Pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, Lucy looked in the mirror. She had not gotten a good nights rest, having fallen asleep at three in the morning due to late night bar tending at Frankenstein's. She was thankful the Sunrise Plaza Motel was so close to Frankenstein's. It was only a mere ten minute walk -- five if she ran. But still, getting off at two-thirty (the bar may close at two, but the cleaning doesn't end. . ) in the morning and starting her day at seven due to insomnia, was showing like a raccoon's mask around her eyes. She hesitated, thinking of [i]the guys[/i], should she apply some sort of eyeliner or make up base to smooth over her insomniac look?

She sighed, why was being a [i]female[/i] so difficult? She picked up her ivory make up powder and did a small one-over her entire face. She looked a tad bit paler, but to be honest, walking to the Stabulum Quarters would take some time. She didn't have time for all the vanity. She glared at her reflection in the mirror, spitting out her tongue. She had seen better days. "F'ckin' lighting," she muttered to herself, turning off the light in the bathroom as she exited.

She grabbed her keys and her guitar case, which was covered artfully in random stickers she had collected through the years. She walked to the front door and shoved a pair of dark, dirty, worn Converse shoes onto her feet. Lucy opened the door and shut it behind her. Turning around, she shoved the key into the lock and twisted it, feeling a click vibrate through the doorknob. She drew the key out of the lock and turned the handle, making sure the door was truly locked. With her guitar case in her hand she began walking South, towards the Stabulum Quarters. It was about a thirty minute walk, and there was no way she was going to jog or run with her guitar.

A small frown was set on her face. She knew the code. A solo walking female, and suddenly all car horns are blaring -- at least, an exaggeration in Lucy's mind. She hated being a female, sometime, and today, was one of them. How many horny drunkards did she manage last night? Maybe that is why she was having insomnia. She usually didn't mind the attention, but every once in a while. . The horrors of her actual waking-life just washed up on shore of her conscience and slowly started driving nails into her sanity.

It was days like these she wished she could just plug into the system of illegal, recreational drugs and watch herself slip farther away from humanity, but. . She stopped walking, carefully put her guitar case down, and dug out a cigarette of from her back pocket. She lit it, taking a long inhale. Her favorite part of cigarette smoking was the Menthol. It numbed her nostrils and the back of her throat to just the right degree. Or at least, to a manageable degree. Lucy picked up her guitar case; the cigarette hung from her lips as she continued walking.

As she smoked her cigarette, her mind calmed and chilled. At least, band practice was today. She had been feeling isolated since she had not had contact with [i]the guys[/i] for several days. Band practice was some sort of relief for her. All her solo guitar playing in her motel room would be put to actual use. . And music: music was her religion, her medicine, and her remedy for life. Music was why she liked the [i]the guys[/i] -- they felt the same way. It was something that bonded the band together, gave them a familiar chemistry. Her mind wandered from chemistry, to her lack of education, spiraling her mind back into a slight depression, as she thought of her not-so-great job, but a long inhale in her cigarette brought her mind out of the darkness, if only for another temporary minute or two.

She f'ckin' hoped they made it big one day. Frankenstein's was killing her. She felt as if she was turning into a monster over the course of time that she had been working at the bar and grill. She felt that sparkle in her eye turning more into a red dagger that kept her eyes bloodshot. She forgot to put eye drops in her eyes. Suddenly, she was hoping someone would honk at her -- make her feel pretty.

She truly wished she could be one of [i]the guys[/i], just anything to keep from remembering how many shitty decisions she had made. [i]Here's to The Harbingers,[/i] she thought to herself, feeling a small smirk draw itself over her lips and around the dangling cigarette.