Dmitri doesn't so much register her name. Oh, the number of times people have just tried to subtly hint that she should shut up now...
She starts laughing. It's not an especially pretty laugh, with her throat still raw from throwing up and her teeth still bloody, and it's not a terribly sensical laugh, and it fades out in a few seconds.
"Okay! Boy scout. I have concussions on top of my concussions right now thanks to you and your happy fuzzy domestic abuse partner. Hey there, by the way," she says, giving Hart a little wave. "Logical theories of cause and effect are looking a bit like chutes and ladders right now. ...you know, there was one version one of my pals back home brought me where all the chutes were snakes and the ladders – I don't even fucking know, but it's beside the point. I think I was going for a explanation where you were the snake, though."
She pauses, spits again, though toward the ground, this time.
"Long story short? I don't even know what I'm fucking saying, man, you expect me to do a thorough assessment of the situation and make predictions based on a heap of abstracts taller than the heap of shit you're spewing? Oh, and by the way. Doctor Defiance over there doesn't look too submissive, and as for the зайчикs, you couldn't have picked two sweeter kids if you tried. Beating them up so they don't hiss and spit like your angel friend is a bit like whipping a dog so it runs on four legs instead of two. One whole session? Let me say with utmost sarcasm that I'm scared, and I'm not sure how much of that sarcasm is the concussion talking and how much is pure old-fashioned organic Dmitri Lang."
She spits again, because she doesn't particularly want to swallow all this blood, and the floor's as good a place as any to put it.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-10-03 07:57 pm (UTC)She starts laughing. It's not an especially pretty laugh, with her throat still raw from throwing up and her teeth still bloody, and it's not a terribly sensical laugh, and it fades out in a few seconds.
"Okay! Boy scout. I have concussions on top of my concussions right now thanks to you and your happy fuzzy domestic abuse partner. Hey there, by the way," she says, giving Hart a little wave. "Logical theories of cause and effect are looking a bit like chutes and ladders right now. ...you know, there was one version one of my pals back home brought me where all the chutes were snakes and the ladders – I don't even fucking know, but it's beside the point. I think I was going for a explanation where you were the snake, though."
She pauses, spits again, though toward the ground, this time.
"Long story short? I don't even know what I'm fucking saying, man, you expect me to do a thorough assessment of the situation and make predictions based on a heap of abstracts taller than the heap of shit you're spewing? Oh, and by the way. Doctor Defiance over there doesn't look too submissive, and as for the зайчикs, you couldn't have picked two sweeter kids if you tried. Beating them up so they don't hiss and spit like your angel friend is a bit like whipping a dog so it runs on four legs instead of two. One whole session? Let me say with utmost sarcasm that I'm scared, and I'm not sure how much of that sarcasm is the concussion talking and how much is pure old-fashioned organic Dmitri Lang."
She spits again, because she doesn't particularly want to swallow all this blood, and the floor's as good a place as any to put it.