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“The War Rig follows you into bed and marks you with her milk,” Dag says casually, sitting down next to Capable on the ledge of one of the Citadel’s crumbling towers.
Capable raises an eyebrow. “A riddle? I don’t understand.”
Dag smiles, pale eyes shining, and leans in to dab Capable’s bare clavicle with her thumb. When she pulls it back, it’s smeared with brown-black motor oil. “You didn’t work in the garage yesterday.”
Capable licks her lips and tries to will away the blush in her cheeks. “Enough riddles for today, yeah?”
“Our Furiosa won’t have wives, but she’ll have women,” Dag sing-songs as they sit together, kicking her heels against the stone wall.
“She sure will,” Capable says with a laugh.
Salmon_Pink Wed 17 Jun 2015 06:39AM UTC
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