Ah. They were done. God, she couldn't chug down the water fast enough. She pulled the helmet off, readjusting her eyepatch strap where it started to slip, and spiked it into the ground—not the most comfortable, was it?—before shaking her braid back to the center. Her chest was still heaving, sucking in long, deep breaths. Still, she couldn't help but huff out an almost scornful amused breath, which was about as far as she ever came to laughing these days. 

"[color=FFE63D]Hah, you and I both know that's not true. I'm still a [i]looong[/i] way from beating you.[/color]" She took another long drink. "[color=FFE63D]Definitely gettin' closer though. Almost tagged you with that last one.[/color]" She was...[i]mostly[/i] satisifed with how she'd done. That kick had strained her a little more than she wanted it to, though, and it wasn't even a particularly high one. She penciled in [i]train flexibility more[/i] on her mental docket.

One last pull from the bottle and she'd drained it, dropping it to the ground and knocking it into the wall with a gentle tap. She always tried to catch it with her foot, but it almost never worked. [i]One day,[/i] she thought.

"[color=skyblue]Your call.[/color]"

As always, being able to [i]choose[/i] sent both a warm thrill and a cold shock down her spine. Being able to choose meant being able to choose [i]wrong,[/i] after all, and the last thing she ever wanted to do was disappoint anyone, [i]especially[/i] her new family. As time went on, though, the feeling was starting to drop, and making decisions was starting to come more easily to her.

"[color=FFE63D]Been craving some noodles,[/color]" she said, tearing the last of the pads off and sending them after Dahlia's, "[color=FFE63D]and we've been eating at Dane's a lot the past few days. You okay with Tohoki?[/color]"

Walking over to the exit and wiping off her forehead, she fished her phone out of the little mesh pocket by the door and slid it into her own. She still marveled at the sleek little dark gray thing sometimes. She owned a phone. [i]Quinnlash Loughvein[/i] owned a [i]phone![/i] A month ago she never would've dreamed of having one, and now she slid one into her sweatpants pocket every morning. It was didn't even seem real.

Kicking out the improvised doorstop, she yanked the door open—it was getting easier every day—and stood in the frame, propping it open. "[color=FFE63D]Lead the way, Deelie.[/color]"

It wasn't just to be polite. Something about leading people somewhere, she'd found, dropped a ball of anxiety into the pit of her stomach. She was trying to get better about it, she really was. But today, she just wanted to follow.