Everything that night was just a blur to her, and it didn't help matters either she was half drunk and half baked out of her mind.  It happened so quickly.  First, she got rushed out of the mosh pit and bumped into some dude.  He started yelling at her about spilling beer on his shirt, and that's when he pulled a knife on her.  The next thing she remembered was a flaming hand smashing into his face, her hand.  Her friend Tony grabbed her and pulled her out of the club...then the cops showed up.  Before she knew it, she was face down in the hood of a Seattle Police cruiser, cuffs on her wrists and blood pouring out of her nose...

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=u4AK9qK8r00

[b]*BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!*[/b]

Rattled her phone across her nightstand beside her bed.  Wearily a hand shot forth from the covers and grabbed the little bastard before it met the cold floor below.  Helena rose from the covers with a groaning yawn and bleary eyes.  It had been another rousing night of [i]When the fuck am I going to sleep?[/i].  Unfortunately, it was around 3:45 AM when she passed out, only to awake late in the morning with drool seeping out the side of her lip and her fiery red hair a mess.  [i][color=f7941d]Ugh...just call me Angel of the Morning, baby...  God, I feel like a fucking zombie...[/color][/i]

She laid there for a moment looking up at the ceiling.  [color=f7941d][i]Heh... Home sweet Hell.[/i][/color]  She thought, reaching under her bed and pulling out a plastic ashtray containing...her morning remedy.  Some people enjoyed pancakes in the morning.  Some liked a nice, hot cup of coffee, but for Helena, her day started with a puff of marijuana.

[i][color=f7941d]Don't get me wrong.  If staying here means not going back to that hick ass hellhole Aberdeen, then I'm totes up for it, but these agents are so fucking tightwadded. 
Heh!  They even walk like they got sticks up their asses![/color][/i]

Taking the crudely rolled spliff from the ashtray, which she sat on her chest, she stuck it between her lips and closed her eyes.  In seconds, a small gout of flame sparked from the tip of the joint.  Being a living cigarette lighter had its perks she supposed.

Taking a drag, she exhaled a thick white cloud of smoke that seemed to linger in the cold, dead air of her room.  She took a few more puffs, and then she snuffed out the grass.  Already, her room smelled like a dead skunk, but she didn't care.  Nor did she really care about what she wore as she was picking up a random pair of clothes from the mess of them on her floor.  Once she was [i]dressed for success[/i], she grabbed her board and skated out the door.

Unfortunately, that weed smell was all in her clothes, which meant she'd probably be busted.  Plus, the Bureau wasn't too keen of her board leaving scuffs on their nice new hallways, but like the quote on her dingy, gray t-shirt riddled with holes says,

[color=f7941d][i]Does it look like I give a fuck?[/i][/color]

It was only a few blocks from her crappy apartment the Bureau so [i]generously[/i] donated to her that the main office was located.  She kept skating along, earbuds in her ears, unaware, or possibly uncaring of any traffic, pulling a kickflip onto the sidewalk, flashing her keycard to the security with a bored look, then pressing on through the door.

And so, Helena [i]Hell on Wheels[/i] Sheppard had arrived to the conference table, setting her board down under her chair and leaning back in it while propping her muddy black Vans on the table top.  [color=f7941d]"Alright, I'm here.  Let's talk bidness."[/color]  She said pulling a cigarette from the hem of her beanie and lighting it.