[In the grass beside an open grave lie two figures caked in enough filth as to be barely recognisable. Neither moves, although closer examination shows that the one nearest the camera is, at least, breathing. The other is holding on to her so tight it can only be an indicator of life, or rigor mortis
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[ And she's not even going to call him an idiot who should have known better! Personal growth, get. ]
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Thanks. [And more surprise] It's... good to be here.
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Me, I just get the job done.
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Could be.
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How does it look?
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(The comment has been removed)
I think so...
[It's enough to make her realize how pathetic she must look, and that spurs her to struggle upright. She gets about halfway, propped up on her elbows, taking a moment to assess the situation. They're filthy, but she isn't hurt, as far as she can see.]
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Keeping his head turned away, he struggles to his hands and knees, hacking up another acrid mouthful of dirt. It's an excuse not to answer.
In the grass, his hand still has a tight hold on one of hers.]
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(The comment has been removed)
What condition are you in?
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Get clean. You don't know where the dirt's been. Or what's been in it besides you two.
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