Liz Sherman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walking_napalm) wrote2010-02-24 10:21 pm
walking_napalm) wrote2010-02-24 10:21 pm
Somewhere over Iowa
In the belly of a BPRD cargo plane, Liz kicks off her pinchy shoes and flexes her toes. She momentarily considers lighting her feet on fire to get rid of the stockings, but ultimately dismisses the (really satisfying) thought. Lighting up while at 32,000 feet in a flying tin can isn't the greatest idea ever.
Abe is up front chatting with the pilot, which means that, due to the limited (three-person) size of the team that was on this particular mission, Liz and Hellboy are alone in the cargo bay with a whole lot of crated-up equipment. She settles in sideways on the bench seat, using Red as a backrest. "The next time someone has the bright idea of me being the public relations liaison," she says, tipping her head backward, "remind me to shoot them."
Abe is up front chatting with the pilot, which means that, due to the limited (three-person) size of the team that was on this particular mission, Liz and Hellboy are alone in the cargo bay with a whole lot of crated-up equipment. She settles in sideways on the bench seat, using Red as a backrest. "The next time someone has the bright idea of me being the public relations liaison," she says, tipping her head backward, "remind me to shoot them."
no subject
"Yeah," she allows magnanimously, low and warm; her eyes are bright. "You're pretty okay." A smile threatens again in the curve of her lips.
It will possibly be a whole new discussion if Laura decides she wants two cats.
They'll cross that bridge when they come to it, Liz thinks.