07-26-2021, 06:31 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: courier; font-size: 9pt;"]Cue has little knowledge of the Badlands, or for that matter much of the region itself. If it had been trespassing, it was not aware. It only planned to pass through this town, collecting whatever food and clothing it could. The clothes on its back now are so worn and tattered, it figures it would be nice to have a change soon. It bears no real attachment to its current outfit, despite this particular jacket and pair of jeans having been with it since it had "woken up." It's been wearing the same thing for at least a year, maybe more, and it's all it's ever had to its name. Something warmer, less hole-y, would be nice.
In any other case, it would have been well aware of the groups residing in the region—these people are not by any means a small, insignificant fleck upon the earth, but a real force to be reckoned with. But the name is unfamiliar, and so is the territory, with buildings that blend together like the backdrop of a painting and people that serve as little more than side characters, unimportant details to the scene. It's hard to focus, even on the small crowd forming around it. Its eyes flit from person to person, all come to gawk, until it is handed from its assailant to another pair of arms like a small child. Cue is unimpressed.
Laid gently out on the ground, it comes face to face with a woman, with a gaze that is impossible to look away from. Salem might be preoccupied with its injury, but Cue finds something about her to be so striking, its eyes are stuck on her face. It only breaks away when it feels the sting of alcohol, mouth twisting into a bland grimace. Ouch. That does hurt. It sits and wallows in its own pain, with no tears or words to express it. Something akin to frustration rises in the pit of its stomach, but that too is muted, kept down by some invisible force within. It scrabbles at pavement below, digging its fingers into gravel and dirt. That is as much of a reaction as Salem will get. By Cue's standards, it might as well be in hysterics.
Had it been shot for trespassing? The guilty party, now free of its bloody burden, seems to have vanished into the crowd, or at least is camoflauged well enough for Cue to miss them. It only bothers to search for a brief moment before it turns back to Salem and offers her a useless shrug. It doesn't know.
"Cue," it says. "My name is Cue." The tone it uses, despite its best attempts to sound anything but, is hopelessly flat, lacking the slightest bit of inflection. It is aware it sounds robotic, but there's little it can do to help it. There's a vague want to not come off as rude or blunt, but obviously there is no other way it could come off. "I don't know why I was shot."
Cue looks down at its leg, inspecting Salem's work. It's better than the jacket that had been loosely tied around its leg, resembling some form of actual medical care. It would have accepted just the jacket, too, but it won't complain about any free service. Of course, now that the wound has been tended to, this must mean it is free to go. With some effort, it pushes itself upright, and makes an attempt to stand on two feet. Of course, it doesn't get farther than a sitting position before a sharp, violent pang of pain shoots up its leg. Something like surprise appears on its face, and it eases itself back down, squeezing its eyes shut to suffer in silence. Ow. Who would have thought bullets hurt so bad?
In any other case, it would have been well aware of the groups residing in the region—these people are not by any means a small, insignificant fleck upon the earth, but a real force to be reckoned with. But the name is unfamiliar, and so is the territory, with buildings that blend together like the backdrop of a painting and people that serve as little more than side characters, unimportant details to the scene. It's hard to focus, even on the small crowd forming around it. Its eyes flit from person to person, all come to gawk, until it is handed from its assailant to another pair of arms like a small child. Cue is unimpressed.
Laid gently out on the ground, it comes face to face with a woman, with a gaze that is impossible to look away from. Salem might be preoccupied with its injury, but Cue finds something about her to be so striking, its eyes are stuck on her face. It only breaks away when it feels the sting of alcohol, mouth twisting into a bland grimace. Ouch. That does hurt. It sits and wallows in its own pain, with no tears or words to express it. Something akin to frustration rises in the pit of its stomach, but that too is muted, kept down by some invisible force within. It scrabbles at pavement below, digging its fingers into gravel and dirt. That is as much of a reaction as Salem will get. By Cue's standards, it might as well be in hysterics.
Had it been shot for trespassing? The guilty party, now free of its bloody burden, seems to have vanished into the crowd, or at least is camoflauged well enough for Cue to miss them. It only bothers to search for a brief moment before it turns back to Salem and offers her a useless shrug. It doesn't know.
"Cue," it says. "My name is Cue." The tone it uses, despite its best attempts to sound anything but, is hopelessly flat, lacking the slightest bit of inflection. It is aware it sounds robotic, but there's little it can do to help it. There's a vague want to not come off as rude or blunt, but obviously there is no other way it could come off. "I don't know why I was shot."
Cue looks down at its leg, inspecting Salem's work. It's better than the jacket that had been loosely tied around its leg, resembling some form of actual medical care. It would have accepted just the jacket, too, but it won't complain about any free service. Of course, now that the wound has been tended to, this must mean it is free to go. With some effort, it pushes itself upright, and makes an attempt to stand on two feet. Of course, it doesn't get farther than a sitting position before a sharp, violent pang of pain shoots up its leg. Something like surprise appears on its face, and it eases itself back down, squeezing its eyes shut to suffer in silence. Ow. Who would have thought bullets hurt so bad?