<div class="floatleft">(http://i50.tinypic.com/xang9.jpg)</div><br/><div style="text-align: left;"><strong>Name:</strong> Cori Adams<br/><strong>Title:</strong> The Skills<br/><strong>Location:</strong> The back of the pawne shoppe<br/><strong>Tags:</strong> Taras, OPEN<br/><hr/><br/>In long moments of silence, Cori was able to shake all of her cobwebs loose. She felt like she had completely regained control when Taras picked up the phone call. She could mostly follow what the two of them were talking about. It sounded like Allison had won the race, but that wasn't nearly important enough to Cori at the moment. The grip on her right hand was losing power, and the pain was nearly unbearable. She lit a cigarette for herself as the Firebird slowed into an Alley.<br/><br/>Cori exited the car as quickly as she could. There were no sirens, and the night was oddly calm and quiet, but she still felt a powerful urgency to move, and get to safe ground. Being with the rest of the crew seemed like a bright idea. They were already far enough away from the race. Cori's selfish streak was riding high, she just wanted to get her elbow looked at, and she wanted a cold shower and a bottle of Jack Daniels. <br/><br/>Her feet were stable now, and she looked like all of the shell-shock had worn off. As she moved from the Firebird to the sleep car she decided to fill Taras in on her condition, She held the cigarette in her left hand as she stammered out her current drama. <strong>"Damn, ya know my head isn't the concern anymore. That's all cleared up."</strong> A pause settled here that helped her raise her voice. <strong>"But this hand. It's this fucker-" </strong>Cori held her right hand up, still dripping with blood, leaking through the bandage. <strong>"I can't feel this hand at all." </strong>She was climbing into the passenger seat of the new car, so she didn't seem concerned with this matter at the moment.<br/><br/>She waited for Taras to open the driver's side door. <strong>"How are we doing on time, sugar?"</strong> She was leaning over the center console with her seat-belt in her numb hand, and her cigarette hanging from her lip. She took a long drag and leaned back into her seat. The door shut and she fastened her seatbelt, lifting her foot onto the dashboard, holding her right hand in front of her, nursing it, blowing smoke on it by accident. Her face was still pale, but a cold look of apathy was hanging off of her brows. She looked sad, angry, and relieved all at the same time.</div>