she sins to forget ( she has a heart )

He was good with introductions and social graces – and by good, he meant that he hardly ever came off as hazardous. Most people trusted him innately, just as he trusted them. Perhaps the fact that he didn’t bother giving anyone side-eyes or suspicious glances was partly to blame; people could only be so angry as someone who continuously gifted them grins. Mason never did it as a way to get ahead nor was it to trick anyone; it was simply who he was and how he functioned. “Nothing to forgive, you’re a busy woman,” he assured, stepping closer and taking her greeting hand in his own. He shook it cordially and shot her a characteristic smile. Her hand was practiced and their re-introduction felt like something off of an old Hollywood film; business-like and serious.  “Mason,” he reciprocated, “from Springhill Suites. I’m a medic there.”

“Yes, but we’re all busy--wouldn’t you agree?” The slick dismissal of a comment--forced humility. Sabine wasn’t humble by nature, but she wasn’t particularly arrogant either. An assertive woman, an AMBITIOUS woman, so quickly became relabeled as bossy, cocky, a bitch. No one had ever called her as much to her face, but she would commit the greater sin of naivete had she not known others’ thoughts as plainly as their words. The same red lips that had kissed her husband’s lifeless body goodbye ( as unceremoniously as if she was pressing them against his cheek over coffee and the morning paper on her way out the door for work ) pulled across her face into the stiff imitation of a welcoming smile. “I’m a master of delegation. It is busy, but it certainly has made life simpler. “Mason. An occupational name.” Sabine nodded graciously. “Springhill--I don’t believe I’ve met your leader, but I’d seen a timid blonde trader from your camp from time-to-time.”

A surgeon. “Of course you were.” It slipped before she had a mind to stop it, a curl of her own lips mimicking that of the woman in front of her. It felt like a standoff and, why, she wasn’t sure. She had come to camps before to trade but this woman seemed different. Something pulled a competitive edge out of her; maybe it was the careful smirks and the eyeing of Carly’s frame that set her on edge. Or maybe it was the guns aiming at her. Carly hated not having the upper hand. She glanced at the patrol that now left them, noting the careful glances from them as they lowered their weapons. “I don’t think it’s you that needs to worry about their safety here.” Her eyes narrowed carefully. “As for medication, I don’t need anything insane. Any painkillers would be nice. Klonopin, Xanax would also be helpful.”

“And what were you?” Dark eyebrows rose in amusement. There was a defiance in the woman that made Sabine want to laugh as much as it annoyed her. “A barista?...Judging by your hands, of course. They look rough.” Licking her lips, she pulled them into a smirk. It wasn’t so often that she enjoyed this kind of banter. Features pulled into a deliberate, easy look of good humor, Sabine watched the brunette as she watched the men leave. “You’re quite right.” She agreed. “The benefits of having a group worth leading.” Strong, delicate shoulders shrugged softly and she ushered the woman to follow her as she lead her inside. “If you’re thinking of stabbing me.” She called behind her as she walked at a deliberate quick pace, hoping to force the other to keep up. “I’d prefer it if you did so in the front.” Ignoring her request outright, she lead her to the room where the overstock was kept. Trades should never be made in storerooms.