"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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MurderWeasel
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Somehow we drifted off too far...
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Kimberly heard the panting, but she didn't bother to turn. It was clearly not Kris. Whoever it was, they'd been running, and none too quietly. Being chased? No way to say. A couple days ago, she might've fucked with this person, might've seen if she could screw with their head. Now, the idea bored her almost as much as everything else. It was pointless. It was petty. She had better shit to do. She had someone to find before she died. She had business to finish.

But, hey, that didn't mean she had to entirely give this new person the cold shoulder, right? Better to say something, to make sure they weren't aiming a pistol at the back of her head amidst those gasps. Better to help them realize that things could get pretty fucking ugly if they decided they wanted to mess with her. She wasn't too worried about who they were, but she certainly didn't want to be killed by some nobody. She had a score to settle. Nothing was getting in the way of that.

"Hey," she called. She didn't turn. Most people hated it when she talked to them without looking at them.

"I don't know who you are. I'm Kimberly. Not playing and all that shit. If you want to make trouble, I just want you to know that I'll blow us both to pieces."

She'd retrieved a match during her little speech, which she now struck on the bench. It made a good sound. Pretty, in its own way. More beautiful than anything she'd heard in days. Maybe her mysterious guest would appreciate it as much as she did. Probably not. Pity.

"Otherwise, wanna sit down? There's a bench, and you sound beat."
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Burn On · The Mountain