snow (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sevenless) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} commandhq, |
"Is that why the psych team here is so," She looked to the ceiling for the word, as if it'd be waiting there hanging, spider-like,by a gossamer thread for her to be annoyed at for holding itself over her head. And for the word gossamer. "Extensive?" Her chin came back down as she felt the mood shift slightly. There was that undercurrent. Marigold wondered what he had lost-- who he had lost. Everyone lost things when they were taken. A lot of things. An endless list of things they all added to each day as they discovered something else, big or small, that had been removed from their lives. It was what the Regiment did. It chipped, or tore, or ripped, or slowly buffed away at you; in any way it could. But losing someone was different. That did something else to you in places like these. She didn't ask. She looked at her hands again. Steady.
She remembered a time when they could still shake.
"That would be weird." Marigold agreed, "I don't usually go for the tattoo until the third run-in. Then it's buzz," She mimicked holding a tattoo machine and swished it through the air, "Right on the ass, with a flower or an anchor to keep it traditional. Classy." She informed him primly, circling her beer back around for a long drink. Her brain was beginning to produce more pleasant sensations than it had been generating in the moments before. His mention of grief didn't take the edge off, though she recognized that it should have. She shrugged. "It'd be the only thing they'd get to have a proper burial for." She noted, not entirely kindly, but breathed deeply so she had the air to expel the bitterness lingering in the back of her throat, waiting for comments like that to ride out on.
Marigold made a neutral, thoughtful noise in response, not wanting to pile the pessimism on him when he was riding what looked to have been, before her interference, a pleasant high. She laughed as he rubbed his forehead, but made a conscious effort to reel it in when he showed it to be a sore spot. "I like Will better anyway." Her serious expression was cracking again, before she could stop it. "Jesus. Cricket never had a lot of positive things to say about your mother either, but she never actively disparaged her vagina." Marigold pressed a hand over her lips to keep in a laugh. It was not as effective as she'd hoped. "Thank you, Will. Seems like I'm not off to a great start, anyway."