WESSEX
the wraith
It’s a familiar coping mechanism: push the feelings down and away, find a way to keep the hands busy, to drift to sleep as soon as the head hits the pillow, to raise one’s sights to moving forward. Stopping meant getting lost in emotions. Emotions meant weakness. Theirs was not a world where the weak did well. Her back is turned when Elena comes up, reaching up to place bottles on a shelf that might be a little less easily accessible, should anyone want to try this kind of stunt again. Turning, the blonde woman sees an older, clearly irritated woman in the entrance. “Some people started to take advantage of the situation,” gesturing the room, she grabs a rag and wets it, putting her attention to a brown sticky spot on the bar. Halovians and Grounders alike seemed to be the culprit - and whether it was based in boredom or anxiety is anyone’s guess. “Put a stop to it.”
A figure moves in her peripheral and Wessex takes a look, recognizing Chuy. She wasn’t aware of his position at the bar and if she hadn’t been there, perhaps he would have broken things up. Nodding as he takes a broom and begins to help sweep up, she casts her gaze to the woman again, quite happy to work in silence - but there’s an air of outrage and interrogation about her, so the Wraith steadies herself for the inevitable.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
