Z manages to drag herself back to the alley, cold and numb and just so fucking tired. She can't wait to rub some of the herbal shit Ryan found into her cracked palms, read a few pages of the Ray Bradbury collection she found in a dumpster and then sleep for a really. Fucking. Long. Time. She shivers and tugs her too-big sweater tighter around her and slips down the narrow, dark gap like she's falling off a map. There is a girl in the alley. She has long, tangled hair, and she's wearing a thin blue t-shirt with a v-neck and a white skirt, summer clothes in the coldest December for years. Her feet are bare, and they shine pale and white amidst the diet and grime. Everything about this girl practically glows in the darkness. She looks lost. "Hey," Z says awkwardly, feels her chapped lips split around the word, her voice husky and out of practice. She reaches out a hand like she might to a stray cat, and realizes too late that her gloves are still crammed in her pocket. The girl's eyes widen as she takes in Z's thin wrists, the blackened tips of her fingers fading to angry, puckered red burns. Z jerks her hand back and pulls her sleeves down. "It's not what you think," she mutters fiercely, ducking her head so she doesn't have to see the expression on the other girl's face. "Look, just, just go, alright, just fucking go. You're not going to last five minutes out here dressed like that. Go back to your fucking family, okay?" Z can't look up. Something is wrong, here, and it's unsettling her, tingling around her skin like stars. A cool hand closes on her wrist, slipping under the loose cuff of her plaid shirt. She looks down. The girl's hand is actually glowing emitting a clear, white light, luminescence radiating from her skin. Z darts a glance up from under her hair. The girl smiles, soft and sort of shy. "I'm Tennessee," she says. "Z," Z says, and in a sudden mad rush of bravery she cups her free hand to her chest, between their bodies, and kindles a small, flickering flame. The light plays on Tennessee's face, mixes with her own light. "You looked cold," Z says, and smiles.
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There is a girl in the alley. She has long, tangled hair, and she's wearing a thin blue t-shirt with a v-neck and a white skirt, summer clothes in the coldest December for years. Her feet are bare, and they shine pale and white amidst the diet and grime. Everything about this girl practically glows in the darkness. She looks lost.
"Hey," Z says awkwardly, feels her chapped lips split around the word, her voice husky and out of practice. She reaches out a hand like she might to a stray cat, and realizes too late that her gloves are still crammed in her pocket. The girl's eyes widen as she takes in Z's thin wrists, the blackened tips of her fingers fading to angry, puckered red burns. Z jerks her hand back and pulls her sleeves down.
"It's not what you think," she mutters fiercely, ducking her head so she doesn't have to see the expression on the other girl's face. "Look, just, just go, alright, just fucking go. You're not going to last five minutes out here dressed like that. Go back to your fucking family, okay?" Z can't look up. Something is wrong, here, and it's unsettling her, tingling around her skin like stars.
A cool hand closes on her wrist, slipping under the loose cuff of her plaid shirt. She looks down. The girl's hand is actually glowing emitting a clear, white light, luminescence radiating from her skin. Z darts a glance up from under her hair. The girl smiles, soft and sort of shy. "I'm Tennessee," she says.
"Z," Z says, and in a sudden mad rush of bravery she cups her free hand to her chest, between their bodies, and kindles a small, flickering flame. The light plays on Tennessee's face, mixes with her own light. "You looked cold," Z says, and smiles.