(no subject)
Earlier today, Susannah visited the infirmary, and reclaimed a piece of her property. Left an IOU.
Now, in pinned-under blue jeans and a COLUMBIA sweatshirt, riding in a flying wheelchair sans wheels, Susannah Dean is in the bar. She looks a lot better than she did yesterday; a strong and beautiful black woman (sans legs), old enough to be someone's mother but aging gracefully.
She does not look particularly happy; it's Christmas Eve, both here and at home, and her family is in a different world from her. More forbidding than her expression, though, is probably the .45 automatic in a shoulder-holster.
Still, she's out here, and that's got to imply a certain level of tolerance for palaver.
Now, in pinned-under blue jeans and a COLUMBIA sweatshirt, riding in a flying wheelchair sans wheels, Susannah Dean is in the bar. She looks a lot better than she did yesterday; a strong and beautiful black woman (sans legs), old enough to be someone's mother but aging gracefully.
She does not look particularly happy; it's Christmas Eve, both here and at home, and her family is in a different world from her. More forbidding than her expression, though, is probably the .45 automatic in a shoulder-holster.
Still, she's out here, and that's got to imply a certain level of tolerance for palaver.