Wat u guys doin? We need moar srs.
"C'mon, God dammit, come on..."
A pianist's fingers were supposed to be long, but even Fitzpatrick the prodigy couldn't have hoped to save his last few dollars from that ravenous, carnival-music-spitting coin slot. He pulled his hand back out and gave the machine about a dozen cursing whacks with his foot, shook it as well as he could with invalid's hands, and kicked again so hard his teeth chattered. The first-aid kit he'd so hopefully ordered, still, refused to fall out.
Kyle unwound the old bandages slightly from one of his hands and stuffed his blistery fingers in his mouth. Just for a second, just because they hurt, even though he was well aware it'd only be more painful when they got infected later. And he could scarcely afford infection, with his hands always working, working down to the bone on the old bat's piano. He needed to keep working them, because it was, at least, safer in the theater than anywhere else... safer than out here. He could always hear Cohen coming, but some of those splicers, nobody could hear coming.
The man took a cursory glace around and sat down with his back up against the cackling Circus of Values, too intent on being disgruntled and sucking his blisters to bother even loading the gun in his pocket.
If I say he's alive, he's alive. Let's all just do an au timewarp mashup magic limbo land or something, how about. >>;;
A pianist's fingers were supposed to be long, but even Fitzpatrick the prodigy couldn't have hoped to save his last few dollars from that ravenous, carnival-music-spitting coin slot. He pulled his hand back out and gave the machine about a dozen cursing whacks with his foot, shook it as well as he could with invalid's hands, and kicked again so hard his teeth chattered. The first-aid kit he'd so hopefully ordered, still, refused to fall out.
Kyle unwound the old bandages slightly from one of his hands and stuffed his blistery fingers in his mouth. Just for a second, just because they hurt, even though he was well aware it'd only be more painful when they got infected later. And he could scarcely afford infection, with his hands always working, working down to the bone on the old bat's piano. He needed to keep working them, because it was, at least, safer in the theater than anywhere else... safer than out here. He could always hear Cohen coming, but some of those splicers, nobody could hear coming.
The man took a cursory glace around and sat down with his back up against the cackling Circus of Values, too intent on being disgruntled and sucking his blisters to bother even loading the gun in his pocket.
If I say he's alive, he's alive. Let's all just do an au timewarp mashup magic limbo land or something, how about. >>;;