03-15-2014, 02:17 PM
This whole charade made Torri's skin crawl. Every single person she saw she was sure was going to see right through their disguise, and the city was worse off than she expected. Nothing outrageous happened, but she was trained to read people. Anxiety hit her like a slap in the face every where she looked. People walked swiftly from destination to destination. They kept their head down almost as strictly as she kept hers down. Mothers hustled children. Men herded dogs and animals to move more swiftly to their destination. Over all, a bright sun blazed rivers of sweat down Torri's neck. If it weren't for the headdress, she knew she would have a sunburn in minutes.
Michael's voice, tight and cold, broke her train of thought. A person, even a doctor, couldn't be in the army long without learning patience, but even she was grateful when Michael said they were nearing their destination. She was ready to get out of the line of fire, she thought bitterly. Part of her thought the symbolism might turn real all too soon.
As they neared the structure, Torri took over the responsibility of steering the cart that hid the liquid nitrogen. Michael seemed preoccupied. As well he should be. Torri shivered every time his gaze accidentally - or purposefully - swept across her. She was already regretting this ridiculous plan, but after ducking inside she kept her regrets to her self and peeled off the headdress. Her scalp was soaking wet.
She gave herself a moment to gain her bearings, but as soon she did, she clamped her jaw shut and began to unload the sacks of grain without so much as a cringe for their weight. She chucked one and then another aside. The third split at the seam, and kernels spilled across the floor. They crunched like marbles underfoot as Torri plucked the canister of liquid nitrogen from its niche, and carried it a few steps away from the possibly slipping hazard.
Quick fingers screwed on a pour spout and cap in place of the traditional lid. The hiss of liquid nitrogen bubbled in those few moments. At this temperature it looked like boiling water. She snapped her neck around her every few moments, waiting for their surroundings to change into something she could recognize as dangerous, but until it did, she continued to work at transforming the vessel into a weapon.
Michael's voice, tight and cold, broke her train of thought. A person, even a doctor, couldn't be in the army long without learning patience, but even she was grateful when Michael said they were nearing their destination. She was ready to get out of the line of fire, she thought bitterly. Part of her thought the symbolism might turn real all too soon.
As they neared the structure, Torri took over the responsibility of steering the cart that hid the liquid nitrogen. Michael seemed preoccupied. As well he should be. Torri shivered every time his gaze accidentally - or purposefully - swept across her. She was already regretting this ridiculous plan, but after ducking inside she kept her regrets to her self and peeled off the headdress. Her scalp was soaking wet.
She gave herself a moment to gain her bearings, but as soon she did, she clamped her jaw shut and began to unload the sacks of grain without so much as a cringe for their weight. She chucked one and then another aside. The third split at the seam, and kernels spilled across the floor. They crunched like marbles underfoot as Torri plucked the canister of liquid nitrogen from its niche, and carried it a few steps away from the possibly slipping hazard.
Quick fingers screwed on a pour spout and cap in place of the traditional lid. The hiss of liquid nitrogen bubbled in those few moments. At this temperature it looked like boiling water. She snapped her neck around her every few moments, waiting for their surroundings to change into something she could recognize as dangerous, but until it did, she continued to work at transforming the vessel into a weapon.