“So what’s this one from?” Daring asked, tracing a red line on Phillip’s foreleg.
“Knife fight with three wankers,” Phillip responded, shifting his position on the couch slightly. “The biggest one was trained; managed to get that cut in when I went for his head.”
“How’d you deal with him?” Daring asked.
“Through some sand into his eyes and broke his kneecaps, then dealt with the others in half the time,” Phillip replied.
“Not bad,” Daring said. She pointed to a scattering of red marks along her side. “This one was when I was sneaking into some banker’s home. The wife woke up while I was cracking the safe and went for the shotgun just as I was flying out the window. I still managed to get back to the hideout with five pellets in me.”
Phillip looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Are we really doing this?”
“I don’t have a dick, so we can’t compare those,” Daring smirked, rolling over onto her side. “Go on, top mine.”
Phillip stared at her for a few moments, then pointed to a jagged red scar on his back. “Bar brawl five months into patrol work. This one bloke with a gutful of piss tried to smash a bottle on the bar, but broke the table instead. Grabbed a shard of wood and stuck me with it while my back was turned. Wound got infected, put me out of action for three days.”
“Unicorn guard,” Daring boasted, pointing to some spiderweb-shaped scars on her left stifle, just in front of her cutie mark. “Walked right into him sneaking out of a bank. He zapped me with that while I was flying up into a vent. Leg was lame for almost a week.”
“Hmm,” Phillip nodded, tilting his head to the side. His eyes panned down to Daring’s upper back, to a series of red lines that criss-crossed her shoulderblades. “And those?”
Daring froze, the smile on her face vanishing in a moment. She turned away, crossing her forelegs across her chest.
“Daring?” Phillip asked, drawing closer to her.
“I…” Daring took a shaky breath. “Those are from Mojo,” she admitted quietly, still not looking at him. “It was the first time I said no to him. He sent me after this drug dealer in the Everfree District. I scouted out his house, stole most of his bits and tossed a good portion of his shit in the river...but Mojo wanted me to go back and kill him. We’d been hired for it, it’d pay good, we’d be getting rid of this drug-dealing bastard...but…” She shivered. “I’d killed before in self-defense, but this was murder. It was wrong. So I told him no.”
She hugged herself tighter, her shaking becoming pronounced. “He...two of the Family members, two of my brothers, held me down and Mojo...beat me. With a cane. Until I bled. And he said, ‘Let that be a lesson to you.'” She shivered and let out a strangled noise that she desperately hoped wasn’t a whimper. “And they just...left me there…”
She swallowed back the tears that had begun to sting at her eyes, hugging herself tighter. A small, quivering laugh escaped her. “I once read in a book that scars are like a roadmap of our lives,” she muttered. She lifted her right hoof and glared at the brand mark on her skin. “Guess my map’s got some pretty shitty places on it.”
Phillip reached around and took her right hoof. As Daring watched, he lifted it up to his lips and gently kissed the scar. His smooth, warm, slightly moist lips brushed gently against the hard, rough skin.
“But that map led you here,” he said, squeezing her hoof in both of his.
Daring stared at him for a moment, then let out a low laugh, shaking her head as her shaking slowly abated. “You are unbelievably cheesy sometimes.”
“You once said the cheesy stuff sometimes works,” Phillip replied.
Daring smiled and booped him. “I said that to Cheeseball Sentry, not you.”
“Still applies,” Phillip answered, grinning.
Daring laughed quietly and booped him. “I guess it does.” She leaned in for a kiss, which Phillip was more than happy to oblige.