Quoted By:
"No," she says deliberately, "That's gonna make the colors run, crease the photo and blur the shot."
...huh. The more you know.
"I'll keep that in mind," you say with a shrug. The flippancy in your voice doesn’t do you any favors, as you feel her glaring a hole into your back.
And true to her word, it takes just a little over that time to render out...but it isn't a good picture. The contrast is off. At the angle you held the camera, the photo caught the edge of lamppost and got overexposed. There isn't as much a background as much a backdrop of blinding light. And the angle is off by a fair bit. As if it had been taken by a drunkard or someone under hypoxia.
But it’s still decent enough for a first shot, dare you say good for avant-garde photography. A simple photo of the late-night ships pulling into Dockside, and the men and women aboard them, scurrying around like worker ants. And from the way you held on just a little bit long, the ship lights bleed contrails as they slide into port.
Both pilots look up from the photo at the same time, and your gazes inadvertently meet.
A profound moment of silence. The world beyond the photo, yourself and Gully seems to bleed away.
...
...were her eyes always that much a deep shade of red?
...
...then:
“Meh," she says flatly.
You blink, utterly taken aback. Then your brain finally catches up with what she said and you scowl fiercely. "Oy."
But she grins, and your anger vanishes. It’s a welcome change after her moping about the <span class="mu-i">Olympia</span>. "I wasn't expecting you to be the next Robert Capa. My first photos weren’t any good either. That said..." Gully unzips her jacket, fishing out a small notebook from an inner pocket. "...it has an amateurish charm to it."
With a flourish, your photo disappears between the pages, and the notebook back into her clothing.
"Hey!" you complain, "That's my photo."
She sniffs. "You should be honored that it's going into the album."
"Yeah, but I took it. It's mine by right."
"Whose camera is this? Who paid for the film?"
You pointedly ignore those two very good points, and reach for the camera.
"Let me try again, dammit. I'll get you a better one."
"Hey, watch it!" she snaps, dangling the polaroid out of your reach. "Film isn't cheap."
True enough, but the petulance in her voice makes you want to roll your eyes. “I’ll pay you back.”
Gully crosses her arms. "With what money? It'll take the Salvage Guild at least a week before we get our pay stubs."
She didn’t mean for it to come as a joke or a snipe at your funds. True enough as it is that you’re not the most liquid. But you lower your collar, just enough for the light to catch the brands, and tap your neck. "Just get your dad to tattoo another bar here. Should be enough for at least five years' worth of film."
She flinches, and shoots you a glare. "That isn't funny."
You raise your hands in apology. "Sorry. But in all seriousness, you can take it out of my prize money."
(cont.)
