[ she's already got a tight frown on her face from his first message, that by the time he's typing up his other one, she's picked herself up all by herself (thanks! for offering to help! boor!!) and dusted off what she can from her jumpsuit.
her hand smarts, but she refuses to look at it right now to check for damages as if that might some how give him any satisfaction. instead, she types up her own response, which she holds up to him for all of five seconds: ]
You keep changing your tone. Which am I supposed to believe?
[ before turning and walking back down the path. in a faster pace than before. as if to show him!
... not that it matters much, given how short her legs are. ]
no subject
her hand smarts, but she refuses to look at it right now to check for damages as if that might some how give him any satisfaction. instead, she types up her own response, which she holds up to him for all of five seconds: ]
You keep changing your tone. Which am I supposed to believe?
[ before turning and walking back down the path. in a faster pace than before. as if to show him!
... not that it matters much, given how short her legs are. ]