She had left RhyDin way too quickly after Jinny's death, first to go after the man that had done her in and then a quick job for a friend. The quick job had turned into a six-month trek across the continent. The man, she never even learned his name, had made his last stand at the Last Chance Saloon. She loved irony. Loved how she had managed to get his gun from him and shot a hole through his right hand before she slit his throat. She left him to drown in his own blood, on the floor of the empty saloon, consoled only by the ghosts that still visit that town and Sohail's empty laughter mixed with sobs as she turned and walked away.
Now, walking the streets of the city that had been her home since forever, she hardly even recognized it. No, that wasn't entirely true. She recognized the old decrepit bar, empty for as long as she could remember, that marked the end of the Warehouse district and the beginning of WestEnd. She had always liked the look of WestEnd- the old buildings and broken streets. Instead of heading right for the Marketplace, she decided to amble through the neighborhood a bit, something she would rarely do without a firearm in her holster. The streets looked fairly empty to her trained eyes; she might as well take in the sights as she mulled over her countless potential career moves.
She drew a cigarette out of her holster- it was a good place to hold things when it didn't have a gun taking up the space- and struck up a flame with her lighter. She loved the little trinket, the paint that said "I Love New York" had started to wear off since she had left Earth but she couldn't bare to part with it. ?Sides, it was a lot more handy then matches. She tucked the lighter away and puffed on her cigarette as she ambled slowly through the streets. The skittering shadows, misfit teenagers if she could tell by their shadows, left her alone. Even in WestEnd they would be loath to confront a tough lil chick like her in the middle of the afternoon.
She eyed a few of the old houses, but they all required even more work then she was willing to put into them. Not that she really needed a place to live- her warehouse apartment suited her just fine. If she was going to stick around in town for a while, and she fully intended to, she wanted something a little homier. A psychologist would probably tell her the reason she desired a stable home was because the orphanage never had provided one for her. She probably would have laughed at the guy before punching him in the face, break his nose just so his patients could listen to him talk funny for the next few weeks.
She stopped short as the houses and small businesses ended half a block was taken up by the front of a theater. It was absolutely beautiful with the large metal awning over the uneven sidewalk and blown-out light bulbs surrounding the marquee. She dropped her cigarette to the ground and smothered it beneath her cowboy boots before heading towards the broken glass doors of the building.
Now, walking the streets of the city that had been her home since forever, she hardly even recognized it. No, that wasn't entirely true. She recognized the old decrepit bar, empty for as long as she could remember, that marked the end of the Warehouse district and the beginning of WestEnd. She had always liked the look of WestEnd- the old buildings and broken streets. Instead of heading right for the Marketplace, she decided to amble through the neighborhood a bit, something she would rarely do without a firearm in her holster. The streets looked fairly empty to her trained eyes; she might as well take in the sights as she mulled over her countless potential career moves.
She drew a cigarette out of her holster- it was a good place to hold things when it didn't have a gun taking up the space- and struck up a flame with her lighter. She loved the little trinket, the paint that said "I Love New York" had started to wear off since she had left Earth but she couldn't bare to part with it. ?Sides, it was a lot more handy then matches. She tucked the lighter away and puffed on her cigarette as she ambled slowly through the streets. The skittering shadows, misfit teenagers if she could tell by their shadows, left her alone. Even in WestEnd they would be loath to confront a tough lil chick like her in the middle of the afternoon.
She eyed a few of the old houses, but they all required even more work then she was willing to put into them. Not that she really needed a place to live- her warehouse apartment suited her just fine. If she was going to stick around in town for a while, and she fully intended to, she wanted something a little homier. A psychologist would probably tell her the reason she desired a stable home was because the orphanage never had provided one for her. She probably would have laughed at the guy before punching him in the face, break his nose just so his patients could listen to him talk funny for the next few weeks.
She stopped short as the houses and small businesses ended half a block was taken up by the front of a theater. It was absolutely beautiful with the large metal awning over the uneven sidewalk and blown-out light bulbs surrounding the marquee. She dropped her cigarette to the ground and smothered it beneath her cowboy boots before heading towards the broken glass doors of the building.