her own.
And she had a good deal going.
She wouldn’t have joined up with the Brothers Hamada gang had they not offered her aid to help her ailing parents. For the moment, the exchange went well enough. She provided her expert services. She was a decent shot, could hold her own in a scrap, and having grown up scavenging she knew the landscape as good if not better than anyone their gang boasted.
So they provided food, water, and medicine. And she kept her parents hidden somewhere secret. They were her burden, not the sins of the gang.
But she did get up from her desk, that odd vestige of past times when people needed such things. She could barely remember the time before anymore. She kept herself focused on the present. And presently, an annoying prisoner was screaming about food.
Charlie’s boots announced their coming by the lazy scraping they made against the dusty floors. She sauntered in front of the cell where the new captive was being held and folded her arms under her breasts. She looked over the prisoner. This was supposed to be a girl of some importance. She didn’t really know anything. She didn’t necessarily want to know why they’d take some girl. It was easier to just do the whats and not ask the whys.
Charlie stared at the wild dust-reddened face that looked at her from behind the bars. She reached into her leather jacket and produced a candy bar in a familiar bright red wrapper.
“You like a Kit Kat?” She asked as the wrapper crinkled. She was so deconditioned to the scent of sugar that the smell of it seemed sickly in the close heat of the prison. “You wanna tell me your name?”
With a snap she broke off a small piece of the chocolate and held it between forefinger and thumb. She pushed her hand between the bars with the candy offering. A truce?
She woke with a start and her boots slipped off the desk with a dull thud on the floor. She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly in protest.
Charlie didn’t usually mind guard duty. Typically, it was the easiest of the things she was tasked with. It wasn’t like it was atypical for the captives to yell protestations to their captivity. But usually they tired of it very quickly. Thirst and the arid climate made yelling like that quite hard on the throat.
This one, though, kept at it. The prisoner had taken a break for a short nap for which Charlie was grateful, but now she was back making a racket again.
She should have ignored it. Just waited it out like the rest.
Charlie usually kept her head down. It was better that way.
If you looked at the ground, you didn’t have to look at all the horror going on around you. It wasn’t that Charlie was a weak person. She could only care her herself and her own.
And she had a good deal going.
She wouldn’t have joined up with the Brothers Hamada gang had they not offered her aid to help her ailing parents. For the moment, the exchange went well enough. She provided her expert services. She was a decent shot, could hold her own in a scrap, and having grown up scavenging she knew the landscape as good if not better than anyone their gang boasted.
So they provided food, water, and medicine. And she kept her parents hidden somewhere secret. They were her burden, not the sins of the gang.
But she did get up from her desk, that odd vestige of past times when people needed such things. She could barely remember the time before anymore. She kept herself focused on the present. And presently, an annoying prisoner was screaming about food.
Charlie’s boots announced their coming by the lazy scraping they made against the dusty floors. She sauntered in front of the cell where the new captive was being held and folded her arms under her breasts. She looked over the prisoner. This was supposed to be a girl of some importance. She didn’t really know anything. She didn’t necessarily want to know why they’d take some girl. It was easier to just do the whats and not ask the whys.
Charlie stared at the wild dust-reddened face that looked at her from behind the bars. She reached into her leather jacket and produced a candy bar in a familiar bright red wrapper.
“You like a Kit Kat?” She asked as the wrapper crinkled. She was so deconditioned to the scent of sugar that the smell of it seemed sickly in the close heat of the prison. “You wanna tell me your name?”
With a snap she broke off a small piece of the chocolate and held it between forefinger and thumb. She pushed her hand between the bars with the candy offering. A truce?
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Anita didn’t back away from the bars, but her disdainful gaze dropped from the face of her guard to the proffered candy as she approached. She had one blue eye and one green eye, both colors looked bright and almost out of place with her dark complexion, hued red. “Sugar gives you a burst of energy but makes you crash hard,” she advised, with too much sass to her tone. She sounded like she was quoting someone. “Plus, it dehydrates you.”
Finally, she backed away from the bars when the redhead’s hand snaked through the bars. Still waving the treat that was melting between her fingers, and the overbearing heat of the desert. She retreated back to a shadier part of her cell, boots scuffing the cracked concrete and kicking up dust. She dropped to the floor and observed her guard coolly through the bars. Anita didn’t know why she had decided to be a shithead when she was starving and the other woman was being rather kind to her.
It actually annoyed her more that the redhead was kind. Made figuring out why she had been taken even tougher.
“You don’t need my name,” Anita told her. “What difference does it make to you anyway?” She pulled one of her knees closer to the her chest, and propped her chin up on it. The other leg stuck straight out. “Are you guys gonna kill me or what? I’m not really cut out for the prisoner life. Kind of boring, and being in a cage makes me kind of...catty.”
Finally, she backed away from the bars when the redhead’s hand snaked through the bars. Still waving the treat that was melting between her fingers, and the overbearing heat of the desert. She retreated back to a shadier part of her cell, boots scuffing the cracked concrete and kicking up dust. She dropped to the floor and observed her guard coolly through the bars. Anita didn’t know why she had decided to be a shithead when she was starving and the other woman was being rather kind to her.
It actually annoyed her more that the redhead was kind. Made figuring out why she had been taken even tougher.
“You don’t need my name,” Anita told her. “What difference does it make to you anyway?” She pulled one of her knees closer to the her chest, and propped her chin up on it. The other leg stuck straight out. “Are you guys gonna kill me or what? I’m not really cut out for the prisoner life. Kind of boring, and being in a cage makes me kind of...catty.”
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
The following 1 user Likes megs's post: saronym
Charlie was momentarily mesmerized by the two tones of the prisoner's eyes. They were striking colors in a world that seemed muted by dust. When the woman cast her gaze downwards, Charlie cocked her head to try to capture her gaze again.
Charlie grinned seemingly amused by the prisoner's dietary guidance. It really wasn't wise to be too picky these days. A show of being tough. Charlie shrugged and popped a piece of Kit Kat into her mouth savoring the rush of sugar to her tongue. The flavor was so strong it made the roof of her mouth ache.
Charlie put the other pieces of Kit Kat back into the wrapper. Best not to eat her treat all at once. Besides maybe she could warm up the prisoner and get some interesting conversation for once.
“I'm Charlie.” She said ignoring the hostility emanating from inside the cell. “I don't know what they plan to do with you. I’m just guard duty.” She shrugged helpless in her lowy status. “I heard a rumor that you were someone important? So, maybe they plan to bargain with you or something.”
Charlie grinned seemingly amused by the prisoner's dietary guidance. It really wasn't wise to be too picky these days. A show of being tough. Charlie shrugged and popped a piece of Kit Kat into her mouth savoring the rush of sugar to her tongue. The flavor was so strong it made the roof of her mouth ache.
Charlie put the other pieces of Kit Kat back into the wrapper. Best not to eat her treat all at once. Besides maybe she could warm up the prisoner and get some interesting conversation for once.
“I'm Charlie.” She said ignoring the hostility emanating from inside the cell. “I don't know what they plan to do with you. I’m just guard duty.” She shrugged helpless in her lowy status. “I heard a rumor that you were someone important? So, maybe they plan to bargain with you or something.”
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Anita closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She'd taken off her jacket, the worn fabric of it had been shredded during her kidnapping, to find some relief from the oppressive heat. Her skinned hands and cheek stung."What's that short for?" She asked teasingly of the name she had been given. She assumed that 'Charlie' was a nickname.
Her eyes popped open and she dropped her head again to observe her company. "You always just a guard, Charlie?" Anita had this way of looking predatory, even though she was the one trapped in the caged. Her gaze traveled over the figure of the woman on the other side of the bars. "Let me guess: A bunch of fucking men are in charge and they don't let you do anything interesting because you're too smart for them."
Her eyes popped open and she dropped her head again to observe her company. "You always just a guard, Charlie?" Anita had this way of looking predatory, even though she was the one trapped in the caged. Her gaze traveled over the figure of the woman on the other side of the bars. "Let me guess: A bunch of fucking men are in charge and they don't let you do anything interesting because you're too smart for them."
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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