Homeward Bound

Miho had headed blindly through the streets of Basin City, drawn inexorably towards the boundaries of Old Town. How she had made the journey, she'd never remember, recalling only the featureless streets, the glare of sodium lights on wet black tarmac. The slow trickle of blood down her back from freshly opened wounds, scabs cracking open from the slightest movement. The white shirt, lifted half-consciously from the back of a chair and draped around her, unbuttoned and held closed by bruised arms clutched across her stomach slowly darkening, a crimson stain spreading across the white fabric.

Bare feet had first been wet with water and mud, then with blood as her usual sure step had failed her, and in her unseeing stumble the debris of the streets had taken it's toll. The over-sized shirt had been more than enough to cover the little assassin's body from prying eyes, but still there must have been something that told the human predators to stay clear, for if she had been attacked she would not have been able to defend herself. As it was, her progress was unhindered, and she reached her destination no more damaged than when she had begun.

( read on )

(no subject)

Outside is better than inside, even if it is cold and wet and grey. Miho's used to wet and grey, although cold is a little less common. Besides, it's different, and different is good. Less people, and if she sits in the right place, and faces away from the buildings, she can pretend that Milliways isn't there. Of course, it doesn't really matter, because it is there, and she still can't leave.

She can sit and stare out over the ruffled lake, though, and smoke, and pretend that the growing litter of cigarette butts around her feet doesn't attest to the fact that she has nowhere better to be.