pain_train | SANCTUM INBOX

"It's in all my personal ads. Perfect eyebrows, headbutts men half to death, excellent listener." She grins. Well, this is good, right? He's not being all weird about her kicking his ass. Some people get very snippy about that, even though it's all just business.

As regal a finger wiggle as she can manage. "Please. My house is your house. Or my horrible, boring hospital room is your horrible, boring hospital room." Perfect. She gets a story, and she gets to know a really cute guy a little better.

Edited (Swype errors) 2014-10-31 22:09 (UTC)

He sits, and pauses, and rubs his forehead. "Like I said, it's hard to know where to start. And don't say the beginning," he adds with a wry turn of his mouth.

"Mmn... Well, I was member of a special forces project—kind of a cross between a paramilitary and a mercenary group. I was designated as a sniper, was damn good at my job, too. It's kind of hard telling when things started going to shit but there were unethical and illegal activities underway on the part of the leadership and that made us all complicit without our knowledge."

He pauses, looking out into the middle distance for a moment. Should he tell the part about the AIs? No, he decides, that adds a whole new complicated dimension to the story and he'd like to stick to the bare-bones facts.

"Someone left us evidence, he continues. "Just for a trusted few. We tried to bring the Project down from the inside, but things went sideways—my sister and I were lucky to escape. After that we were fugitives, both from the Project we'd escaped from and the government. Oh, and from someone else, someone who was obsessed with stealing the equipment of the other agents. We were constantly on the run, constantly watching our backs. We couldn't stay in any one place for longer than a night."

His eyes focus on her for a moment, gauging her reaction, before he continues his narration. "That third party I told you about, the one who was after my equipment? He finally figured out where we were. We had a hell of a fight, a long one. I don't know how they did it but the powers-that-be here picked me up right during that fight."

Wrath turns her head the tiny bit she can to see him. It's mostly in the eyes. "I can settle for the middle and hope you'll tell me the beginning some other time."

She listens, making the occasional soft sound of encouragement. When he looks at her, she raises her eyebrows, indicating interest and sympathy. She believes it. "That sounds rough."

She moves one finger indicating him, then her. "We have more in common than you'd think. Sucks to be us." Degenerate organization, unethical orders, torture. Fun. "I don't know how the thing works. I wish I did. But I'm just a good little toy soldier. I don't need to know anything. Just wind me up and march me off and don't ask questions, it's not your place." She sighs, an oddly chilly sound, not exasperation but a deep anger peeping through. "I think you should be proud."

"We dealt with it. Day by day. If we spent time considering how rough it was it would have made it worse."

His expression grows slightly dark at the statement about not questioning orders. He can't say much here, not with the possibility of surveillance, but... "Pride is a powerful motivator."

"That's really the only way you can deal with things like this, isn't it?" She gives him a crooked smile.

What he says doesn't seem to really fit with the expression, but she doesn't know him well enough to guess what the problem could be. "So's anger," she observes. "Sometimes it's all you've got, right?"

She considers. Well, why not. He's cute. And what has she got to lose? At this point, not much. "Do you like art?"

He lifts his head in a short nod. "Anger could be a good motivator. But it could be a destructive one, too."

The other question seems out of the blue, but it seems that she must want to change the subject for her own reasons. "Art? Sure. My sister used to sketch. She drew me sometimes. Never could quite get my nose right, though," he adds with a slight chuckle.

"I guess. But when everything else is destroyed, well." She would shrug if she could. But she can't. So. Oh well. "You know. Build with what you've got. But being proud is...probably better."

Better any foundation at all, right?

"Drawing is good. I draw sometimes. Well... not right now, obviously. But mostly I paint. Oils and acrylics." Wiggles her fingers again.

There's a sympathetic dip of his head. "It's important for people like us to have an outlet. I hope your coordination doesn't suffer from this."

And man, how did they become 'us'? Still so strange, sitting here chatting calmly with someone who virtually attempted to kill him.

"I'm sure I'll be okay. I... think I've recovered from worse." It's never clear. She can remember pain, because it's such a visceral thing. But what the pain's attached to is... murky. Unless she runs right up against it. Physical things are good. Physical things live in the brainstem.

"What's your outlet, then? You said it's your sister drew, so what do you do?"

"Well, I suppose it's cooking. I taught myself when I was a teenager. Sort of learned to feel out what ingredients go good together and how much seasoning something needs. I usually don't need a recipe to put something together. Unless it's something new to me, of course."

She actually brightens visibly. "Wow, that's really talented, then. I'm... terrible at cooking. It's embarrassing. You don't even need a recipe?" Wrath smiles. Cute and talented. Score! Don't screw this up, Wrath. "What's your favorite thing to make?" She gives him a squinty look. "I'm going to guess... soup and dumplings."

It's random. She's just guessing. But she likes soup and dumplings, so she can hope.

He breaks out in a smile and laughs. "What a specific guess," he teases. "No, I like to bake. Pies, biscuits, muffins. Things like that."

"Oh! Like... Whiskey." That's right. Whiskey likes to cook, and he makes really good pies. She knows that. She grins. "What's your favorite pie, then?" The grin gets more broad, and she figures it's her turn to tease. Because he's got a nice smile. "And why didn't you bring me any, you jerk?"

"Strawberry rhubarb. Things that are kind of out of season right now, actually." Extremely out of season. "Whiskey bakes, huh? I guess the holiday parties will be well-stocked."

Her smile is infectious and he shakes his head. "Mostly because I didn't know what to expect when I came here. Well...not that I would have thought to bring pie even if I knew you were going to be friendly toward me, but you know what I mean."

"There really isn't an in season here... I don't think. That's not how it works. I think?" But yes. Whiskey. "He makes a really good pecan pie. And his crust is the best I've had. And since someone hasn't let me try his pie, I guess Whiskey's is still the best." Grin.

That gets her to laugh. "I don't think many people know what to expect, so that's okay." She doesn't even know what to expect sometimes. "Oh, but that's mean. You should always bring contraband to people in the hospital." Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "The food here is fucking awful."

Though significantly better now that her jaw's not wired shut.

"I suppose if I'd needed a way to get on your good side that would have been a good way to do the trick. But you can't compare apples to apples on that count, since I've never made a pecan pie. I make a hell of a good peach pie though. Apple-caramel pie, too."

Is he going to end up bringing her pie? He thinks he is. He feels a little stirred in the head; it's weird to be befriending a person who hit him in the head with the butt of her sword. He knows they're going to be working together and that's why it's important to become acquainted but he'd never expected her to be so pleasant and charming.

"You don't have to try that hard to get on my good side," Wrath says. "You have a nice smile." She grins. "Or wait. No. No! I want pie. So your smile is dumb and you should bring me a pie instead or I'm going to... hide all your shoes. Once I'm out of traction." Oh both of those sound so good. She adds quickly, "I really like peaches. And apples with caramel."

Right? Yes.

"And your smile. So you have to smile when you bring me the pie, too."

He laughs. "I don't know what kind of drugs they have you on but I think they removed your filter." Assuming she has a filter. Maybe she doesn't.

"You want both kinds then?" he asks. God, he really is going to do this.

She wiggles her fingers in the general direction of the multitude of IV lines. "I think there are many of them," she says, as if that answers the question, then laughs. "But I remember that I like smiles. And pie. I think I've got a filter, normally." Pause. "I don't now?"

Wrath nods the little bit she can and then something beeps and she rolls her eyes. "Yes, both kinds!"

"Okay, but first you've got to tell me something," he says.

"What do you want to know?"

"Your name. Since we're doing this whole bonding and becoming friends thing we're apparently doing."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Sorry, I thought you already knew that. My name is Wrath." She smiles. "What's your name?"

And finger wiggle, indicative of sure, handshake.

"No, I know that. I mean your name. Your real name."

Her smile fades a bit and she just looks at him for a moment, brows drawing together. She feels embarrassed, like this is a question she should have a different answer to. And it was all going so well. "I..." She looks back up toward the ceiling, as if the answer will be there. "I'm sorry. I... I should... I should know this, shouldn't I? I can't remember."

There's nothing at all coy about this. She looks back toward him. "Will you still tell me your name?"

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