Bo Jones. Or maybe Dennis. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nookiepowered) wrote2011-09-11 03:19 pm
nookiepowered) wrote2011-09-11 03:19 pm
The Alley Behind 23 Sphinx, Sunday Evening
"Deb" (whose name was by no means Deb, and thank God she remembered that now, because sgajdhgakjdh what a freaking stupid name) leaned back against the brick wall and took a long, slow drag on her cigarette. One of her last three cigarettes. The one spluttering street lamp cast dull, intermittent reflections in the leather jacket that she wrapped closely around her against the cooling night.
Don't ask where she got a leather jacket; when someone from Costume hands you something, you wear it. Even over a flight-attendant uniform.
Three cigarettes. Well, two and a half now. What was she going to do when they ran out? What? Would her memories of who she truly was disappear back into the withdrawal-crazed cover-story that was "Deb" or was that recovery a permanent one?
What was the cargo on that flight, and had it been destroyed along with most of the passengers, or was it even now in the hands of the Skywalkers or the Starks, either of which could spell certain doom for the world if they realized what they held? ...Not that she remembered what it was.
Sigh. Two and a quarter cigarettes left.
[OOC: for one who ...possibly knows who he is? Probably. This weekend, who can tell?]
Don't ask where she got a leather jacket; when someone from Costume hands you something, you wear it. Even over a flight-attendant uniform.
Three cigarettes. Well, two and a half now. What was she going to do when they ran out? What? Would her memories of who she truly was disappear back into the withdrawal-crazed cover-story that was "Deb" or was that recovery a permanent one?
What was the cargo on that flight, and had it been destroyed along with most of the passengers, or was it even now in the hands of the Skywalkers or the Starks, either of which could spell certain doom for the world if they realized what they held? ...Not that she remembered what it was.
Sigh. Two and a quarter cigarettes left.
[OOC: for one who ...possibly knows who he is? Probably. This weekend, who can tell?]