An audible combination of frustration and disappointment released from Kerri in the from of a sigh - bitter and biting in its nature. "[color=9e0039]I supposed I should be flattered, eh,[/color]" she asks, her tone despondent, yet vitriolic, as she glared at the woman that pegged her as homeless, "[color=9e0039]Homeless might be the nicest terrible thing I've been called. Thanks for that vote of confidence, you self-righteous, winging sack of pig shite.[/color]" Turning, Kerri rubbed her hair, and frowned. "[color=9e0039]It as a mistake coming here,[/color]" she frowned, "[color=9e0039]I should leave. Clearly, this is a place for those with family-friendly superpowers.[/color]"

Temper flaring, Kerri grit her teeth, as her right forearm suddenly turned a rash shade of red, and the once paid flesh bubbled up, as if blistered by an unseen flame. What appeared to be a rash of second-degree burns ruptured into a quintet of fist-sized flowers that reeked of death and decay; cloying the air with the scent, as they broke skin, and turned the surrounding tissue necrotic with their parasitic existence. Frustrated, Kerri scratched and scraped, and tore the flowers off, as well as the dermal layer of skin they leeched a living from; the necrotized skin replaced with a clean, fresh layer in mere moments.

The smell only grew stronger, but, at least, the question was answered: she wasn't lost.