(no subject)
Ignoring the supposed magic of the place only protected Lisbeth Salander for so long.
First it had been the books. While it had been satisfying to read about the downfall of Teleborian and the rest, the books had heavily implied she'd learned some kind of lesson. She might have, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let herself become adopted by Blomkvists, fucking Blomkvists everywhere.
Worse than sand in your shoes.
Lisbeth dealt with the books in part because they provided a look into lives of other people. It was the kind of look that was both more and less complete (and satisfying) than hacking. This new wrinkle in all of it took her by complete surprise, though, and she stood in the rec room, trying not to look as if her world had turned over.
She moved to pick up the rucksack at record speed, a few sprinting steps until it was in her shaking hands. The bag itself turned over in her hands, and out tumbled pieces of her life: a taser, duct tape, a DVD in its case, a small but effective camera, a tattoo machine. Cartridges of red and blue ink.
Everything spilled at her feet, and she stood there in shock before finally crouching, trying to pick it all up again. "No, no, no," she muttered.
First it had been the books. While it had been satisfying to read about the downfall of Teleborian and the rest, the books had heavily implied she'd learned some kind of lesson. She might have, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let herself become adopted by Blomkvists, fucking Blomkvists everywhere.
Worse than sand in your shoes.
Lisbeth dealt with the books in part because they provided a look into lives of other people. It was the kind of look that was both more and less complete (and satisfying) than hacking. This new wrinkle in all of it took her by complete surprise, though, and she stood in the rec room, trying not to look as if her world had turned over.
She moved to pick up the rucksack at record speed, a few sprinting steps until it was in her shaking hands. The bag itself turned over in her hands, and out tumbled pieces of her life: a taser, duct tape, a DVD in its case, a small but effective camera, a tattoo machine. Cartridges of red and blue ink.
Everything spilled at her feet, and she stood there in shock before finally crouching, trying to pick it all up again. "No, no, no," she muttered.