Makita hasn't winced at any of Plourr's poking and prodding; she doesn't move like somebody injured.
(She moves like the walking dead. She moves like someone whose mind has gone silent but whose body refuses to give up. Plourr's seen it before. Hell, Plourr thinks she's felt it before.)
"Shavit, you're freaky," she mutters, and she lets go of her face; she peels the oversized hat (there is a nearly identical one sitting on her daughter's dresser; she tries not to think about it) off the girl's head. She smoothes matted hair, big fingers a touch clumsy (not used to this), but no less careful for it.
"Seriously freaky." She has her in a half-hug against her side; she momentarily rests her chin against the top of Makita's head. "Come on, girl. I know you're in there somewhere."
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(She moves like the walking dead. She moves like someone whose mind has gone silent but whose body refuses to give up. Plourr's seen it before. Hell, Plourr thinks she's felt it before.)
"Shavit, you're freaky," she mutters, and she lets go of her face; she peels the oversized hat (there is a nearly identical one sitting on her daughter's dresser; she tries not to think about it) off the girl's head. She smoothes matted hair, big fingers a touch clumsy (not used to this), but no less careful for it.
"Seriously freaky." She has her in a half-hug against her side; she momentarily rests her chin against the top of Makita's head. "Come on, girl. I know you're in there somewhere."