The sun was obviously hot, but Sawyer's wasn't breaking a sweat. Her blistered copper skin was rough and hard and the only way for her to get perspiration was working in the forge, which she actually did most of her day. She was dressed in a red muscle shirt with large shorts she had gotten from the boys's section of the shop and hiking boots, her Camp necklace hanging around her thick neck.
But right now, she was sitting on a marble bench in front of the Arts and Crafts building with her pal Hanson, from the Apollo's, a piece of wood in her hands which she was shaping into an exotic fish, careful to sculpt out the slim fins and the delicate scales. Sawyer's hands were huge and gruff but she could cut incredibly precise shapes out of a piece of marble or scrap wood.
"But seriously, when you think about it, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse are such a joke," she said in her deep voice, her Texas accent poking through. "How are they supposed to take over the world in five months, we're like seven billions with tanks and helicopters and fighter jets." Wood scraps fell on the ground as she cut the dorsal fin slimmer. "They're four. On ponies."
But right now, she was sitting on a marble bench in front of the Arts and Crafts building with her pal Hanson, from the Apollo's, a piece of wood in her hands which she was shaping into an exotic fish, careful to sculpt out the slim fins and the delicate scales. Sawyer's hands were huge and gruff but she could cut incredibly precise shapes out of a piece of marble or scrap wood.
"But seriously, when you think about it, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse are such a joke," she said in her deep voice, her Texas accent poking through. "How are they supposed to take over the world in five months, we're like seven billions with tanks and helicopters and fighter jets." Wood scraps fell on the ground as she cut the dorsal fin slimmer. "They're four. On ponies."