Liz Sherman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walking_napalm) wrote2009-01-13 01:45 am
walking_napalm) wrote2009-01-13 01:45 am
Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense: Section 51
Liz's Spanish officially sucks.
She always knew that, but the last four days on the Yucatan Peninsula served as a strong reminder.
(Walking through the halls of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, Liz glances down the fork that would take her toward her own room -- and she goes the other way instead. It's a very easy decision.)
Still, she no longer has to rely on a piss-scared green agent to allow her to talk to locals, she's totally getting pizza later, there is one very crispy goat-mutilating creep back in Mexico, and she gets to sleep in her own (okay, more likely Red's own) bed tonight. That makes this situation a definite win.
Liz is carrying a duffel bag over her shoulder as she cranks the vault door open; she's still dressed from the mission, gunbelt on and stab vest tucked under her arm. Her boots are dusty; there is a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose (the damn sun), and her left hand is bandaged.
She half-smiles to herself, small and warm, as she quietly slips through the door and is greeted by Steve McQueen and Bubbles, among others.
She always knew that, but the last four days on the Yucatan Peninsula served as a strong reminder.
(Walking through the halls of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, Liz glances down the fork that would take her toward her own room -- and she goes the other way instead. It's a very easy decision.)
Still, she no longer has to rely on a piss-scared green agent to allow her to talk to locals, she's totally getting pizza later, there is one very crispy goat-mutilating creep back in Mexico, and she gets to sleep in her own (okay, more likely Red's own) bed tonight. That makes this situation a definite win.
Liz is carrying a duffel bag over her shoulder as she cranks the vault door open; she's still dressed from the mission, gunbelt on and stab vest tucked under her arm. Her boots are dusty; there is a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose (the damn sun), and her left hand is bandaged.
She half-smiles to herself, small and warm, as she quietly slips through the door and is greeted by Steve McQueen and Bubbles, among others.