brokenspy·:
@zerocharliexray· liked for a starter.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Mostly, Sarah was just trying to blend in; look like she belonged. The easiest way to do that, she’d often found, was to focus on involving herself in a conversation, in helping someone with something. It was why the best covers had always been the ones that involved some sort of customer serving job - but she couldn’t hide behind the Wienerlicious or Orange Orange counter this time. “Anything?”
Lord, but she hates these dog 'n pony shows. Everybody dressed to the nines, not a draft beer to be found, all the food bite-sized or smaller.
And hell. She knows that PR's part of the gig – it always has been, always will be – but there's nothing she dislikes more than being strutted out in her crisp black uniform in front of a crowd full of satin and silk and expensive perfumes so that the folks wearin' ‘em might feel better about opening their checkbooks. Her mind goes right back to the hose she scrounged and cared for so carefully, the silks that were needed for parachutes, the rations saved up over months so someone could have a little sugar on their birthday.
It's a good thing the world moved on, she knows. But it sure makes it hard for a gal like her who missed the last sixty or so rotations.
So she's a little lost in thought when the question comes, and she blinks bewilderment out of her eyes. "Huh? Oh – "
She focuses on the other woman, calls up a smile from somewhere. "Thanks, sis, but I'm right as rain. Say, that's a swell dress; you look like a million bucks."
