Now that he's standing up and she's settled a bit, Iman has a moment to appreciate him in return. Clothes are a little fucking all over the place - actually the whole everything is kind of all over the place - but it works on him. What an adorable sleepy-voiced punk-moppet.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine, just, you know, lost in slasher film woods with a talking bird," she says. "No big. That's, uh, that's Aqil, apparently. I'm Iman." She adjusts her hijab a little, not at all self-consciously, and gives him a wry smile.
"She thinks you're cute and she's pretending she's cool," says Aqil out of fucking nowhere.
"Wow, you are some kinda wingman, Bird," she says with almost alarmed irritation. Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is.
"Notice that she didn't contradict me," he says, cool as a cucumber, but gazing off into the woods. "We should keep moving. Something might still be on its way, we don't want to be around when it gets to us."
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"Oh yeah, I'm fine, just, you know, lost in slasher film woods with a talking bird," she says. "No big. That's, uh, that's Aqil, apparently. I'm Iman." She adjusts her hijab a little, not at all self-consciously, and gives him a wry smile.
"She thinks you're cute and she's pretending she's cool," says Aqil out of fucking nowhere.
"Wow, you are some kinda wingman, Bird," she says with almost alarmed irritation. Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is.
"Notice that she didn't contradict me," he says, cool as a cucumber, but gazing off into the woods. "We should keep moving. Something might still be on its way, we don't want to be around when it gets to us."
"Is that your scientific opinion?" Iman mutters.