To travel from the edge of Seventeen to the Spit, in the heart of District Thirteen, was no short distance. With no access to public transportation, it would be a walk of around an hour. For Vander, and the tired state her body was in, it had to be nearly double. But though her feet started to ache only minutes into the trek, it was not entirely unenjoyable. There was something about the lingering threat of your own mortality - and perhaps something about having recently taken a hit of Lucid - that let you see the city differently.
When she had been walking home earlier that day, everything had already been taking on the colourless tinge that accompanied the end of a Lucid high. But now, with the sun down and the street lights on, there was a dark beauty to the city. She could see the cracks in the sidewalk in perfect clarity, highlighted in multicolour from the glow of neon signage along the shopfronts. Shops selling everything from questionable tech upgrades to food of surprising quality to 'special' massages. This was how the city was meant to be seen. Every detail observed, appreciated. The time passed quickly, and before Vander knew it she was crossing the border into D14. Thirteen came up shortly after. Cut through a residential neighbourhood, and then the streets once more turned into a nightlife scene. She passed a few small bars. Local hang-outs for resident of Thirteen, but not what she was here for.
She could hear the music coming out of the Spit before she even reached the door, and couldn't help but let a slight smile onto her face. Though clubs and bars had never been her hangout of choice, she could never deny the music here. Good, solid, rock. Everything from the last century and a half. The bouncer at the door waved her in with only the slightest of hesitation. She was used to it. Walking skeletons tended to attract a stare or two.
But once she was inside, it was busy enough that Vander could go unnoticed. She had frequented The Spit many a time before, back in the days when she had been a seller instead of a user. She knew the place well, and quickly found herself a seat near the bar. A fight had just started - she recognized both of the participants as crowd favourites, Darth and Spike - and the venue was already loud and rowdy. She kept an eye out, looking for the more inebriated patrons. Hoping beyond all hope that someone would lose their wallet, and she might pick it up.
It was a long shot, and she knew it. An uneasiness started up again in the pit of her stomach as Vander's mind wandered to the thought of what would happen if she couldn't secure herself a quantity of credits tonight. She had barely a dose of Lucid back home. Her mind calculated the times before she even gave it permission to. Her body would be begging her for another dose by the time she returned home tonight. She would be hurting again by the time she awoke in the morning. And there would be nothing left to dull the ache. The withdrawal would worsen. Muscle cramps, shakes, migraine, until she grew feverish and weak and -
The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts, derailing Vander's dark train of thoughts. She glanced over at the cage, just in time to see the limp body of the larger fighter tumbling out of the door and into the crowd below. Unsurprising. She had seen Spike's opponent fight a handful of times before, but had yet to see him lose. Regardless of whether or not everyone had been expecting him to win or not, though, they cheered just as loudly. Vander did not join them, but rather, cast her gaze once again across the floor, hoping for fate to favour her for a change. But no luck. The evening was still young, and no one was careless enough to leave their belongings unattended.
Lord Wyron