High Moon
RisingRobin
mickilennial
Feyblue
Kronshi
Sky Blue
Majoraa
Emberdawn2
VirgoDrago
“Evening.”
Her response was curt, but not hostile. It was a good thing that the older man had announced his arrival with the rattling of his keys; from experience, Amaya had little trust to spare for those who habitually silenced their movements.
She stepped into the safehouse, shaking the rain off her jacket at the entrance. Concrete flooring. No need to kick off her boots then. Her gaze swept across the dimly lit environment, marking shuttered windows and exits. Expert couriers would have memorized the layouts of their safehouses by now, but Amaya preferred to treat every environment as if it were the first time. The cost of complacency was hefty, after all. The woman strode for the bar, ducking her head beneath the table in search of an outlet.
There.
Her duffel bag, a thrift shop steal for how long it had stuck with her, was swung up top of the counter. She unzipped it, pulling out a small electric kettle and a two-liter jug of water, plugged the appliance in, and boiled the first pot of water for the night. Blue light shone from within the glass, gradually transitioning to purple, then red, as the temperature climbed and the water boiled. Rainy nights called for hot food, and even freelancers of the Dark Sphere weren’t so hard-boiled as to eschew all human comforts. Though there were types out there. A flicker of a memory, of that dumpster-dwelling girl who turned out to having been the heiress of some big House.
Amaya lifted her hand up, refusing the offered cigarette. “No, thank you. Here for a property inspection?”
Rare to speak to the landlord-types, certainly, but she wasn’t against it. It’d take a while longer for the water to boil, and then another five minutes for her food to rehydrate. Plenty of time to decide whether to stay the night or to find a bridge.
