Re: [No. 3 to No. 24: Iris & Sam]
Sam wanted to ask why, yeah? Why Iris got stuff fucked up, but she didn't. It didn't seem important, not when they were standing on a sidewalk in drying blood. Yeah, Sam knew what the red was. It wasn't pigment, no Alizarin Crimson, no Quinacridone Magenta. Nah, she knew, but it was like seeing something hella far away, and her brain wasn't figuring it right. It was good that way, and Sam wasn't freaking or anything, but she knew it was a better idea to get off the street and get clean. It wasn't that she feared anyone chasing after them, yeah? Nothing like that, but she still knew they should get inside.
Inside was quiet, the machines whirring and twirling in some repetitive soothing, and Sam looked at Iris through lashes sticky with blood. "Do I know how to wrap a wrist? Nah, like not professionally or anything, but it's better than nothing, yeah? I mean, I think you just gotta support it, maybe we find a shirt to tear into a sling," she said practical, like none of tonight had happened.
Sam started pulling off her layers. Two shirts, soft pants, and she kicked her boots off so hard they banged against the bank of dryers. She had on a pair of Cris' boxers, yeah? Loose and baggy and hanging indecent on plump hips, past a belly barely marked with stretch-marks low when the light hit her right. The scar from shoulder to between her tits was soft and pink and raised, a memory a few years old, and Sam just walked to the turning dryers and opened them until she found one that had things in it mostly dry. She grabbed a boy's shirt and a pair of ugly pants, and she went to the sink to wash up. "You can use the bathroom to clean up," she offered, since she figured Iris wouldn't be cool with scrubbing herself clean in front of windows. Not that there was anyone outside, because there wasn't.
Sam bent over the big sink, assuming it was used to like spot clean stuff, and she flipped her hair over and watched the red flow into the sink and out of blonde. "Why?" Simple question, yeah? Why did Iris think the mob wanted to fuck her? Why did Iris feel guilty? And Sam asked it impressively calm and not even a fucking twitch.