Feed the Horde

[Oriena]

She tore through the streets, dodging city traffic that was often standstill even at this time of night. By the time she parked up numbness replaced the volatility of her emotions, an equilibrium that wasn’t likely to last, but it wouldn’t be the first time Ori sought a fight to ease the demons inside. The bar wasn’t in a neighbourhood she was familiar with, but it was shitty on the outside, and no one glanced twice at a woman with a spectacularly bloody nose when she entered. In the toilets she wiped the worst of it away, testing the taste of iron on her lips. She didn’t think about it, even when her eyes rose to settle on her reflection in the mirror.

When she returned she dumped her leather jacket on the bar. The smoke of the fire still lingered around her strongly, and the barman eyed her dubiously, but didn’t hesitate to bring her the vodka she asked for. She downed the glass, asked for the bottle, and cleared herself a booth to sit alone in fucking peace. Feet propped on the table. Bottle in hand. Tension corded her muscles in an effort to ignore the whispered conversation inside her head. Not the ijiraq’s demands upon her, not now at least, but the constant drone of their communication between themselves.

Nox badgered her wallet at one point, and she shared her coordinates without much interest in whether he showed. But she was still there when he did.