(no subject)
Wynter wake up.
The whispers awoke her. Her dark eyes shot open and as she struggled to sit up, the movement brought a subtle ache that reminded her of a time when her father put his hands on her. From afar she could hear people singing and marching for freedom. How ironic? She didn't remember much of what happened to her or even how she got there in the first place.
Struggling to get up, she noticed her hands, they were covered in blood. Immediately, she shoved them into her pockets and decided to search for a public restroom to wash off all the blood. As she stepped out of the alley, she pulled her hoodie up and over her head, trying to hide her face so no one would recognize her. The streets were filled with people marching and she could barely make her way across without bumping into someone.
There was a diner that she visited frequently whenever she had enough money to pay for her own food just across the street. They had a restroom way in the back, but you had to ask one of the employees for the key because it was a private, employees only, restroom.
As soon as she arrived, the manager who had been flipping through a book in front of a dusty old fan, greeted her with the strangest sad look. Without her even asking, he set the bathroom key on one of the tables. "Freshen up kid. These marches are no place for someone like you." Wynter didn't say a word, instead she just reached for the keys, then moved carefully towards the restroom.
A washcloth, once white and now pink with blood, scrubbed against her small hands firmly. As the streaks of blood and water slipped down the drain, she dropped the washcloth and lifted her arms, attempting to comb through her tangled hair with her fingers. She glances up towards the mirror for a moment, her face was bruised but she could feel her body healing on its own. When she reached to touch her face, she was startled by a knock on the door.
"Do you need any help in there lady?"
[ OOC: She's a newbie so this is basically open for anyone. :) ]
The whispers awoke her. Her dark eyes shot open and as she struggled to sit up, the movement brought a subtle ache that reminded her of a time when her father put his hands on her. From afar she could hear people singing and marching for freedom. How ironic? She didn't remember much of what happened to her or even how she got there in the first place.
Struggling to get up, she noticed her hands, they were covered in blood. Immediately, she shoved them into her pockets and decided to search for a public restroom to wash off all the blood. As she stepped out of the alley, she pulled her hoodie up and over her head, trying to hide her face so no one would recognize her. The streets were filled with people marching and she could barely make her way across without bumping into someone.
There was a diner that she visited frequently whenever she had enough money to pay for her own food just across the street. They had a restroom way in the back, but you had to ask one of the employees for the key because it was a private, employees only, restroom.
As soon as she arrived, the manager who had been flipping through a book in front of a dusty old fan, greeted her with the strangest sad look. Without her even asking, he set the bathroom key on one of the tables. "Freshen up kid. These marches are no place for someone like you." Wynter didn't say a word, instead she just reached for the keys, then moved carefully towards the restroom.
A washcloth, once white and now pink with blood, scrubbed against her small hands firmly. As the streaks of blood and water slipped down the drain, she dropped the washcloth and lifted her arms, attempting to comb through her tangled hair with her fingers. She glances up towards the mirror for a moment, her face was bruised but she could feel her body healing on its own. When she reached to touch her face, she was startled by a knock on the door.
"Do you need any help in there lady?"
[ OOC: She's a newbie so this is basically open for anyone. :) ]