Window shopping

[Oriena]

Smoke curled and wreathed around her face as she watched the evening traffic. Ori’s gaze had an habitual sharpness to it, but while she made no great secret of watching those around her, particularly when someone made the error of catching her eye, she wasn’t paying any great attention to those seeking their kicks. Her back rested against a wall, one foot braced in repose as she smoked. She wasn’t dressed like a prostitute, which probably said little about her intentions in the red-washed lights of the district; just dark clothes, unremarkable, and with no real flesh on display. No one had made the mistake yet, despite the occasional, poisonous curve of an amused smile to follow those who glanced at her. Or maybe because of it.

Nox’s information was burning a hole in her fucking brain. The ijiraq were a droning constant, frenzied by the closensess, and kept in some manner of control by the drugs. Oriena was impulsive, but she wasn’t suicidal. She even considered attempting to contact Jaxen to impart some of what she knew, but discarded the idea for desperation. He was either dead or hiding, and silence would sour her mood. So she kept her own counsel instead, and considered how the world was going to burn.