WHO: John Connor, generally open to Dependables.
WHERE: Atatla Hotel - John Connor's Room
WHEN: Friday, Saturday, Maybe Sunday. Loose with time here. Damn those Connors. DAMN THEM.
WARNINGS: None yet, I'll edit if that changes. Connor Cursing, I guess?
SUMMARY: BY FAR the most 'exciting' part of any action movie, obviously, is the part where the
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She grimaced.
"Grab the tweezers? Some assfuck decided I looked like I needed a fucking Coke." Upside the head. There were pieces she could feel but not see. "I was trying to let you work, but, as long as you're here..." Sarah gestured with the bloody towel, exasperated with events in general.
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She braced herself against the sink and closed her eyes, letting the pain wash through her.
"I was in there soaking up el chisme," she spat, "not to get my ass in a fight with the local culeros. It was fine until everyone started punching everyone else. Fucking Mexico."
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Her head throbbed and she scowled, even though that made it worse. Too much tension. Her fingers reached to inspect the damage.
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"It doesn't make sense," she muttered. "I get that some of these assholes are out for justice and righting wrongs, but...fucking doing that in the bar was stupid as hell. Fucking kangaroo." Her brows furrowed.
"I was actually going to bring you some coffee," she added, like that's what she'd been talking about all along. Sarah's voice slid to dry and decidedly amused. "Figured you wouldn't want blood in it, though. Ruins the fucking flavor."
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She soaped up her hands and up to her elbows, carefully, and rinsed them until her skin was red--only then satisfied that she was clean. Sarah did it without moving too much--just a lean here and there.
"You coming along okay?" she asked after a moment of silence.
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That was the Mom voice rearing--she couldn't help that. Not in a million fucking years. His face was tight, too, like the set of his shoulders. Sarah popped the top on an Advil bottle and shook out six before turning to face him. Her fingertips touched his chin lightly and she let out the barest of huffs before putting three pills into his palm.
"Soon, John," she murmured. Her eyebrows arched as she knocked back her pills and chased it with a gulp from her own bottle of water.
Be a good girl and take your medicine, Sarah.
She ignored the ghost of Pescadero that followed her every time she took a pill and focused on John's face.
"Promise?" Her palm cupped his cheek gently and was gone an instant later.
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