[ Kimiko isn't sure why it's okay for her to paint her toenails on Furiosa's couch but not engage in discretionary time with a handsome, broad-shouldered mechanic, but she knows enough not to ask at this point. But she does tilt her gaze up at the words, turning them over in her head.
It doesn't reconcile well with sure, steady Furiosa. A woman who always knows her mind, economical with her words, holding onto her syllables like they're drops of water in a drought.
For a moment, there's no response. Just the low murmurs of the movie, the crackle of the television set. Then — ]
I daydream about singing sometimes. Maybe on a stage.
[ For realz. And it's hard not to let her expression catch a little, something vulnerable, not quite sad, over signing hands. ]
no subject
It doesn't reconcile well with sure, steady Furiosa. A woman who always knows her mind, economical with her words, holding onto her syllables like they're drops of water in a drought.
For a moment, there's no response. Just the low murmurs of the movie, the crackle of the television set. Then — ]
I daydream about singing sometimes. Maybe on a stage.
[ For realz. And it's hard not to let her expression catch a little, something vulnerable, not quite sad, over signing hands. ]
What made you start talking again?