"Grey." He leans his chin on her shoulder, his left arm joining his right one around her waist. Curtis closes his eyes. "Kid a couple years older than Edgar, I think. He didn't talk. Ever. Everything was still there, we checked once, but he just...didn't want to."
And as far as reactions to trauma go, better to go mute than -- well.
"And there was another guy, Painter -- we all just called him that 'cause he was an artist. He'd grab paper during the junk deliveries and make his own charcoal. Sketched stuff all the time. He's how we ended up documenting half the shit that went on back there.
"Anyway, he figured out how to make tattoo ink and asked Grey if he wanted to put words on his skin. And he did."
no subject
And as far as reactions to trauma go, better to go mute than -- well.
"And there was another guy, Painter -- we all just called him that 'cause he was an artist. He'd grab paper during the junk deliveries and make his own charcoal. Sketched stuff all the time. He's how we ended up documenting half the shit that went on back there.
"Anyway, he figured out how to make tattoo ink and asked Grey if he wanted to put words on his skin. And he did."