handleyourshit | TLV Inbox

This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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Which beach?

Waikiki. Unless you have a favorite.

I haven't been to a beach in years. And never that one.

I went for a weekend. It wasn't long enough to decide if I liked it; and I was working.

Meet me there in a half hour? Try to keep your bricks off my feet.

Absolutely no promises.

Fuck -

I'm going to laugh if they fall on you. Sorry.

[Not sorry.]

I can always throw them.

[Laughing] It's okay, I'm fast.

And I have excellent aim.

But you have to be in person for that so. Half hour?

Whatever.

Sorry, I'm a lawyer, I'm going to need a clear yes or no answer.

Whatever.

[And then she hangs up. But half an hour later she's up on the deck, an empty pack over her shoulder because she's too seasoned a scout to leave useful items behind if she finds them. Or, apparently, makes them.]

Turns out it was a yes.

Hmmm?

[Looking up from his communicator]

Oh, you think I still want to go?

[He gets up, because he's only teasing]

Still all bricks for you?

"No," she says, coolly. "Sometimes it's bullets."

Which would be more personally insulting if she let it, but mostly bothers the part of her that drills others on gun safety as much as she can.

"You don't have to go. I'll get someone else to unlock the door so I can work on my tan."

She waits a moment, but it's just a stone this time, clinking to the deck. She kicks it over the side.

"The last time I was on a beach this nice I was on an apology tour. I want to just enjoy myself this time," he says, opening the door, gesturing her to go on ahead. More thread, a shade of scarlet this time.

She eyes it, but doesn't comment. She does allow him to hold the door, and steps out onto the pale sand shading her eyes from the sudden bright sun.

"What's an apology tour?"

"Oh," he sighs, walking in with her. "You know, when you're an inmate and you murder a bunch of people or otherwise make their lives hell, and then you graduate and realize you have to work with them."

Moths appear out of these words.

"I felt bad about...oh, two thirds of the things I did."

She eyes him from under her palm.

"This a cautionary tale?"

"Depends on if you're planning on going for a deal or not I guess," Lark shrugs, but no, otherwise, no.

"I'm not planning on anything."

Which is, strictly speaking anyway, true enough.

"Murder, huh?"

"What, nothing? You're just going to stay here?" She's not the first one to try. Lark tried it.

"I could argue semantics. It's not really homicide if the people I killed aren't the same species I am, is it?"

"Legally speaking, you might have an argument. That's not how shit works here though, because maybe no one can say how it does, but there's plenty to say about how it doesn't. I guess."

A lemon manifests in the air. She's quick enough to catch it before it hits the ground, rolling her eyes.

"I can't plan anything if I can't affect anything. So if that means staying, then I guess it means staying."

"What makes you think you can't affect anything?" A butterfly this time, which Lark waves away.

"Because if I get too big for my britches, any warden that gets sick of hearing my mouth can do whatever they want to me, and I can't do fuckall about it."

This is not a fully honest answer. She absolutely would do something about it, but apparently the Barge doesn't have an appropriate commentary on that particular tone.