[Scowl pout scowl fine. She puts her weight on her hands on each side of the boat, gingerly easing her legs out from under her.]
No tricks.
[She has no idea what they might be, what conceivable attack could convincingly masquerade as bandages, but she's waiting for something, for him to eat her as much as the fish did. The wild, skittish edges in her eyes are chemical, not rational.]
no subject
No tricks.
[She has no idea what they might be, what conceivable attack could convincingly masquerade as bandages, but she's waiting for something, for him to eat her as much as the fish did. The wild, skittish edges in her eyes are chemical, not rational.]