(no subject)
Gwen doesn't stumble into the Wasteland. She might lean against the doorframe for a moment longer than usual, but on the whole it's nothing to write home about.
She does have a certain seasick look to her, though-- as if there's a mental image she'd very much like to erase.
(There is.)
She makes her way steadily to the bar, where she takes down a glass, pours out-- moonshine, what else-- and
he'd been lying by the curb, just where the sidewalk intersected with an alley, and he smelled. Stank. And he hadn't had much of a skull left, but somehow that wasn't half as bad as the stench of it that drifted under Gwen's nose and made her choke, gag with the sheer staggering force of it-- she'd backed away, slowly, death's not so surprising anymore but she knows enough now to know when something's just not *right* about it, and she
takes a long, burning gulp, gasping for breath afterwards.
Some days just weren't cut out to be good ones.
She does have a certain seasick look to her, though-- as if there's a mental image she'd very much like to erase.
(There is.)
She makes her way steadily to the bar, where she takes down a glass, pours out-- moonshine, what else-- and
he'd been lying by the curb, just where the sidewalk intersected with an alley, and he smelled. Stank. And he hadn't had much of a skull left, but somehow that wasn't half as bad as the stench of it that drifted under Gwen's nose and made her choke, gag with the sheer staggering force of it-- she'd backed away, slowly, death's not so surprising anymore but she knows enough now to know when something's just not *right* about it, and she
takes a long, burning gulp, gasping for breath afterwards.
Some days just weren't cut out to be good ones.