[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.cdn.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjk2LjcwOGU0My5Rbko1Ym00Z1RXRjBkR2hsZDNNLC4wAAAA/basically-yes.regular.png[/img][indent][hr][right][i][code]6452 East Avenue, Market Square, 74632 -> Thompson Lumber Mill Inc.[/code][/i][/right][hr][right][sup][@Zombiedude101][@OppositionJ][@Surtr][@Savo][/sup][/right][/indent][/center][indent][indent]The side window of the Welsh Residence slid open, allowing a nimble Brynn to slip through. She closed it behind her with a soft [i]click[/i], taking one last glance in her room, somewhat longingly. This lasted for a brief moment, before she turned around and made her way around the side of the house. A slightly worn, faded red bike was waiting for her, rested precariously against the corner of the brickwork. Brynn placed her foot in a slight gap in the cement, utilising the grip to hoist herself up onto the raised seat of the bike. It wasn't her ideal form of transport, given it was Jon's bike and she didn't want to find out what would happen if she lost it, but it beat walking all the way to the mountain. Her feet slid into the small scraps of leather fastened onto each pedal, pushing down and riding her way down the street. She had no idea why she was going through all the effort to go to some dumb popularist party, as she held no credence it would be anything less than a radioactive shitfest, though she appreciated the fact it gave her an excuse to sneak out. The cold, wintery air was inviting, flicking her hoodie up behind her like a tail of blue and yellow, whilst she pedalled her way through bumpy sidestreets towards her destination.

While faint techno music was slowly fading into earshot, carried along by the curves and waves of the night air, there was plenty enough silence above the whirring of the bicycle mechanisms for Brynn to think; think [i]hard[/i]. There was plenty of silence for Brynn to think about what she must've done wrong to have such a shitty life. There was plenty of silence for Brynn to think about the possibilities of an alternate version of her, one that lived with a picture perfect family. One that was happy.

What a family fucking portrait that would be.

However, much like the sudden realisation that her life was an endless cycle of disappointment and failure, very much due to her own actions, Brynn found herself crashing straight into a tree. She was thrown off her bike, landing a few feet away and getting scuffed up with dirt and grass. Her legs burned, either due to the crash or the subconscious increase in pedalling speed, and she got up to assess the damage. Walking over, she found the bike in a decent condition with only a few minor scratches. However, as she leaned over to lift it back up, a small silver shimmer in the grass caught her eye. She held it between her fingers, lifting it up to her face. Damnit. A screw had fallen out of the bicycle, and with no experience in fixing any form of machine, never mind one that had just been painfully slammed into a tree, Brynn would have to walk it there and ditch the bike. The nagging doubt in the back of her mind reminded her she'd have gotten in some kind of shit eventually, but she couldn't help but feel a sting of guilt. Or maybe that was physical pain from the crash. [i][color=708e43]Well, at least it's all the more reason to party it up,[/color][/i] her mind echoed numbly, feet making their way over sticks and rocks as she followed a faint trail of other recent footprints, presumably from everyone else ready to have the 'night of their lives'.

The rest of Brynn's intrepid journey was less eventful, and certainly less painful. Following a trail of footprints, tire tracks, and shitty music like a more boring version of Gretel wasn't particularly her idea of fun, so she just hoped the payoff was worth it. Not like she was expecting much, given what she'd seen of the typical 'party goers' of the town. And, as she finished circling around a threatening looking fence to find some kind of entrance, her low expectations were certainly met. [i][color=708e43]Fuck that,[/color][/i] she thought, gazing upon the shitfest taking place at the entrance of the mill. She half-resisted pulling her gray [i]Fall Out Boy[/i] t-shirt over her mouth, just to protect her from the increasing amount of angst in the air. That shit was probably going to kill her quicker than the 'radiation', especially if Mr. Popularity Contest was going to be bouncer all night. Her eyes scanned the crowd of rejected party goers, making her wish the angst would kill her already. Among the few losers whose names she remembered was Christopher Pope, a kid that made her almost grateful for her shitty-ass life. He was snooty, unbearably fucking gay and just couldn't quit, which made her all the more happy when resident tough guy, Gaben or whatever, looked 2 seconds away from strangling his scrawny neck like Bart Simpson. Unfortunately, she heard Chris make his leave with some comment about some guy called Hagan ruining the party spirit.

Quickly, Brynn made her own leave, navigating around the back of the mill to find Angst Fest Part 2 about to take place. [i][color=708e43]I can't catch a fucking break.[/color][/i] A a sigh escaped her lips, followed by an instinctual shoving of her hands in her pockets.

[b]"[color=708e43]Can we hurry this up? I got regrets to be having and the only one I got so far is coming here.[/color]"[/b]

[b]"[color=922f3a]Seconded.[/color]"[/b] Came a voice that make Brynn almost shudder; the 'Wicked Bitch of the West' himself. Of course [i]he'd[/i] be steadfast on getting into the VIP lounge. [b]"[color=922f3a]I want to get smashed in the booze type, not the Hagan going hulk mode type.[/color]"[/b] He smirked.[/indent][/indent]