Re: Log: Joey / Maggie
The mute kid and the rest of them, one woman who looked pale and perfect like a Vermeer painting, with a little kid following along in her wake like a disobedient duckling, Shane with the crossbow, the silent man who was his shadow and counterpoint who looked like he'd seen too much of everything the world had to offer, the blond who'd walked right on out of one of those shows that were late nights after the bar closed and a bowl of cheesy chips: they were a motley crew, a gang of circus freaks and Maggie counted herself on in among them, a dud hand at cards beyond an ability to point a gun in the right direction and fire without blinking.
She followed him in, boot heels heavy on concrete and the sunglasses slid upward into the sun-washed blond of her hair. The roots were beginning to creep dark, but the merciless Georgia sun wasn't letting her childhood show on through all that much. She squinted above the sinks, and leaned forward without comment, turning the spigot on water that was warm in the pipes.
"Not gonna get blood out like that," she said, holding up a hand to stop him casting the sheet and its contents into the sink. Maggie didn't say how she knew warm water would bake the blood into the fibers - or how that knowledge had stayed with a woman who was a self-professed non-domestic.