07-06-2015, 10:16 PM
The bandit scraped her dreads out of her face and looked at the girl, her vibrant colors popping almost offensively against the gritty yellows and bleached beige she was so accustomed to. The small creases in her hands were caked with black grease and more was carelessly smeared over her cheek. It was good to see another dirty face.
Coughing softly, he leaned to her side and propped herself up with an elbow. “High octane guzzaline, thick as blood and hot are fire,” she wheezed. “Refurbished M809. Six cylinder, inline engine. Supercharged, three-hundred-twenty horse power. Quarter-inch, in-cab armor with a V-bed undercarriage.” She grunted as one of Shepherd’s tight stitches popped, blood now dribbling from one of her fresh bandages. “If you fuck up my ride, kid,” she said with a tone that betrayed the words, “I’ll put you in the ground.”
The bright mechanic stepped back, the comment impacting her as if it was a physical blow. The moment when she had drug the woman from the sands ran through her mind; the half-dead bandit’s torched body had been ground into the earth, a bullet wound agape in her chest. For a moment, she wished she had left her there. “’Your truck will be fine, don’t worry,” she shot back, ire twisting her words.
“Yeah?” the dark warrior allowed her head to slump back down onto her perspiration-soaked bedding. Even the smallest exertion left her ragged, the exhaustion forcing her vision to spin and her gut to churn with nausea. “Good. She’ll be yours if I bite it. To hold is to own and all that.”
“You can get it when you come back,” Shepherd offered warmly, cutting through the vitriol the woman had cast between each other.
“Pfff,” the mechanic spat, “she said I could keep it.” Sauntering over to the counter, she leaned against it and plucked a toothpick from her pocket. Wiggling it between her teeth, she gave a wide grin and flipped her flamboyant hair to the side. “Finders keepers, huh?”
“That’s how it works out in the dunes,” the bandit uttered as she allowed her eyes to close, the curtain of unconsciousness closing in. “Steel for steel, blood for blood…” Her words trailed off as she slipped back to sleep, images of flames and the sound of grinding gears drifting through her fevered dreams.
---
The bandit started from her sleep to the sound of a roaring engine, sand and sun swirling before her in the smoke . Her arms thrashed out, pushing at the haze as she struggled to return to her feet, hand clutching for her missing weapon. Strong hands pushed her back down, her body strangely weak as she struggled. She jolted at their touch without the safety of her armor, confused why her flesh was barren and soft, without the loving embrace of steel and spikes. Throwing her knee up, she managed to knock her assailant away, a loud clatter and crash echoing as they tumbled off beyond her vision. Her head whipped has her bleary sight searched for her truck, and she rolled to the side to stand.
The woman fell from her bed and crashed into the hard tile floor on her elbows and knees, her sticky skin clinging to her coverings and taking them with her. She panted, looking around the simple room, the battle in her mind slowly fading. Wide eyed, she searched for her attacker, only to find the nameless preacher on the ground beside her.
Wiping the sweat off of her face, she took a few more breaths before bringing her hand to her chest, feeling the wet blood as it soaked through her dressings. Her heart pounded heavy even as the panic subsided, her body tense and coiled, ready to do battle once again.
“Woah!” Shepherd said loudly, holding a hand up, “Woah, now.” He slowly slid away, keeping his eyes locked on her as he brought himself up to his feet, his palm still extended. “Everything’s alright,” he said in with slow, soothing articulation, “Nobody’s here to hurt you.”
The bandit closed her eye and tipped her body over onto its back, pushing the hair from her face. Reality drifted back into her memory and the past several days of pain and heat rolled to its forefront. “How long was I out?” she asked, almost shocked to hear her voice so strong and firm.
“A few days,” he replied, relaxing a bit and allowing his hand to fall. “The fever broke yesterday, but you’re still pretty weak.”
She slowly rotated her arm, one hand on the shoulder. The massive bruise from the gunshot wound sent spikes through her nerves, but she did feel the aches or chills that had haunted her before. Still, they lacked strength. “I can tell,” she grunted and slowly began to sit up.
He tilted his head to the side and rolled his eyes, “Still strong enough to toss me like an old sack of potatoes.”
Pulling away the bandages, she looked at the hole in her chest, open and bleeding but mostly healed. “Yeah, I guess I’ve still got a bit of fuel left in the ta-“
The bandit was cut off as the door flew open, Caret barging in swiftly. She brandished a comically oversized wrench overhead, her leather work gloves and goggles still worn. “Shepherd?!” she shouted, her voice carrying some degree of true fear, “Shepherd are you alright?”
Coughing softly, he leaned to her side and propped herself up with an elbow. “High octane guzzaline, thick as blood and hot are fire,” she wheezed. “Refurbished M809. Six cylinder, inline engine. Supercharged, three-hundred-twenty horse power. Quarter-inch, in-cab armor with a V-bed undercarriage.” She grunted as one of Shepherd’s tight stitches popped, blood now dribbling from one of her fresh bandages. “If you fuck up my ride, kid,” she said with a tone that betrayed the words, “I’ll put you in the ground.”
The bright mechanic stepped back, the comment impacting her as if it was a physical blow. The moment when she had drug the woman from the sands ran through her mind; the half-dead bandit’s torched body had been ground into the earth, a bullet wound agape in her chest. For a moment, she wished she had left her there. “’Your truck will be fine, don’t worry,” she shot back, ire twisting her words.
“Yeah?” the dark warrior allowed her head to slump back down onto her perspiration-soaked bedding. Even the smallest exertion left her ragged, the exhaustion forcing her vision to spin and her gut to churn with nausea. “Good. She’ll be yours if I bite it. To hold is to own and all that.”
“You can get it when you come back,” Shepherd offered warmly, cutting through the vitriol the woman had cast between each other.
“Pfff,” the mechanic spat, “she said I could keep it.” Sauntering over to the counter, she leaned against it and plucked a toothpick from her pocket. Wiggling it between her teeth, she gave a wide grin and flipped her flamboyant hair to the side. “Finders keepers, huh?”
“That’s how it works out in the dunes,” the bandit uttered as she allowed her eyes to close, the curtain of unconsciousness closing in. “Steel for steel, blood for blood…” Her words trailed off as she slipped back to sleep, images of flames and the sound of grinding gears drifting through her fevered dreams.
---
The bandit started from her sleep to the sound of a roaring engine, sand and sun swirling before her in the smoke . Her arms thrashed out, pushing at the haze as she struggled to return to her feet, hand clutching for her missing weapon. Strong hands pushed her back down, her body strangely weak as she struggled. She jolted at their touch without the safety of her armor, confused why her flesh was barren and soft, without the loving embrace of steel and spikes. Throwing her knee up, she managed to knock her assailant away, a loud clatter and crash echoing as they tumbled off beyond her vision. Her head whipped has her bleary sight searched for her truck, and she rolled to the side to stand.
The woman fell from her bed and crashed into the hard tile floor on her elbows and knees, her sticky skin clinging to her coverings and taking them with her. She panted, looking around the simple room, the battle in her mind slowly fading. Wide eyed, she searched for her attacker, only to find the nameless preacher on the ground beside her.
Wiping the sweat off of her face, she took a few more breaths before bringing her hand to her chest, feeling the wet blood as it soaked through her dressings. Her heart pounded heavy even as the panic subsided, her body tense and coiled, ready to do battle once again.
“Woah!” Shepherd said loudly, holding a hand up, “Woah, now.” He slowly slid away, keeping his eyes locked on her as he brought himself up to his feet, his palm still extended. “Everything’s alright,” he said in with slow, soothing articulation, “Nobody’s here to hurt you.”
The bandit closed her eye and tipped her body over onto its back, pushing the hair from her face. Reality drifted back into her memory and the past several days of pain and heat rolled to its forefront. “How long was I out?” she asked, almost shocked to hear her voice so strong and firm.
“A few days,” he replied, relaxing a bit and allowing his hand to fall. “The fever broke yesterday, but you’re still pretty weak.”
She slowly rotated her arm, one hand on the shoulder. The massive bruise from the gunshot wound sent spikes through her nerves, but she did feel the aches or chills that had haunted her before. Still, they lacked strength. “I can tell,” she grunted and slowly began to sit up.
He tilted his head to the side and rolled his eyes, “Still strong enough to toss me like an old sack of potatoes.”
Pulling away the bandages, she looked at the hole in her chest, open and bleeding but mostly healed. “Yeah, I guess I’ve still got a bit of fuel left in the ta-“
The bandit was cut off as the door flew open, Caret barging in swiftly. She brandished a comically oversized wrench overhead, her leather work gloves and goggles still worn. “Shepherd?!” she shouted, her voice carrying some degree of true fear, “Shepherd are you alright?”
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