If it's possible to get whiplash from snapping your head around, Lindianne probably just gave herself a bad case of it. "31?! Oh my God, let me see that right now." She reaches out to gingerly take the jersey from Voodoo. She looks at it. Then, softly: "Mike. He was their catcher. And a damn good one."
This jersey, unlike the others, is folded with the utmost care. She tucks it in her bag. (This one won't be going to the civilians. This one's staying with her.) She looks a little misty-eyed for a moment. Nostalgia for a more peaceful time.
For a time before everything went to shit.
"...Thanks, Voodoo." She means it. "Heh. That hat suits you." She isn't denying the charge of being a smartass, though. Sometimes the situation calls for smartasses. If you can't laugh at the end of the world, then there's no point in going on.
Sometimes, you have to fight despair with sarcasm.
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Date: 2016-05-04 02:31 am (UTC)This jersey, unlike the others, is folded with the utmost care. She tucks it in her bag. (This one won't be going to the civilians. This one's staying with her.) She looks a little misty-eyed for a moment. Nostalgia for a more peaceful time.
For a time before everything went to shit.
"...Thanks, Voodoo." She means it. "Heh. That hat suits you." She isn't denying the charge of being a smartass, though. Sometimes the situation calls for smartasses. If you can't laugh at the end of the world, then there's no point in going on.
Sometimes, you have to fight despair with sarcasm.