Primadonna Heart

It was hard for Moe not to go back into that accent. She’d trained her tongue to give up on it, since it was the only thing she could do to stop the other Dahl soldiers from making fun of her. She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep it at bay. “I don’t want to impose but if you’re not putting yourself out on my account, I would love to have tea with you.” She hefted her duffel bag a little higher onto her shoulder and smiled. Having another person on this godforsaken planet to rely on, even for just conversation, was a blessing in disguise. “What’s the hardest project you’ve ever worked on?”

“Good question, but, not sure if I can pinpoint my hardest project- close contender though was m’ first! Old modified moon-zoomer, hell, damn thing was just held together with rubber bands and gum when I was done.” Sammy chuckled.

“And I wouldn’t of offered if I'd mind.” She winked, tossing her rag over her shoulder and waving Moe over to the door. The handle had dried oil smudges and paint around the wood and on the handle itself. Once the door was open, the smell of what resembled pizza faintly rose in the air, along with the sound of muffled guitar playing floated about. “I was already cookin’ somethin before you got here, so feel free to take a slice.”

Past the door’s frame was a small living space, literally, Sammy’s bed was wedged into a corner blankets and pillows spilling off the sides, a beat up couch faced perpendicular to it in the farthest corner. In front of the couch was a small table, littered with pages of books and flyers for missions. Past that was a just-as-small kitchen with all it’s appliances practically forced together to make space, heat emanating from the furnace oven. There were lights hung all around the perimeter of the cieling, lighting the room in a soft glow, that and a good amount of heart shaped neon lights. Bits and pieces of machinery were scattered here and there on the hardwood floor, objects that resembled robotic limbs were placed in a box shoved into another corner.

The psycho ignored his inner voice’s commands to restrain himself, that not everyone wanted to be touched like this. Her gentle words encouraged him further, until Krieg was beaming brightly as he continued to trace the swirls across her skin with his thumb. He was right for once and it felt like victory.

The fact that she was calling him some smart word helped too. He could read, he could recite poetry; there was just a disconnect that made it difficult to put the right words in the right order. To show they were equal, he grabbed her tattooed hand and pressed it to one of his many scars criss-crossing across his large forearm. “Roads lost, dead ends, cul-de-sacs to rivers red.”

The content hum that left Sammy’s mouth moved to a soft ‘huh?’ as the giant psycho brought her hand to his own markings. The deep channels of carved skin resultant of violence she couldn’t imagine, red-lined fingers carefully tracing over them like he did with her. Even past his mask she could tell there was a sort of glee under the man’s mask, that one starry eye was enough to hint at it.

“I’m sorry, hun, these hurt, didn’t they?” She slowly pulled her hand back, retiring it to rest on her knee as she looked at the giant man. “Mine did too.” She smiled in affinity to Krieg, granted, her marks didn’t hurt the same way, moreso there was a constant burn she felt often. But she could still empathize with the fact that they’d both had proof of what they’d been through.