[ Shut up, Polly Q, Barry says and — for once in her fucking life — she actually does what she's told. Not because she wants to obey (no, in fact, she wants to do the exact opposite) but because she can't bring herself to anything else. Her arm hurts, her back hurts, her eyes ache when she tries to follow the lights moving outside the car window and they ache whenever she closes them. In all her years at the Academy she's seen some heavy action and has taken some heavy hit, but this was different, this was damage done by her own sisters' hands. (And — first lesson — if there's one thing that can take down a Cartazonos girl, it's another Cartazonos girl; they're simply hotwired that way.)
Sulkily, irritably, Polly lets herself lapse into a long, trudging silence, the heels of her palms pressed against her shut lids, trying to push the pain out of her eyes like wine wrung from a grape. At long length, her voice finally quiet, almost defeated. ] Margaret. [ When she lifts her head a moment later it's just far enough for Barry to catch her dark eyes watching from the shadow of her own brow. ] It's Margaret Quinn.
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Sulkily, irritably, Polly lets herself lapse into a long, trudging silence, the heels of her palms pressed against her shut lids, trying to push the pain out of her eyes like wine wrung from a grape. At long length, her voice finally quiet, almost defeated. ] Margaret. [ When she lifts her head a moment later it's just far enough for Barry to catch her dark eyes watching from the shadow of her own brow. ] It's Margaret Quinn.
My name.