Mr. Clean Cut may have only made it halfway to his destination, but unbeknownst to him he had stumbled deep enough into a neighborhood he probably shouldn’t be in. That was obvious before he spoke. But he was here, so she had to assume he could take care of himself. It was daytime and really, she was being judgmental, who didn’t look out of place beneath the glowing neon that had replaced the sun? It was a permeating feeling that stifled the senses with a steady hum of machines that ruled the soundtrack here. Within the confines of the concrete jungle, junk and treasure side by side, flesh seeming awkward with all the shimmering metal, she felt they all didn’t belong. She was also a twitchy finger away from pushing the self destruct on this whole sanity and humanity thing, so what did she know.


She would dart around in her own thoughts for hours, [i]minutes, hard to tell in the net,[/i] and the rest, the human interaction, it was purely instinct at this point. Her rare moments with others required little brain activity compared to the trails she chased in her own mind. The biggest difficulty was making sure that her thoughts were expressed in a ‘human’ manner; her words occasionally had an awkward cadence when she wasn’t focused. It required patience.


Her fingers, still a bit shaky from the surgery, had already been reaching for glasses that slipped onto her face almost as quickly as the fake smile. With the help of the shaded glasses she once again met his gaze, less than a minute passed.


[i]“You stayin’ out of trouble?”[/i] She internally cringed; but all he saw was a slight eyebrow raise from behind the glasses. What a loaded question. 


Definitely not from around here.


The smile on her lips grew even further, so much so that dimples appeared. “Staying ‘out of’ trouble is not always your best choice here.” She threw a very human finger about them in a rotation. “Out here sometimes trouble is the best friend we’ve got.” She winked beneath the glasses, forgetting that the gesture would be lost through heavy tint. Normally this would be the point in which she walked away. Formalities with someone she was now assuming was some sort of security or law or high end pimp were not her particular M.O. but she had nowhere to be for a couple of hours and she was planning on having another smoke anyways.


As she fumbled about for a cigarette she glanced around the street, more of an alley in comparison to the corporate zones. In the mid afternoon it was always something of a ghost town, populated, but not so much that she didn’t notice another clean cut type making his way down the road. She slipped a cigarette between her lips, using the last of her finger flint to light the cig and then discarding them with another flick.

She gestured her head in the direction of [@Azseth] and spoke through her cigarette to the man she’d bumped into. “Friend of yours?” Maybe she should be nervous, there were people looking for her, and aren’t these the types they would send to find her? Nah, they want to fry her brain, they’d send a techie. Hell, they probably had someone in a van down the road. She probably should have stayed in the chop shop, the anesthesia probably hadn’t worn off. She took a pull from the cigarette while her eyes darted between the two beneath the cover of chrome tint.