: Matron's Studio ApartmentInteracting with: Greenie / no one
It was weird being here
, Leigh thought with a slight pang, without The Matron.
It'd been a week, and still Leigh thought she'd show up via the fire escape window as per usual to find the woman sitting in the sole armchair drinking tea or working on another wind chime. Instead, when Leigh had climbed through - still not accepting that this place was hers and that she'd use the front door like any normal person would - the tinkle of chimes as the brushed against her shoulder was the only noise within the empty studio apartment. With a sigh, she'd walked over to the lamp she'd left on to make it seem like someone was home while she was away and flicked it off. The lights from outside was enough to leave the room illuminated, and somehow made it easier to be in the place.
"You shouldn't leave the window unlocked, kid." Though the voice was familiar, gravelly from disuse, Leigh still sat bolt upright on the bed she'd fallen onto. She wasn't accustomed to being the one that was watched without notice. "Someone could sneak in while you're out."
Though the Matron trusted the man in the green jacket, Leigh had no cause to blindly do so while in a semi-lit apartment after just vulnerably positioning herself. Her mind was instantly on the window and forming a way on how to get to it efficiently. He must've seen her thoughts from whatever shadow he was in as the city lights had her face illuminated and revealed that her eyes had darted to the open frame. "And they wouldn't warn you either."
He flipped on the lights then, and she saw he had a scrap of cloth pressed to his forehead, dried blood down his face. "Fortunate for me you did leave it open though. I could use some cleaning up."
Stitches. The Matron had shown her how to do them. She didn't like it, and so the woman had pushed her to do it more frequently until she had become numb to the process. There were a few regular people who had stopped by for clean up, but only a handful. They could have gone to the hospital, but that came with questions.
"Princess is out tonight." Greenie had said after Leigh had nodded and stood, hiding her nerves at the prospect of doing this without the watchful eye of The Matron, and then preparing what was needed. He had let her work in silence, only speaking when he sat down on the stool and was about to have a needle stick through his scalp. It may have been a hint of nerves, or maybe he sensed hers and tried to distract her. "Could get some good intel if you head over to The Spit."
"There's plenty of eyes at that place." Leigh said as she narrowed her eyes on the cut she'd just mopped up and disinfected. The first stitch was always the worst, but somehow going it alone made it that much more difficult. Still, she did it. He hissed through gritted teeth and clenched his fists that rested on his knees, but didn't flinch - which was much appreciated. So, with a wry smirk, she added: "And I'd be insane to be spotted while spying on her
The man chuckled then, the pain from her work into his skin only slightly evident. But he said nothing. The place was, as she said, crawling with people. Sure, Leigh could go and hang out on a roof, blending in by looking she belonged and was simply having a drink and watching the show, but ... she didn't like the noise. If it was required, yeah, she'd go. But there was no mission directly sending her and so she didn't. Besides, who would she pass intel to now? The sewer kid?
"All done." She said as she snipped the string. It didn't look like a professional did it, but it was functional. She patted the wound with some more disinfectant lightly and stood back. He took that as his cue to stand. "Here you go."
From within his pocket, he pulled out some cash. She looked at it, but didn't take it. The Matron never took payment from the people who came here, so she wasn't sure if she should. He shook his hand once. "Don't do a job and not except payment unless there's been something else worked out, kid. You inherited a violin and a flat, but relationships don't work that way. Remember that."
She reached for the folded bills and he let her take them. She flipped her thumb along them and saw it seemed a reasonable price as the man moved towards the door and collected his jacket. It had blood droplets on the shoulder, she saw, when he pulled it on. Curiosity was nagging, but still she didn't ask as she tucked the money in the back pocket of her jeans. It was kind of warm for a jacket, but the man always wore it. "And, kid, making your own friends wouldn't hurt. A worn out old man and dead woman who's names you don't know don't count."Friends? Who needs friends?
She thought as she rested her chin on her folded arms atop the window sill after he'd left, looking down on the street below with slight indifference after he'd vanished from sight. Friends just let you down. Or die on you.