CALLOUS

Nonverbal Starters | Not Accepting 👉 Point to something for my muse to see 

“Shit.” 

With a soft curse under her breath, Miriam ducks behind the shell of an old car, loading her gun as quickly and as quietly as she could manage. She’d been lucky someone had caught the creeping deathclaws form before anyone had stepped out into the open. 

Nonverbal Starters | Not Accepting

Nonverbal Starters | Accepting

Legs resting on the edge of the table, Miriam’s pipboy lays splayed in her lap as she messes in the settings of the clunky tech for the third time that week. Damn thing’s map wouldn’t work. Upon hearing the sound of footfalls she glances up, eyeing the man suspiciously as he sits at the table with her. 

Nonverbal Starters | Accepting 🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair

As her sister approaches, Miriam glances up from the gun she’d been working on, giving her a soft smile as the other puts a hubflower in her hair. The bright petals stood out against her white locks, a fragment of beauty not often seen in the wastes

Nonverbal Starters | Accepting 👩‍⚕️ Put pressure on my muse’s wound

It was a weird sensation, one that Miriam had never been a fan of. While she couldn’t feel the pain of the wound, the unnatural pressure being put on her leg was uncomfortable none the less and seemed to barely dampen the amount of blood coming out.

“No. ‘Considering it’ means the possibility of you not shutting the fuck up. It’s yes or no.”

“There are certain libraries and hospitals where things are in tact. There are also merchants and traders who have them. I happen to have the money to pay for recovered copies,” Noel said, taking a scrap piece of newspaper and sliding it in between the pages of the medical journal. He pulled it away from Miriam and looked up at her with a stern glare.

“Do not touch my things, please,” Noel said, though it was less of a request and more of a command.

Miriam rolls her eyes, overdramatic and pointed, but steps away from him regardless; quelling her momentary impulse to touch more of his things out of sheer spite. For the moment, at the very least. 

“Pardon?” he asked, barely looking up from his reading, “Is it really that rare to be literate these days that you’ve never seen someone read?”

Atticus watched, anticipating the worst. The sparks made him particularly nervous. What if something, or rather someone, caught on fire? He hoped it wasn’t him. 

He almost sighed in relief when it was pried free. At least that was over.

“Simple? Hardly. You could get burnt or start a fire with those sparks flying, Jesus Christ…”

“Oh what, you scared by a little fire? Please, one of these things is worth a couple hundred caps a pop. I’ll take that over getting a little singed any day. It isn’t even that dangerous, as long as you know how to do it.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, taking a slight step backwards.

He wasn’t much of a scientist, but he did consider himself somewhat handy and a mechanic of sorts. Sure, this wasn’t a prewar car or radio, but he knew that it wasn’t a good idea to go poking around inside strange pieces of tech.

“Whatever you’re doing, you’d better be careful or you’ll get yourself hurt or worse.”

“Hey I’ve done this a million times and I’m still kicking, all my limbs included. What the worst that could happen?”

The fusion core was quite stuck in the power grid, years of wear and decaying practically fusing the two pieces of metal together. With a screwdriver, she wiggled in between the two objects; not at all bothered by the sparks that came to dust her hands. It took only a bit more prying before she was able to fully pop it out.