[ w's eyes roll like well-shaken dice. imagine needing to take a breather after getting body slammed and threatened with grievous bodily injury and stuffed with questionable explosive charges and fucked to spasmodic abandon with materials that definitely aren't body safe! obviously w would have such a wayyyy easier time if it was her — but lappland will probably give her an opportunity to prove it soon enough, won't she? it's what w would do, were the roles reversed. what a wonderful cycle of violence it is.

it's good that she can't honestly tell the difference between fear and excitement anymore. it just melds into one very satisfying thrill as w tugs lappland's head forward and squats down to peer at her face. ]

The aftertaste takes forever to go away.

[ w should know, she's been huffing the stuff for as long as she can remember. that mouthy little rhodes island medic told her four years ago that she'd be dead in two if she kept on like this. but lappland apparently doesn't have her roach-like apocalyptic resilience, so w digs into the hinge of her jaw and licks some of the ash off her tongue to entice her to drool out the rest. the pad of her thumb swipes beneath lappland's scarred eye, collecting tears.

she drums jauntily on lappland's back while she waits for her to cough the rest up, smirking preciously. ]

You can think of it like a souvenir just for you. Anybody else, they aren't tasting much anymore.