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“I’ll show you how.” She beckons you over to a nearby light fixture, bumping shoulders as she holds the Polaroid up for inspection. “Focus wheel’s right here. Shutter button’s right beneath it, so don’t put your fingers there until you’re ready to take the shot…”
Five minutes later finds you as prepared as you’ll ever be. And to your surprise, you’re given the exclusive privilege of taking the first shot of a fresh roll of film. With your nausea mostly contained, it’s easier to move closer to the parapet for a better view of the city. “Anything in particular I should shoot?”
Gully shrugs. “Whatever you find interesting.”
How subjective of her…although that does bring up a question. Save for one of her own photos in the collage you saw, she’s noticeably absent. How come that’s the case?
You decide to ask her indirectly. “Can I take a picture of you?”
“No,” she says too quickly, in a voice harder than iron. “Aim that camera elsewhere, Sinleq.”
“How come?”
Gully shifts uneasily, kicking a stray pebble out of the way. “It’s…a stupid reason.”
“I won’t laugh,” you promise sincerely. Not after everything that’s been shared between you.
>>Checking for Gully points…
>>You have accumulated enough Gully points!
She sighs. “…you know I already have problems with my past. Figuring who I am. Looking at photos of myself…it only makes things worst. I can’t relate to the girl in the photo, or reconcile her as me.”
…you try not to stare or otherwise look too horrified. “Disassociation?”
“That’s what Geary called it. But he just told me to take pictures of things that…things that I’ll always find interesting. So that way I can enjoy my hobby without the disconnect from myself.”
…Jesus Christ, Gully. Don’t say something like that so blasé!
Shuddering, you try to put that out of your mind as you scour the city for anything interesting. More for Gully’s sake than yours, now that her words are rattling in the back of your mind. But you manage to find something to your liking that’s well-lit and interesting enough.
Fiddling with the controls, you adjust the knobs that control focus and exposure. You take a deep breath, stilling your movements no differently than if you were firing a rifle. With steady hands, and a focused shot…you hit the shutter button.
CLICK.
You quickly pull the camera back, just as it starts to hum and whir. It spits out a photo, which Gully takes.
"And now we wait," she says.
"How long?" you ask.
"About ninety seconds, give or take."
You squint at the black square, and recall a little bit of pre-Cataclysm trivia. "Won't shaking it make it develop faster?"
She couldn't have made a more offended face if you’d asked her about the captain's sex life. Gully scowls, releasing the kind of weary sigh that one has when dealing with the woefully uniformed. God knows you've made it plenty of times on the Duck.
(cont.)
