She gave him a knowing smile, almost cutting him off by telling him sharply, “You don’t need to give me the sales pitch.” She had already thought through the high levels of security on the island, the security that may be dehumanizing, but really, were they dehumanizing if they were on mutants? Things seemed much simpler before she had met any of the fighters, let alone her complicated relationship with Wilson, yet still she still knew that they, humans and mutants, were fundamentally different. They might not look it (although some of them do), but they were. She didn’t know which was the future and which would die off; she wasn’t an evolutionist or even scientifically-minded. From the looks of it, though, either the mutants would kill each other or kill everyone else.
“I’ve seen firsthand the collars’ importance,” she shared, referring to a few attacks on guards by her own fighter. She knew that many others had been attacked, some killed, although the details on that story were a little fishy, and without the debilitation or shocks, Revolve could only be a faint dream. She looked down at her drink, swirling it gently; she had drunken enough to leave a comfortable gap between the rim of the glass and the top of the alcohol. Picking it up, she sipped again, already starting to feel a sort of numbness hiding the residual pain.
In order for her to put up with an abusive boyfriend, she would have to have a boyfriend in the first place – and of course, Abigail was much too busy of a woman for that. At least, that’s what she liked to think. She nodded, glancing at him briefly before looking down at her drink. “Yeah,” she answered quietly, “I have a funeral to attend, too.” She wasn’t sure what made her share something so personal and potentially heart-breaking, and only after she said it did she realize it might not have been appropriate to say. Looking at him sideways, she gauged his reaction.