Brenna Morrow
a sprinter, learning to wait —
Wandering the streets without an aim happened to be one of her specialties.
Today, this act was somewhat special: the sun was still in the sky, and the sound of the Quarter was alive around her. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd woken up early enough to not miss out on the daylight, but she had set out once she'd tucked away enough of her stash to not be so bothered by the light and noise, and the rest was hidden away in her flask, easily accessible on her hip. There was even the faintest glimmer of having a good day wreathed about her, but she dared not touch the idea too heavily, or it might scatter away from her like pooled smoke when met by a breeze.
There had been a brief time when she'd returned home after her near-immediately failed endeavors to become a bold adventurer of the new world that she'd felt this way on a regular basis. There was something comforting about these streets, even though they were no longer the same as they were when she was younger. There was something comforting, too, about how much they had changed. If the Quarter could grow and evolve into a greater form, perhaps, too, could she.
If that feeling could just last through the night...
As if summoned by the audacity of feeling something like at peace, an unnoticed pothole caught her up, and sent her stumbling forward a few paces, teetering for balance, and nearly making her careen into a stranger with dark hair, and the sort of dour expression that she could resonate with. She, too, had no fucks left to give, though this one seemed to be a lot more capable of backing up the poor attitude that often came with such an expression than she was.
The glimmer of happiness that had embraced her seconds before vanished in a flurry of self pity, replaced by irritation at the pothole, adorned with the shine of her frustration at having hoped it would linger long, in the first place.
"Why?!" she barked to the pothole with aggressively raised arms. She then glanced over at the tall fellow she'd nearly blasted into, while removing strands of dirty hair from her line of vision. Inebriated as she was, if her ankle had minded the stumble, she didn't feel it.
"Sorry, the damn road is broken," explained the tipsy, dusty woman, with a vague gesture at the divot. Normally, she might not have bothered apologizing, and stumbled on her way, but something seemed... different about this one. Her muddled brain slowly moved it's liquor soaked gears as she studied him, trying to discern what about the fellow was so peculiar, before settling itself on, probably just another rich asshole, as the best solution.
At least she wasn't drunk and careless enough yet to say that part out loud. Rich assholes sometimes had work for her to do.
Today, this act was somewhat special: the sun was still in the sky, and the sound of the Quarter was alive around her. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd woken up early enough to not miss out on the daylight, but she had set out once she'd tucked away enough of her stash to not be so bothered by the light and noise, and the rest was hidden away in her flask, easily accessible on her hip. There was even the faintest glimmer of having a good day wreathed about her, but she dared not touch the idea too heavily, or it might scatter away from her like pooled smoke when met by a breeze.
There had been a brief time when she'd returned home after her near-immediately failed endeavors to become a bold adventurer of the new world that she'd felt this way on a regular basis. There was something comforting about these streets, even though they were no longer the same as they were when she was younger. There was something comforting, too, about how much they had changed. If the Quarter could grow and evolve into a greater form, perhaps, too, could she.
If that feeling could just last through the night...
As if summoned by the audacity of feeling something like at peace, an unnoticed pothole caught her up, and sent her stumbling forward a few paces, teetering for balance, and nearly making her careen into a stranger with dark hair, and the sort of dour expression that she could resonate with. She, too, had no fucks left to give, though this one seemed to be a lot more capable of backing up the poor attitude that often came with such an expression than she was.
The glimmer of happiness that had embraced her seconds before vanished in a flurry of self pity, replaced by irritation at the pothole, adorned with the shine of her frustration at having hoped it would linger long, in the first place.
"Why?!" she barked to the pothole with aggressively raised arms. She then glanced over at the tall fellow she'd nearly blasted into, while removing strands of dirty hair from her line of vision. Inebriated as she was, if her ankle had minded the stumble, she didn't feel it.
"Sorry, the damn road is broken," explained the tipsy, dusty woman, with a vague gesture at the divot. Normally, she might not have bothered apologizing, and stumbled on her way, but something seemed... different about this one. Her muddled brain slowly moved it's liquor soaked gears as she studied him, trying to discern what about the fellow was so peculiar, before settling itself on, probably just another rich asshole, as the best solution.
At least she wasn't drunk and careless enough yet to say that part out loud. Rich assholes sometimes had work for her to do.
— a marathon runner, and my ankles are sprained
