The Rich and the Destitute [SL] (Notre Dame)

A dark cloud hung over the young woman as she slipped through the foot traffic of the busy street, keeping her gaze below eye level to avoid making any eye contact. She felt weak running away like that, but she hadn't known what else she should do. It hurt to open up, it always did, and she couldn't allow some random stranger to get in just because of a silly little drawing. Ritsuko hadn't meant to be as spiteful and mean as she was. It honestly meant a lot to her that someone could take her music and articulate it in such a way. At the same time, it left her frightened. Nobody she'd met so far had her best intentions in mind or they didn't understand her enough to connect, so when it did eventually happen it only meant one thing: they were going to wound her and wound her deeply. Ritz wasn't strong enough to keep getting hurt like she did. She couldn't be the open book for people to rip pages out of, they would have to look and not touch. Which is why she cried through her music. She could vent without being understood or opening up, she could give meaning without making herself vulnerable. The musician's life was built on that principle, the avoidance of pain, and she kept herself tightly guarded lest the inevitable happen.

Regret pierced straight through her soul as she floated through groups of people like a specter. The more she thought about it the more it pained her on what she should've done. Regrettably enough she pushed the artist away, but she understood. Not many people just "got" her message and she shoved her away. Her hurtful, gray eyes like sanded marble communicated the very same pain she felt, her delicate, smooth hands having given her a very personal present that she'd rejected. Soft lips communicated in fearful stutters an anxiety all too familiar, lips she... s-she wanted t-to... m-maybe...
Ritsuko could feel herself growing flush in public, scarlet touching her pale cheeks as the delinquent shook away inappropriate thoughts. She was... she was just a stranger. A cute... stranger... but that was it! It wasn't as if she knew her or anything, she could turn out to be a psycho or one of those losers that lived in their mom's basement or something. Someone that shy and delicate a-and considerate... Somebody like that probably had a boyfriend anyway, it wasn't worth her time thinking about! Endymion was a big city, they'd probably never meet again anyway!

...that sad realization made Ritz feel a little more sullen than justified. They'd never meet again. This... was her life. To float around, never caring, never having anyone to depend on, not a soul to pray for her. She didn't need them anyway. The delinquent resolved that she would get by on her own, by herself, with no one's assistance or intervention. The road she walked was lonely but she'd chosen it. She would see it through. To get back into that more comfortable frame of mind Ritsuko would reach into the guitar case on her shoulder and pull her headphones loose. Her energy was gone and she needed to process, which would mean that the world would need to shut the fuck up for a second.


The overpowering sound was strong enough to hear clear as day through her earbuds, the squealing bass erupting from the tiny speakers. Ritz didn't care how it would effect her hearing down the line, her guitar was louder anyway. Soaking in the melancholic vibrations, she chose to turn her mind toward something to distract herself. This lead her to the scarf she was knitting for Zavie. She never forgot how to knit scarves from the year before, but admittedly she was having problems imagining how a boy's scarf would look compared to her own brand of style. One she'd knit for herself certainly wouldn't fit a young man's aesthetic. Well, there was time to kill. Nowhere to be and nothing to do, and she was right up the strip. Against her better judgement, Ritsuko escaped the crowd to enter one of those high-profile joints with the big windows that sold socks for $30. What idiot would pay for shit like that?

Cutting Edge Fashion was decently busy as the ubiquitous tone chimed as she entered, not that she could hear it. It's hardwood floors and inviting white walls lined with mirrors and garish displays definitely wasn't her scene but it didn't need to be. She didn't plan on spending a cent there. Designer jeans for over a hundred bucks, jackets for twice what she payed for her hotel! Who the fuck would pay these outrageous prices when they could walk a few blocks down to Thrift Center and get the same damn thing without the brand tags for a fraction of the price? Whatever. She wasn't dumb enough to spend her money on it and pitied anyone who did. Floating through the racks to browse, notebook in hand, Ritz focused on both finding the scarves for a style reference and silently scoffing at the ridiculous cost for a blouse. It was a pretty bitchin' blouse though, with a unique tightening buckle on the lower back in a cool seafoam color. If only she could afford it...

Ritsuko sighed and shook her head as she placed the blouse back on the rack. She'd never be able to afford it, it cost more than everything she was wearing combined. Shit, the clearance rack full of ugly sweaters and off-colored shirts no one wanted was outside of her price range. None of them would fit her unique style anyway. Everything Cutting Edge offered was too... upper crust. She was more of a grungy sort of gal, and while they certainly tried to cater to that sense of fashion they failed pretty miserably at it. The patched jackets still had new thread coming off of them and looked too expensive, and the hooded sweatshirts that tried to fit the homeless/hipster aesthetic were made of too nice of fabric for anyone to believe it. It was a little too "try hard", not that most people would notice, but Ritz could tell the real deal from a fake-out. It was special. It had soul, energy, a story behind it. When you saw a grizzled biker with a patchy leather jacket, that was his life story. It meant something. If she saw a kid with the same jacket she'd assume they drank the pumpkin spice latte and bitched about how their parents bought'em the wrong sports car.

As her vindictive thoughts stormed into her mind like rumbling clouds they cleared just as quickly as she soon became distracted from her goal in favor of the meager time-waster that was shopping. It was actually kinda fun to sift through the various garments and make her own judgments. Some of them looked like they'd pair alright, if all of them stank of money, anyway. She found a pair of bleached jeans she thought would look good on her that would cost a car payment, a neat little newsboy cap that would look pretty fuckin' rad with some decorative pins and buttons, a few V-necks she'd like to try... but a fair amount of it was laughable. She'd found a leather jacket COVERED in zippers. Literally covered in them! There was more metal than leather! She got a good chuckle out of that one, let alone the copious amounts of stupid-assed shoes that looked like their primary function was to snap your Achilles tendon. Who... the fuck... would wear shoes like these? Heh, it was like self-prescribed torture! Did people really subject themselves to this kind of aggravation to think they looked good in it...?

Come to think of it... Ritsuko was feeling very out of place among the populated store. Everyone was galled up in "trendy", "hip" attire or something the wealthy would throw on to waste money and there she was looking like a server in one of their restaurants. Not that she minded. Ritz didn't want to fit in there. She wasn't some stuck-up wasp that felt like she needed to wear a brand to be accepted by strangers. When she left she'd stop thinking about them and they'd stop thinking about her. It suited her just fine to continue to browse her selection of cringe-worthy pieces with a few decent items hiding like diamonds in the rough. Even if she couldn't buy them.

She hadn't given the outside world any though since she'd started browsing, being deep enough to ignore the outside world and retreat to her inner comforting one as she did so. The stares she got didn't matter because the people giving them weren't shit. She'd do her, they could do them. And as she had been musing over a specific blouse with long sleeves and an interesting asymmetrical  design would a teenager taller than herself begin to admire the rack, drawing ire from Ritsuko.

Pfffff, seriously? What kind of kid has that kind of cash anyway? I bet she's a little spoiled brat. Oooh, look at me! My daddy's a rich and powerful lawyer so I only wear the best most expensive brands! My step-mom Susan's only pretends to be nice to me to get his money but that's okay because we do Prague in the summer! Tch, stupid girl prolly doesn't know how good she's got it.

On the outside Ritz was as distant and quiet as your typical stranger should be.
"...must be nice to be fuckin' privileged..." she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she muttered that scornful phrase underneath her breath. Or at least she thought she did. The cacophonous music had messed with her volume control a bit, and she'd actually end up saying that a bit louder than she would've liked for others to hear.

With the growling guitar and fierce whine of bass washing the world away, Ritz hadn't heard the wealthy girl's inquiry. She was caught in her own little world browsing through articles of clothing she'd need to sell her blood to afford, appearing rather rude to anyone outside her own head. The irresponsible young adult was concerned with more immediate engagements, such as musing over what she owned that would pair well with a particularly striking polo shirt, if a white jacket or black jacket would be more her style, and just who the hell under the age of 40 would want to by a cream-colored cardigan. Seriously, if clothes could speak, this one said "I can't wait to have grandkids". She smiled a sly smirk at someone's next terrible decision and sighed lightly, closing her eyes for a moment or two to process.

This was... pretty alright. It felt good to decompress after a frustrating day at work, and laughing at dumb things and judging stupid people was just what she needed to let off her steam a little. As she turned to continue her amazing quest for the Scarves of Masculinity Ritsuko nearly ran into the taller girl, reflexively taking a flinching step back before they collided. She was staring at her, and the young woman caught her mouth something her ears didn't pick up through the volume of screeching chords and wailing bass lines. From her stance and countenance she was expectant, as if she were waiting for her to speak to her. Ritsuko, being the loner she was, found her immediately loathsome. She didn't appreciate being stared at for any reason and it wasn't any of her damn obligation to speak to people she didn't want to. Her fingers unconsciously twitched slightly as if in preparation to defend herself. No small coincidence as she was about to do just that. Just in a more... emotional sense of the word. Calloused fingers reached up to pluck an earbud from her head, the screaming from the tiny speaker drowning out the immediate joke of in-store easy-listening.
"Um, excuse me?" spoke Ritz in a neutral tone sliding toward hostility. A double-edged meaning, of course. If all things worked out well, the teenager would clear her a path. If not, she'd get into a confrontation and could feel justified in whatever stance she took. Not that that mattered at all as long as it was opposing and sent the girl on her way. As contrary as it seemed, Ritsuko wasn't ready to start an argument at the moment. She'd shut it down before it began.

The spiteful young woman stood with a hand on her hip, tired eyes gazing impatiently at the teenager through half-open lids. She knew that tone of voice. It wouldn't matter if she minded being asked a question because she was going to ask it anyway. Ritz contemplated giving a simple "yes" and walking away just for shits and giggles. The thought nearly cause a smile to tug at her lips, it'd surely break her reality. Keyword being nearly. Being thrust into a conversation she wanted no part in wore on her nerves enough to rob the situation of all humor. She wished she would've taken her words a bit harsher and buzzed off, Ritsuko surely wasn't acting any sort of approachable at the moment for that purpose. Why couldn't she just enjoy herself, y'know, by herself? Why did everyone feel like they had to come up and talk to her? All she wanted was to be left alone. She thought she communicated that fairly clearly.

Ritsuko gently chewed on her tongue both in thought and slight bitterness as the naïve little girl asked her an innocent question. ...that one? Why that one? It was almost 90 dollars, how much money were her parents made of? The way she'd spoken about it made it seem insignificant, like she could drop that kind of cash at the change of the wind. Ritz couldn't even get food whenever she wanted, let alone purchase high-end apparel like it was nothing. Hell, she wasn't even there to buy anything, she was gonna steal some supplies at work and try to make them at home. It made her want to tell the spoiled brat that of course it wouldn't just so that she'd put it back and go waste someone else's time, but she wouldn't do that.  The musician had been asked for her opinion, not something she got very often, and she would give it to her without restraint or censorship. She wouldn't need to tell her the blouse wasn't her style just to spite her. It clearly wasn't. She'd just have to give her an honest opinion.

"No," she answered simply, allowing the angry shouting and metal chords to fill the silence while she went back to thumbing through slacks she wouldn't want to wear for work and shirts she'd need to have a lot less respect for herself to try. She wasn't trying to be rude or cryptic, but the reason behind why it wasn't a good fit took a moment to come to her. It was obvious why it didn't work. Explaining it was the hard part.
"...for one, it's not your style," spoke Ritsuko suddenly, not even giving her the privilege of eye contact as she rattled off the logic behind her decision, "It's... mature and daring. You're... not. The kind of person who would wear that wouldn't ask anyone what they thought, they'd just wear it. And it's not even your color, you'd look like trash in pastels, it'd make it look even more obvious how closely your eyes match your hair color. You want something that blends, this pops, you should stick to shades like you're wearing right now. It doesn't work with skirts either, and your shoes and stockings tell me you wear those a lot. So no, it doesn't fit you."

Her words were harsh and biting as always, but it's what she thought of the look. It just... wasn't a very good fit. Ritz thought she'd look much better and refined in a dull-colored cardigan that would suit the off-black tones her hair paired with her eyes, something pale gray or a dark navy blue would blend well. But she hadn't asked her about that and the delinquent wasn't up to being some poor little rich girl's fashion consultant at the moment. To be frank, she thought about this question a lot. As a tailoress and someone attuned so personally to the arts she had a keen eye for what was aesthetically pleasing and what wasn't. Styles, tastes, and moods just clicked for her, although it wasn't always so simple to point out how as she'd just done. Even now it wasn't that easy, it took her a minute to figure out the why over the what. But everything came easier when being right was on the line.

"...but I don't really care," she added after allowing her critique to sink in, "Do what you want, wear what you want, it's none of my business." Ritsuko stopped pretending to flip through the selection of overpriced clothing she'd need to save up for to visit the bargain rack. This wasn't fun anymore, it was annoying. Dealing with trendy kids gossip on clothes wasn't anywhere on her to-do list this year, the next one, and probably all of them. At the very least this annoyance did her a small bit of good. It brought her back into the moment, on how much time she'd wasted screwing around looking at things she'd never be able to afford or even want to buy anyway and let her focus on the entire reason she was there. Scarves. Scarves and their designs. Now just where were the-

Oh. There were some right next to the wasp. Well this was gonna be fuckin' fun.

After dismissing the younger one away with a simple "Yeah, sure whatever," Ritsuko had planned on not seeing her again. It was a big city, it'd be relatively easy to accomplish that goal if she were to just walk away. It's not like she would've come back to that ritzy fashion outlet anyway, it was nothing but a waste of money. All those styles could be found just as easily a few blocks down at the dress-for-less for a tenth of the price, another upside being holding a certain focused atmosphere where no one wanted to talk to anyone else. Go in, browse things, pay for stuff, get out, that was it. But no, that wasn't gonna happen today. She hadn't expected to have set a good first impression by being as abrasive as she did, but it hadn't changed the fact that she didn't feel like holding a conversation with anyone. Yes, the floor managers are trying to screw you, that's what they're paid to do. Sure, people should just say what the fuck they mean instead of dancing around playing some pseudo-social ballet where people pretend to be nice and then talk shit about each other when they leave. Urgh, what she would do for just an hour alone...

Ritsuko hoped beyond hope that the rich girl didn't notice her or think she was following her or anything. It just so happened to be extremely tragic that she was trying on the scarves she wanted to look at. In an attempt to avoid further conversation she thumbed up her music and was reaching to place her ear bud full of relaxing angry bass growls back where it belonged before her greeting rang out juuuuuuuust before it was in there. The loner grimaced sheepishly, face becoming slightly more red as she performed... some sort of half-hearted gesture that meant she acknowledged her existence. Why did this have to be so awkward? She wasn't even gonna buy anything! Why the fuck was she still in that store? Well... she wasn't about to let some princess with her daddy's money scare her away, that would just be pathetic.

Pretending to look through some of the winter accessories, the musician would edge closer to where the affluent teen was admiring herself in the mirror. The scarf was much better suited to her than the blouse was, it actually matched her hair and eye color really well with a complimenting white. It'd match her sweater very well if it was a turtleneck buuuuuuuuuut the neck on her sweater was painful to look at. The style was fine by itself but she was wearing it all wrong. They weren't supposed to be worn center like that and definitely not supposed to ride the shoulders so high. It looked like a crumpled mess, like, some kind of child that stretched out their sweatshirt! Ritz would've been content enough to just snatch up a few scarves and go study their patterns alone but that stupid fucking sweater! It was, just, fucking mocking her! Instead of leaving or ignoring her, Ritsuko crept up on the teen, grabbed her by the shoulders and... shifted her sweater to the left. There we go. Off the shoulder. The way it was intended to be worn.

Without even acknowledging what she did, the loner turned toward the scarves she sought after, flipping through them and scribbling notes on her scratchpad. Much of the men's scarves had loose tassels on the ends and sleek knitting styles that were none too bulky. It was actually pretty good stuff.
"...you were wearing it wrong," she commented distantly whilst thumbing through garments.

It had taken a moment for Ritsuko to register the gravity of the situation, brought upon by the girl's discomfort. She had just approached a goddamn teenager from behind and grabbed her by the shoulders. And did something with her clothing. Her face grew several shades of red as her fingers began to tremble on the items on the rack. Nauseousness and nervousness began to creep in as she realized what exactly she had done and what it could mean.

Oh my god w-what did I just do?! I-I took a girl from behind a-and I-I... I touched her. I-If I were a guy they'd put me on some sort of watch list! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck I c-could get in serious trouble! I didn't mean it like that...! I can't go to jail, I can't! D-does she...? No! No, there's no way she knows I'm gay. I-I'm just an older woman helping a kid out, yeah...! I-I mean, I wasn't th-thinking l-like that b-but- No! Stop it! That's too inappropriate, she's younger than you! She doesn't...? She can't think anything otherwise, no! I wouldn't, she shouldn't either! Fuck I'm starting to sound like a rapist, what is wrong with me!? She's not even my type! N-No, why the fuck am I thinking like that...!? Stupid stupid stupid stuuuuuuupiiiiiiiiiiiid...!

The gears inside her head began to grind against each other as her thoughts spiraled out of control. Honestly she hadn't meant anything by it, but the longer she dwelt on it the worse things became in her mind. Her body shook as her breath quickened along with her heartbeat, causing her to wheeze in desperation and panic. All she had wanted was to look at scarves, how did everything get this... convoluted? She never wanted to be bothered by nosy kids! Or... or... sexually harass- WOW, how did this get this far!? In her own flustered state the loner felt like explaining herself would be the best course of action... regardless of how misguided that was.

"I was... you should really wear that off the shoulder like it's supposed to be worn, it looks better that way. I was fixing it for you, what do you want from me...?!" Ritsuko cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. She hadn't meant it like that at all. Commenting on how she looked was... off the table, and she came across as more defensive and desperate than she wanted to sound. Which was zero. She wanted nothing more than to flee at that moment, yet she feared that any sort of movement would provoke a response.

Staring. Everyone was staring at her! Like... like some kind freak! O-or... or a... pervert. Suffocating. Ritsuko was suffocating because people were crowding her and asking her questions and staring at her and suffocating her. She attempted to hide her face to stop them from looking at her but that only made it harder to breath. Her face felt cold and clammy as much as it burned bright red with embarrassment and sheer panic. Thoughts began to spin and twist out of control as the young adult's tiny little qualms whipped themselves into a hurricane of self-imposed terror.

Ohgodohgodohgod someone saw...! Someone saw that...! Nonononono this can't happen, this isn't happening, fuck! Why does this always happen to me...?! No, I didn't mean it like that, I swear I didn't, I-I mean it was an accident...! I was just trying to help! Shitshitshit I can't be labelled a pervert, no, fuck I can't go to jail! I can't! No, that won't happen...! Th-they'll try to take me back to the brig...! I-I *sniff* I-I'll never go back, I'll kill myself first...! I'll...! I-I'll fight my way out, I'd rather be dead...! Nonononono I can't let go of my guitar! I can't let go of my guitar...! T-They'll think I have a weapon, I don't wanna be gunned down by police...!

As irrational as they were, Ritsuko's fears were very real to her. Unpleasant, horrific thoughts such as those always chewed at the back of her mind. She was a fugitive. She could never escape that. Everywhere she went there was a credible threat that she would be discovered and would be brought in and taken kicking and screaming back to the cells deep below. It wasn't always on the forefront of her mind, but she was prepared for that day whenever it happened. But it was back there for a reason. When it was out here like this she lost the grip she showed everyone she had. Even now her vision was beginning to blur and she started to become disoriented as she wavered in place.

Her flight brain began to claw out, reaching for anything to ground herself just as she'd been taught to do.

Whenever you feel scared, try to focus on something around you. Don't think of anything else but that. Take deep breaths, lie down if you need to, and try to focus on something that doesn't scare you.

...and she found something to latch onto. The girl. But not as she had been before, oh no, this was different. There wasn't any fear this time. The past happened moments ago, now was what was important. Now she was being stood up for. By a prissy-fuckin'-child no less. Was she that much of a mess, that some punk-assed spoiled brat had to fight her battles for her...? She could handle things her own damn self! The foothold Ritsuko chose to cling to was defensive spite, and it worked as well as any other. The order was the last straw.

Just... calm down a little, okay...?"

Ritz outright refused to be told how to feel! As soon as the wealthy girl turned her attention back to her, she was stiff-armed by the smaller Japanese woman.
"Back off...!" she growled in warning, a wounded animal attempting to keep away threats.
"I'm fine, j-just give me a fuckin' minute...!" Her warning came more desperate, almost yelling at the girl in a panicked gasp. She attempted to take a backward step away, nearly tripping over her feet and bringing a rack down with her in her moment of obfuscation. Her therapist's words of long past echoed again within herself, and she began to lower herself to the ground on shaky legs. It was cringey and regretful and embarrassing, sure. But it would let her get back in control. Besides, at the moment she wasn't concerned how people were thinking about her. Ritsuko was more concerned with how absolutely furious she was with the current turn of events.

Lying horizontally helped Ritsuko to breathe and calm down just a little bit. At least she couldn't fall down this way. It would just need to pass on its own. Panic attacks weren't something you could simply will away, trying to was counter-intuitive. You began to feel anxious about the lack of control and then it spun up on itself again. Vicious cycle as it was, she could handle it, always did. As she gasped in rough breaths upon the ground in the crowded department store, hands folded across her chest like a cadaver, Ritz's thoughts began to wind down as they ground along the inside of her skull. Shuddering shoulders began to calm and tremor less frequently with deep breaths and repeating her mantra to herself.

*haaaaaa!* I can make decisions, I can act how I want to, *wheeeew...* I can make decisions, I don't have to stay here, *haaaaaaa!* I don't need to run if I want to stay, *wheeeeew...* I'm afraid but I'm not gonna die, I'm afraid but I'm not gonna die...

...something one of her old therapists taught her to do. Sometimes it didn't help, but it was worth a try and it worked on occasion. What got her most was the staring, the awful leering of everyone's judgmental eyes. Looking at her like she was some sort of freak. But, strangely, there on the ground it stopped effecting her. Not even there harsh whispers could rouse their anxiety. She'd reached a crux between her need to feel better and her concerns about everyone else, and self-sustainment came first. Her opinions toward the onlookers gawking and gossiping among themselves changed from overwhelming terror to a calm sort of discontent.

"Oh... Um... Y-You've done nothing wrong, Miss... At least not here..."

Ritsuko attempted to squeeze her eyes shut tighter to block out the intrusion. Her heart began pounding in her ears, terrible thoughts clawing their way back into her consciousness. It took all she had to throw them back down by focusing on what she wasn't doing instead of what she was.

I know I haven't done anything wrong it's not my fault it's no one's fault it's a thing that happens I'm not here right now this isn't happening right now if I can breathe for a minute I can make everything stop

Fog. It was a horrible, creeping fog made of fear. Like mustard gas. It choked and frightened and left her feeling as if she was dying but death would never come. She focused on explaining that feeling and understanding it to overcome it in the middle of her turbulent sea of dismay. It was there. She could feel it. Presence, the eyes...

"M-Maybe we should just go... we're causing a lot of commotion around here. Maybe you'll feel better outside?"

One of the frazzled lady's eyes fluttered open to find the rich girl, standing above her and offering her to help her to her feet. Which was the exact opposite of what she'd asked.

Triggered Weakness:

In any ordinary circumstance she would've felt chagrined and curled deeper into the ground, but her insistence had set off a chain of thoughts within the loner. She was angry instead. With herself, with everyone around her, and especially daddy's little debt collector in front of her. She didn't need or want anyone's help, she wanted to be left alone! Why the fuck didn't anyone get that!? Yet here she was, a pitiful toddler flailing on the ground! Ritsuko shielded her face with her forearm. She didn't wanna look at anyone anymore.
"D-don't you fucking listen...?! I said g-give me a minute...!" she accused. The panic didn't go away. It wasn't about to either, she would push through it instead. Anything to be away from here. On shaky legs Ritz gathered herself, the weight of her guitar nearly throwing her off balance and sending her back down, but she refused aid anyway. If she'd've gotten any closer she would've been shoved, human contact was the last thing the sorry excuse for an adult wanted at the moment.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins as it always did in these situations, limbs trembling, fists clenched. It took an effort of willpower to keep that in its bottle and prevent herself from sprinting off or knocking something over. Furious and anxious and confused, she wouldn't face the rich girl again. She was the source of all her problems at the moment and if it's one thing Ritsuko was good at it was avoiding what was bothering her. Preferably she wouldn't say anything on the account that she really wasn't feeling up to it, but the moment demanded at least a phrase from her.
"I'm fine. I'm leaving. Don't follow me," she growled behind her shoulder, placing her earbuds back into her skull to drown out the crowd of onlookers. She hadn't expected to be followed, of course, it wasn't as if they were leaving together, but being nannied was something she refused to do. Walking swiftly with quivering steps, arms firmly at her side, storming out of the store wasn't any easy thing to accomplish. The daggers she stared and the snarl curling at her lips was enough to keep anyone from asking about her condition and out of her way, but she had nearly attracted all of the eyes in the establishment. She had to prevent herself from kicking the glass door open or slamming it behind her, sufficing to throw it open powerfully instead.

She knew it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault either that she felt the way she did, why she would shake and shiver at the drop of a pin. It was their fault for fucking her up as badly as they had. The hate cycled and spun around inside her brain box, feeding off of itself like a terrible machine as a dark cloud formed over her, parting the flow of people in the street around her. The could feel her intense loathing, she knew that. Good. It was better that way.

OOC Info: