[center][IMG]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Mali%20Anson&name=Chris%27s%20Handwriting.ttf&size=50&style_color=D5FF00[/IMG]
[hr][b]Location:[/b] Da Bus -> Boston Heights
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Mali just sat there and watched as the scene unfurled. There was an aspect of fear, because anybody who doesn't get scared when somebody busts out a gun is a psycho or war vet, another of confusion, because why let everyone know you've got a gun just so you can clock a kid right in his obnoxious schnoz, one of relief, because fuck that kid and his radio, and finally one of indignation, because you don't just hit a child (let alone with a weapon), even if said kid is a piece of shit. All of these emotions swirled together in a ball on uncomfortableness, uncertainty and a feeling that she should do something about this.

Fuck that. She listened to that feeling yesterday and had gotten nothing but trouble for it. A couple points might be deducted from her soul's morality, but Mali figured that the risk-reward involved with this charade was almost certainly not worth it.

And then he happened to get off at her stop. Shit. Fuck. Well whatever. She would get off at the stop, give him some distance and then just ignore him. After all, if he was some crazed maniac, he probably would have done much worse than he did. Mali's leg muscles protested a bit as she left the bus, the lazy bastards not wanting to do anymore work. Stepping out of the stale, muggy air of the bus into the fresh, muggy air of Justice, she noticed that the same guy seemed to be heading towards Boston Heights. 

...Fuck it. Just fuck it. Mali popped in headphones and gave herself an earful of [URL=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73dc1D8YHBg]music[/URL] she felt would be appropriate for her mindset before walking towards the apartment complex herself. She had spent enough time detouring, and she was going to her apartment. Whatever happened happened. She would just roll with it.