[She reluctantly uncovers both hands and holds them out, glaring at him like she's waiting for him to construe the fact that she bleeds as some kind of weakness. Pain isn't the thing keeping her sharp - it's the rabid need to keep up, to outdo, to perform above and beyond the expectations of her peers.]
The junk has edges. [The statement comes out as much a flat challenge as the glare. Tell me you could have done better. Prove that you could have gotten it done differently. It's not even that the cuts matter one way or the other, or that she cares how he would have sorted through the helicopter remains; the anger is a shield. It keeps her wired, ready to push herself that much more should the need arise. Dare me to do better.]
no subject
The junk has edges. [The statement comes out as much a flat challenge as the glare. Tell me you could have done better. Prove that you could have gotten it done differently. It's not even that the cuts matter one way or the other, or that she cares how he would have sorted through the helicopter remains; the anger is a shield. It keeps her wired, ready to push herself that much more should the need arise. Dare me to do better.]