With the core tucked away safe where, in theory, it could be overlooked and, if not forgotten at least hidden, what was left would have to be removed. Or reduced, whatever made things easier to deal with. Whatever would make it, easier to hide from.
There were things she'd rather hide from herself than face directly. At least in part because facing them directly hurt, though the majority of the need to hide it, to bury it, came from the fact that in facing something, she tended to share it. And sharing this, could have repercussions that she couldn't, wouldn't face. She'd rather have left-over crusts and fallen scraps than lose, everything.
She'd taken more care than usual, tightly braiding the waist length fall of her hair with a wrapping of black leather, lightly weighting the finished product so it wouldn't swing quite so wide, quite so easily. The butterfly hair pin that she'd come to treasure, left atop the vanity beside her hand flowers. If worst came about, she'd not have either of those falling into hands that couldn't appreciate them.
Then she'd left the house. Her first stop had been the Inn for a bottle of cheap booze. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it up right. And that had, in part, been a mistake.
Though she was fairly sure she'd gotten a promise out of Mesteno to at least give the 'Vale a try at some point, and had tendered an invitation to another, one who was far from a friend, for a field trip through certain parts of Sigil, much of the stop-over had been a blur. At least until she'd pushed someone over a line and been bludgeoned with just how badly she'd misstepped, how deeply she'd blundered. Now they were owed another, deeper apology. And she was fairly certain that a basket of fruit and cookies just was not going to cut it. Not with that one.
And she owed Alyssa an apology too, and anther to Mesteno. Gods, she'd racked up, in less than twenty minutes, a list of reparations to be made when next the opportunity for it arose.
From there, with the tequila heating her skin and making her consider stripping off layers to ease the humidity that only she felt, she'd plunged into the underbelly of the West End. And lost herself there as only she could manage.
The first bar had been, almost too easy. Too many people had the same senselessly outdated feelings of chivalry and aversion to hitting the woman who seemed intent on kicking the ever-loving sh*t out of them as at least one of her friends had. Finally they'd gotten into the spirit of things when one of their number actually put his shoulder behind the punch he drove into her mid-section and doubled her over.
The second presented more of a challenge and, blessedly, allowed her to tap into all those nasty, tangled, sickly emotions that were still swirling through her. Gave her the opportunity to leave the majority of them on the floor, along with more than a little of her blood. But it hadn't been enough, and she'd stumbled back out on her own power.
A side trip to disturb the quiet on an island far away hadn't done much more than bring the final, dull edges to light. Had brought the guilt too far to the fore. Had done nothing helpful.
That was where she'd gotten c*cky. Let arrogance take hold.
And wound up getting her *ss royally stomped.
The third, and the emotional surge she'd been running on was starting to wane well before she'd stepped in. She'd been in seedier places, less wholesome places, but it'd been a very long time. Though none of the faces in the crowd seemed familiar to her, more than one knew hers. And knew what was coming when she started to lay a leather bag on the bar.
If not for that, she might've been able to do more than hold her own. Might have been able to do more than defend when she found herself very nearly fighting for her life.
She'd been managing to give back something of what she was receiving, but that ended when someone managed to come up behind her and slip a knife between her ribs. Before the rings had been able to kick in and close the wound, she'd gone down.
Crumpled like a paper sack with no wind to dance it about, and could do nothing more than curl into a ball with her arms protecting her head. The last she saw for a long time, after being dumped out the back door had been a swirl of midnight blue around someone's ankles.
Soft, near whispered male's voice came close to her ear, with the touch of a hand on her shoulder. "Too predictable. Entirely too predictable woman."
And the world had gone black.
There were things she'd rather hide from herself than face directly. At least in part because facing them directly hurt, though the majority of the need to hide it, to bury it, came from the fact that in facing something, she tended to share it. And sharing this, could have repercussions that she couldn't, wouldn't face. She'd rather have left-over crusts and fallen scraps than lose, everything.
She'd taken more care than usual, tightly braiding the waist length fall of her hair with a wrapping of black leather, lightly weighting the finished product so it wouldn't swing quite so wide, quite so easily. The butterfly hair pin that she'd come to treasure, left atop the vanity beside her hand flowers. If worst came about, she'd not have either of those falling into hands that couldn't appreciate them.
Then she'd left the house. Her first stop had been the Inn for a bottle of cheap booze. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it up right. And that had, in part, been a mistake.
Though she was fairly sure she'd gotten a promise out of Mesteno to at least give the 'Vale a try at some point, and had tendered an invitation to another, one who was far from a friend, for a field trip through certain parts of Sigil, much of the stop-over had been a blur. At least until she'd pushed someone over a line and been bludgeoned with just how badly she'd misstepped, how deeply she'd blundered. Now they were owed another, deeper apology. And she was fairly certain that a basket of fruit and cookies just was not going to cut it. Not with that one.
And she owed Alyssa an apology too, and anther to Mesteno. Gods, she'd racked up, in less than twenty minutes, a list of reparations to be made when next the opportunity for it arose.
From there, with the tequila heating her skin and making her consider stripping off layers to ease the humidity that only she felt, she'd plunged into the underbelly of the West End. And lost herself there as only she could manage.
The first bar had been, almost too easy. Too many people had the same senselessly outdated feelings of chivalry and aversion to hitting the woman who seemed intent on kicking the ever-loving sh*t out of them as at least one of her friends had. Finally they'd gotten into the spirit of things when one of their number actually put his shoulder behind the punch he drove into her mid-section and doubled her over.
The second presented more of a challenge and, blessedly, allowed her to tap into all those nasty, tangled, sickly emotions that were still swirling through her. Gave her the opportunity to leave the majority of them on the floor, along with more than a little of her blood. But it hadn't been enough, and she'd stumbled back out on her own power.
A side trip to disturb the quiet on an island far away hadn't done much more than bring the final, dull edges to light. Had brought the guilt too far to the fore. Had done nothing helpful.
That was where she'd gotten c*cky. Let arrogance take hold.
And wound up getting her *ss royally stomped.
The third, and the emotional surge she'd been running on was starting to wane well before she'd stepped in. She'd been in seedier places, less wholesome places, but it'd been a very long time. Though none of the faces in the crowd seemed familiar to her, more than one knew hers. And knew what was coming when she started to lay a leather bag on the bar.
If not for that, she might've been able to do more than hold her own. Might have been able to do more than defend when she found herself very nearly fighting for her life.
She'd been managing to give back something of what she was receiving, but that ended when someone managed to come up behind her and slip a knife between her ribs. Before the rings had been able to kick in and close the wound, she'd gone down.
Crumpled like a paper sack with no wind to dance it about, and could do nothing more than curl into a ball with her arms protecting her head. The last she saw for a long time, after being dumped out the back door had been a swirl of midnight blue around someone's ankles.
Soft, near whispered male's voice came close to her ear, with the touch of a hand on her shoulder. "Too predictable. Entirely too predictable woman."
And the world had gone black.