(no subject)
WHO: Kelly and OPEN.
WHERE: Directly outside the MAC.
WHEN: Backdated to her day of arrival, 3/28 I think. why am I so slow? :C
WARNINGS: language. always language.
SUMMARY: Kelly apparently owns furniture now. And it's ugly. This is Not Okay.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start~
Kelly had owned very little back home. It wasn't ideal, living on her mother's dollar, but it sure as hell beat living in a community centre or a council flat. Still, she'd had things, at least, a closet full of clothing and a vanity full of makeup and a rather impressive collection of illegally downloaded music on a laptop.
Now she had a weird, overly complicated iPhone wannabe and dogtags to her name, with not a whole lot else. Her costume, she added to the list, and a slightly used package of cheap fags and a lighter she had traded for all but useless pocket change with a homeless. She might have felt guilty leaving the poor bastard with British money, but he had seemed out of it on something quite a bit stronger than nicotine and, Kelly suspected, would probably have given up the package for free if she'd bothered to ask nicely.
As far as life savings, it was not a whole lot to work with.
Well, and a flat, but she was still waiting for that to show itself for the scam it had to be. What sort of idiot paid for a bunch of strangers to live on their funds, no contract involved? Still, she had collected her keys and taken a cursory look around the flat. Not a dump, no, arguably in better condition than what she had waiting back at home, but it had been eerily empty. Kelly had dropped the communicator on the sofa and walked right back out to the street, where dirty gray concrete and pollution added a sheen of unhealthy but still comforting familiarity to everything.
Leaning back against the wall, she flicked the lighter a few times until it caught and lit up, mostly for something to do with her hands. She looked a sight, dressed in a half-assed superhero costume (sans mask, at least - she wasn't actually seeking out attention) and puffing away like a frustrated junkie coming down.
WHERE: Directly outside the MAC.
WHEN: Backdated to her day of arrival, 3/28 I think. why am I so slow? :C
WARNINGS: language. always language.
SUMMARY: Kelly apparently owns furniture now. And it's ugly. This is Not Okay.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start~
Kelly had owned very little back home. It wasn't ideal, living on her mother's dollar, but it sure as hell beat living in a community centre or a council flat. Still, she'd had things, at least, a closet full of clothing and a vanity full of makeup and a rather impressive collection of illegally downloaded music on a laptop.
Now she had a weird, overly complicated iPhone wannabe and dogtags to her name, with not a whole lot else. Her costume, she added to the list, and a slightly used package of cheap fags and a lighter she had traded for all but useless pocket change with a homeless. She might have felt guilty leaving the poor bastard with British money, but he had seemed out of it on something quite a bit stronger than nicotine and, Kelly suspected, would probably have given up the package for free if she'd bothered to ask nicely.
As far as life savings, it was not a whole lot to work with.
Well, and a flat, but she was still waiting for that to show itself for the scam it had to be. What sort of idiot paid for a bunch of strangers to live on their funds, no contract involved? Still, she had collected her keys and taken a cursory look around the flat. Not a dump, no, arguably in better condition than what she had waiting back at home, but it had been eerily empty. Kelly had dropped the communicator on the sofa and walked right back out to the street, where dirty gray concrete and pollution added a sheen of unhealthy but still comforting familiarity to everything.
Leaning back against the wall, she flicked the lighter a few times until it caught and lit up, mostly for something to do with her hands. She looked a sight, dressed in a half-assed superhero costume (sans mask, at least - she wasn't actually seeking out attention) and puffing away like a frustrated junkie coming down.