Re: log; marina & russ
The taste of victory was bitter and warm, like that of the beer that she plucked up from the end of his workbench and took a swig of, indiscriminate of the label or the temperature so long as it was his to take. Marina polished off most of what was left in the bottle with one pull, a long swallow punctuated by her cigarette again. Her eyes were a goldmine in color and memories when she bent to set the bottle back down, watching him from beneath the fringe of black widow webs. It was the same look she'd given him from across dozens of pool tables before she took her shot, the same look she'd given him during hundreds of card games played out on the carpet, without clothes or mercy when she slapped down a straight flush, cackling.
Everything was a game, and little moments were prizes to be won, snatched up by metal claws from inside of machines. She didn't care if it cost a quarter or her peace of mind, Marina always won. Even in situations like these, when winning meant that they both were losing, it didn't matter. This wasn't any kind of battle that left her feeling satisfied, not like th days when she got the mean reds and threw breakables, but she'd take it.
"Oh, come on, baby.. you'll do fine." Marina made it a promise before she reached out to pat the scruff of Russell's blond cheek, as if she didn't mind the risk of him biting it off at the wrist like the bad dog they both knew him to be.
"You'll be good for Uncle Ford's brother, won't you, bebe?" She glanced over to Nathan while speaking Haitian, and the little boy looked up from his riveting game of trains to nod affirmatively with a toothy smile. Then she shrugged like that solved everything and returned her focus to Russ. "See?" It was going to be a piece of cake.