This, at least, gets an understanding snort from Crowley.
"Fair play," he says, lowering his hand and looking down at his fingers, remembering the feel of melting leather underneath, then of steel: red, then white-hot, and finally chipping, corroded black.
(On black, on black.)
"It's not always a picnic, driving cars that aren't in any shape to be driven."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-02-21 03:54 am (UTC)"Fair play," he says, lowering his hand and looking down at his fingers, remembering the feel of melting leather underneath, then of steel: red, then white-hot, and finally chipping, corroded black.
(On black, on black.)
"It's not always a picnic, driving cars that aren't in any shape to be driven."