[Now that she's on the ground, Johanna saunters over, without any real speed or intent beyond, you know. To saunter. And to get closer to the fire. Weird mood summarily buried. Not looking to kill, right now. One of the best parts about the jungle is, it's been pretty dry these days. No rain. Nothing to think about. At the top of Johanna's head, the memory of water is buzzing, minutes and hours and days and weeks, endless, and if she swallowed she knows that she would get that phantom taste of electricity, caught somewhere at the back of her throat, probably forever.
But hey. She's not dead.
She stops when she's beside his nice fire and sticks her hands out, to warm them. It's pretty balmy out. Still.
no subject
But hey. She's not dead.
She stops when she's beside his nice fire and sticks her hands out, to warm them. It's pretty balmy out. Still.
When she smiles, it looks pretty sweet.]
How many times did they try to kill you?