Aurelia
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
Petrichor punctuates the summer rain, and the sky deepens toward a gray sunset. The markets are closing up, but Aurelia meanders through them asking for anything anyone can spare towards repairing the Slagveld. Even if it's just a tool here and there, she's grateful for whatever people are able to give. At this point, she's obtained a few things that might prove useful - or might not. She's not feeling particularly hopeful about anything in this moment.
She makes her way through the streets, stepping through shallow puddles of water that gather where the walkways have become uneven with use. Her gaze doesn't lift from a leather satchel as she tucks something into it. A cigarette hangs from between her lips, ash fluttering down across her shirt. With what she has thus far, she thinks it'll be enough to at least.. get something done. Something is better than nothing, after all.
It's just here that she runs headlong into someone else, a girl with dark hair and a familiarity Aurelia won't have the mental capacity to place right away. The satchel drops and its contents spill out from within it.
"Shit," she stares down the length of the cigarette towards the ground. "It's fine- I've got it," she says raggedly, waving them off with lightning-scarred hands, hoping they won't insist on helping her.
She makes her way through the streets, stepping through shallow puddles of water that gather where the walkways have become uneven with use. Her gaze doesn't lift from a leather satchel as she tucks something into it. A cigarette hangs from between her lips, ash fluttering down across her shirt. With what she has thus far, she thinks it'll be enough to at least.. get something done. Something is better than nothing, after all.
It's just here that she runs headlong into someone else, a girl with dark hair and a familiarity Aurelia won't have the mental capacity to place right away. The satchel drops and its contents spill out from within it.
"Shit," she stares down the length of the cigarette towards the ground. "It's fine- I've got it," she says raggedly, waving them off with lightning-scarred hands, hoping they won't insist on helping her.
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
