Charlie is shrugging into her jacket while she runs her mental checklist - crossbow, bolts, guns at her waist, knife at her thigh, knife in her boot - when she hears the rip. She blinks, then pulls off her jacket to check the damage. There’s a gaping hole where she tried to punch her hand into the sleeve and got the seam instead, and - no. Just no.
She’s hard on her clothes, this life is hard on them, but she’s not going to cry over a frigging tear in her jacket. She’s gonna see if someone can mend it, do it herself if she has to, and forget how much she hates them, all the holes in her life.
Her boots have holes, her socks fall apart around her feet, her jeans are a patchwork of shot, stabbed and just plain torn … and then there’s Charlie herself.
Sometimes she pictures her soul, shot full of holes. Sometimes it’s a dark, shrivelled thing, huge chunks missing. Dad. Danny. Maggie. Nora. Her Mom, though maybe that’s more a black stain than a hole.
“You alright, kid?”
She looks up to find Miles watching her, and behind him, Bass pretending to concentrate on cleaning his rifle.
“Yeah. Need a new jacket is all.”
Bass slams the stock and barrel back together and slides his swords home.
“There’s a market in DC. Figure the Texas government probably owes you one,” he says shortly, then waits, body tense, as they finish gearing up.
Charlie shrugs in acceptance. “Okay then. So that’s the plan - bust into Patriot HQ, kill the President, go shopping?”
Miles smirks. “You’re on your own with that last one.”
“Like your underwear isn’t full of holes.”
“Least I wear underwear. Dick.”
Charlie pulls her tattered jacket back on. Just as well it isn’t cold - it’s time to go.
“Can we please focus here, children? Places to be, Patriots to kill.”
“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am. After you, Captain Matheson.”
“Thank you, general. Please - after you.”
Miles just snorts and shoves them both through the flaps of the tent, the three of them emerging as one into the smoky, blood-streaked dawn.
fin
(So I might have been saving up the odd longer fill for your go ahead Thursday :D)
Charlie is shrugging into her jacket while she runs her mental checklist - crossbow, bolts, guns at her waist, knife at her thigh, knife in her boot - when she hears the rip. She blinks, then pulls
off her jacket to check the damage. There’s a gaping hole where she tried to punch her hand into the sleeve and got the seam instead, and - no. Just no.
She’s hard on her clothes, this life is hard on them, but she’s not going to cry over a frigging tear in her jacket. She’s gonna see if someone can mend it, do it herself if she has to, and forget how much she hates them, all the holes in her life.
Her boots have holes, her socks fall apart around her feet, her jeans are a patchwork of shot, stabbed and just plain torn … and then there’s Charlie herself.
Sometimes she pictures her soul, shot full of holes. Sometimes it’s a dark, shrivelled thing, huge chunks missing. Dad. Danny. Maggie. Nora. Her Mom, though maybe that’s more a black stain than a hole.
“You alright, kid?”
She looks up to find Miles watching her, and behind him, Bass pretending to concentrate on cleaning his rifle.
“Yeah. Need a new jacket is all.”
Bass slams the stock and barrel back together and slides his swords home.
“There’s a market in DC. Figure the Texas government probably owes you one,” he says shortly, then waits, body tense, as they finish gearing up.
Charlie shrugs in acceptance. “Okay then. So that’s the plan - bust into Patriot HQ, kill the President, go shopping?”
Miles smirks. “You’re on your own with that last one.”
“Like your underwear isn’t full of holes.”
“Least I wear underwear. Dick.”
Charlie pulls her tattered jacket back on. Just as well it isn’t cold - it’s time to go.
“Can we please focus here, children? Places to be, Patriots to kill.”
“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am. After you, Captain Matheson.”
“Thank you, general. Please - after you.”
Miles just snorts and shoves them both through the flaps of the tent, the three of them emerging as one into the smoky, blood-streaked dawn.
fin
(So I might have been saving up the odd longer fill for your go ahead Thursday :D)
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The cheek of you people. I can't stand it. And I love it.
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