(no subject)
Call-boxes.
Once, a very long time ago, Sarah might have thought that they were innocent. She sits opposite one of them on the path, her back ramrod straight and pressed up against the pole of the boardwalk as she studies it and thinks about dismantling it and getting some distance. She'll have to do it at night and not fully destroy it. She needs to see the capabilities of repair.
She'd thought traffic lights were innocent once, too. She'd thought Andy Goode was innocent, but where is he now? Somewhere in the ground with Derek's bullet in his brain, Skynet's secrets probably on the tip of his tongue. Everything starts out innocent and everything seems like it's for a good cause at the start.
She gnaws on her bent thumb as she stares into space and thinks about what kind of diversion she'll need, what kind of tools, what kind of alibi just in case. Whatever Tony Stark is building in that home of his can wait until she starts getting information. She has very little of that and with no current place to live and no weapons to speak of, she's going on pure will and drive alone.
She's done stupider things in her time.
Absently, she brushes her free hand over her wound in rhythmic circular motions, as if it stokes her thoughts and helps her plan. Legs splayed out in front of her, she takes up most of the boardwalk and prevents anyone from passing without crossing her little tollbridge. It only comes to be a problem as she raises her gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps and works her lips into a wry smile. "It'll be a quarter to pass," she warns.
[All tags open until Thursday. Any callbox of your choice within striking distance of the boardwalk]
Once, a very long time ago, Sarah might have thought that they were innocent. She sits opposite one of them on the path, her back ramrod straight and pressed up against the pole of the boardwalk as she studies it and thinks about dismantling it and getting some distance. She'll have to do it at night and not fully destroy it. She needs to see the capabilities of repair.
She'd thought traffic lights were innocent once, too. She'd thought Andy Goode was innocent, but where is he now? Somewhere in the ground with Derek's bullet in his brain, Skynet's secrets probably on the tip of his tongue. Everything starts out innocent and everything seems like it's for a good cause at the start.
She gnaws on her bent thumb as she stares into space and thinks about what kind of diversion she'll need, what kind of tools, what kind of alibi just in case. Whatever Tony Stark is building in that home of his can wait until she starts getting information. She has very little of that and with no current place to live and no weapons to speak of, she's going on pure will and drive alone.
She's done stupider things in her time.
Absently, she brushes her free hand over her wound in rhythmic circular motions, as if it stokes her thoughts and helps her plan. Legs splayed out in front of her, she takes up most of the boardwalk and prevents anyone from passing without crossing her little tollbridge. It only comes to be a problem as she raises her gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps and works her lips into a wry smile. "It'll be a quarter to pass," she warns.
[All tags open until Thursday. Any callbox of your choice within striking distance of the boardwalk]