Re: log; marina & russ
"I told him to behave," she told him plainly, and irritation made her breath hitch and huff when he left dirty fingerprints on her wrist. Marina wrinkled her nose and curled her lip when she drew back from Russ, stained wrist in the air like it was a knifewound that needed to be lifted above her heart. "Oh, come on," she snarled, lacking disbelief but still tapping her toe on the line of getting pissed when she wiped the black grease on the hip of jeans dark enough to be considered camouflage. It might have been typically impossible to tell the difference between the kinds of things that would set Marina's temper off, but forcing her to ruin her clothes had to be at the top of the list. How many torn dresses and lost pairs of underwear had she chewed him out for when they climbed out of borrowed back seats and service station bathrooms?
"Use English with him, chèf mwen," she instructed Nathan helpfully. The question Russ posed on the subject of just where she was going was deftly ignored. She'd been here only two minutes, but already seemed intent on leaving. The cigarette was dropped in that empty beer bottle, extinguished by the dregs, and Marina exhaled the finale toward the ceiling before she stepped over to Nathan and knelt, kissing the top of his head while he sat playing with his toys. "Be good and Russell will order you some pizza, oui?"
Then she looked at Russ, and she seemed worried. The expression, her sunset eyes blown wide with her eyebrows knit when she looked at him, trying to trust. Then the worry was gone, crushed down alongside cooling terror to be picked over later like scraps at the last supper. But not now, now she had to go. "His medicine is in his bag, if he needs it. Instructions are on the inhaler. I'll be back soon," she said before turning and giving Nathan one last smile of reassurance before she walked out.