In the waystation Trin watches Gerrick flirt with the girl who served his meal. She’s a leggy blonde with straight hair that falls to the small of her back and an annoying habit of leaning against the gunner when she laughs. Trin nurses a tepid cup of tinny water as he scowls at her in the mirror behind the bar.
“Don’t worry about it,” Aissa tells him. She takes his cup and with a flick of her wrist, dumps the water into the sink. Then she refills the glass before setting it in front of him again. “If it bothers you that much, you go sit on his lap then. Otherwise stop brooding. He told you tonight, didn’t he?”
That he did. Trin waits for him at the bar. One by one the other gunners find someone to accompany them upstairs, a chore girl whose shift has ended or one of the fans that crowd
