Her skull blooms in pain, the fresh cut arcing through her eyebrow throbs in time with her heartbeat — slower, now, that she’s not under heavy fire. Fiona winces as Sasha brings a rag that reeks of cheap vodka to her forehead. She can feel the crusted blood where it hardened against her cheek. “Dead. I hope.” He’d stopped twitching after the third kick with her boot, muscles stopped rippling under a mess of tattoos drawn haphazardly over psycho-sallow skin. It might have been a ruse. Fiona hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. She’s not the fighter her sister is; getting herself into this scrape, no matter how minor, had been a risk she shouldn’t have taken. She takes the cloth from Sasha’s hands, shakes it twice. “There any of this left for a drink?”
' don't be a baby , ' sasha chastises , her sister's wince having not gone unnoticed. it's good - natured , gentle --- or , at least as gentle as a feral pandoran street rat could manage ... no matter how much she grows up , there's some shit that never gets easier ; sincerely talking about her feelings without joking or sarcasm is definitely towards the top of that list. ironically , seeing her sister in pain or in trouble is there as well. this situation checks two boxes , which effectively sets her teeth on edge. ' ditto. ' 'cuz if they're not , sasha will make it her personal goddamn mission to hunt them down and finish the job.
as the rag transfers hands , sasha allows the corner of her mouth to lift. ' even better ... ' stepping back towards a secret little cache , her fingers close around the neck of another bottle and she waves it like a metronome. ' been saving it for a special occasion ... and , well ... those don't exactly happen much soooo ... this'll do , I guess. ' twisting off the top , she raises it to her own lips and takes a large gulp before handing it over. no sooner does she swallow does a cough escape , followed by a rough clearing of her throat. ' hoooooly shit , that's ... kind of awful ... '
@azurwraith