[center][h3]Loom: Midtown Swait District[/h3]
[i]Day 2, Evening, 2254[/i]
Roanne[/center]

“Tch.” Roanne sheathed her blade at last, tossing the claw away as she watched Jasper's and Ian's exchange. There were plenty of things she had to say—that Jasper was an utter hypocrite, for instance, and that Peacekeepers were far from the first line of defense on [i]her[/i] streets. Hazumi's gifts hadn't created peace so much as suppressed and forced violence to hide itself better. Until the gap between the wealthy and the poor closed, until racism and nationalism and greed disappeared from every race, no one being had the kind of power that would create world peace. Time and time again, she would be called upon to save innocent people from greed and hate. Time and time again, she would drop everything, sometimes able to save those people and sometimes too late to fix anything. Time and time again, she would wonder what the hell she was trying to do and ask what sort of difference her little acts could accomplish. Time and time again, she would look into herself and find the same answer: she [i]hoped[/i] it would stop someday. Not tomorrow, or a year later, or centuries later, but [i]someday[/i], they would either smarten up or die out.

As the [i]musician[/i] made his way out the alley, Roanne offered a mock salute. “Try not to die before we meet again! I'd like to see a line of defense that isn't my own for once. Maybe I'll even help if you're in trouble.”

She then shifted her gaze to Jasper, the glint of her eyes caught in a devious smile. “See? So nice of me. I owe you one, but I don't think you need a deadweight for the rest of the evening, so...”

"You might remember that you are only a part of what keeps the people of this city safe." Resisting the urge to roll his eyes a bit, Jasper chuckled and headed slowly towards the van. "Mighty as you are, there are others at work in its streets and your goals are not dissimilar."

Roanne snorted, effectively goaded into following the angel to his car. She even opened the van's door for him without any conscious thought to do so. "I put up with you, don't I? You just get to play chummy because you're better at hiding things."

"You assume I don't have an honest appreciation for the good work of others in this city." He pointed out, nodding his thanks as he sank heavily into the passenger's seat of the van, Alba and Rubra already climbing in to their designated positions. "You shouldn't, just like you shouldn't dismiss them so easily. You might find your work easier working with others rather than doing it alone. Are you coming?"

She groaned, shaking her head before she closed the door. "Nah, my ears are starting to bleed. I'll be back to chat about those boys once you get some information out of them, though."

“Of course." Smiling easily, he inclined his head to her with weary appreciation. The window rolled down as he spoke, Rubra's finger steady on the button. "Thank you for your service today Roanne, I'm glad you were not more grievously hurt. Be well."

“Yeah, yeah, don't do anything crazy yourself.” She gave him a last wave before the van's window rolled up and the angel was off. [i]Stupid. Doesn't he already know he's made me well?[/i] She owed him a proper thanks, but it was late for that and he apparently had something to finish up. Whatever disappointment she might have felt at having only a moment to speak with him was just as nicely replaced with relief that she wasn't going to get more of an earful. For someone who seemed so pained to move around at all, his mouth was sure a busy thing.

Her wings materialized from nothing, unfurling with an impatient flick. The feathers were stiff but soft, the white of them marred by a slight cream coloring that zigzagged from the top to bottom of each. That she could simply leap and burst her wings into a frenzy of action that carried her off the ground spoke volumes of strength she'd come to take for granted. Her first thought was to simply fly back home, but the more she thought about it, there was another place closer, nicer, and—ah, too much fun to pass up!

[center]~--~[/center]

“Five-Hundred North and Elms Street, Apartment four o' two.”

The woman on the other side of the phone confirmed the address, thanked Roanne, and promptly hung up. A moment later and Roanne jammed a key into a door, frowning as she slipped into the darkness inside. The temperature of the flat was always too cool, her natural reaction always to reach out for the touchpad on the wall. After unlocking the system with a few finger swipes, the lights of the hallway faded on. She bleeped the thermostat from “19 C” to “25 C,” dimming the lights back down before putting the house speakers on some relaxation music. The white, marbled floor and walls carried the soft sound well, surrounding her with the robust huff of an accordion and some jazzy sort of beat. 

Her clothes hit the floor before she made it to the shower. It was odd, though—private as the bathroom was, a combination of cool stone, empty space, and a wide, dominating mirror made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. The shower siding itself was nothing but glass, so polished and squeaky clean she saw it only because of a smudge of light reflecting off it. Even the floor of the shower was absurd, so starkly white she felt guilty for what she was about to do to it.

Blood, sweat, grime—she closed her eyes, lost in sensation as hot water washed it all away. The annoying thing was the shampoo and conditioner, as both had been placed in identical metal containers to match the monochromatic theme of the whole place. She had to open and sniff at both, then had to remember which smell was which. If she got it wrong, she'd have to shower again and—well, was another shower [i]really[/i] an unpleasant notion?

Luxuriously as she spent her time, she still managed to get a robe on and her hair combed out before her delivery arrived. Two pizzas—a combination and a chicken alfredo—came hot and ready, at which point she retreated to the pristine living room to enjoy them. Like the rest of the flat, the floor and walls were white and marbled, only a fluffy, cream-colored rug breaking up the tile. Even the furniture was blanched and stark, an oddly shaped couch sprawling out in three different angles with only a slight backrest. Setting her pizzas down on one end, she reclined across the sofa on her stomach.

Could she eat two whole pizzas? Well, yes, and she did two slices at a time, folding one slice on top of the other and munching away. She paused only to lick her fingers, sometimes drinking straight from a two-liter bottle of soda the delivery boy had brought. Only in hindsight did she realize how bad a choice caffeine was for the time of night, but [i]oh well[/i]. She hadn't caught up on the latest episode of [i]City Slickers[/i] anyway, and she needed to forget the bug-eyes still haunting her from the back of her mind. 

(Co-post with [@Howler])