Natalya closed her eyes in place of slapping her palm against her forehead. The Australian stared at Yorick for a disconcertingly long time without blinking.
"Here's the thing," he said, reasonably, "you're clearly not trained, the way your friends are. I think we can all agree on that. So you don't have all the facts."
There was a metallic sort of clinking noise, and the militia man who'd been tending the soldering iron lifted it up.
"A few important ones, before I ask you the next question. It takes about a 160 degrees Fahrenheit, since I assume you'd no idea what I was talking about if I used Celsius, right? To give a human a third degree burn. That's where the epidermis is completely burned away. This little gadget that my friend here has, it's going to be anywhere from about 480 to 800 degrees. Fahrenheit. We're going to use it on your arm, there, after we cut your sleeve off, if you don't answer the next question."
Natalya clenched and unclenched her hands, thinking how quickly she could move, what ordinance she could retrieve, before they shot and killed her. She had to get them out of here and God help her, she didn't know how.
"Who sent you?" the Australian was asking Yorick, as the militia man unrolled a leather pouch and removed a pair of scissors from it.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-05-25 07:04 am (UTC)"Here's the thing," he said, reasonably, "you're clearly not trained, the way your friends are. I think we can all agree on that. So you don't have all the facts."
There was a metallic sort of clinking noise, and the militia man who'd been tending the soldering iron lifted it up.
"A few important ones, before I ask you the next question. It takes about a 160 degrees Fahrenheit, since I assume you'd no idea what I was talking about if I used Celsius, right? To give a human a third degree burn. That's where the epidermis is completely burned away. This little gadget that my friend here has, it's going to be anywhere from about 480 to 800 degrees. Fahrenheit. We're going to use it on your arm, there, after we cut your sleeve off, if you don't answer the next question."
Natalya clenched and unclenched her hands, thinking how quickly she could move, what ordinance she could retrieve, before they shot and killed her. She had to get them out of here and God help her, she didn't know how.
"Who sent you?" the Australian was asking Yorick, as the militia man unrolled a leather pouch and removed a pair of scissors from it.