who sticks out a like a sore thumb?

[hejhej]

Who: Lisbeth to start out, but anyone who might be roaming around.
When: Afternoon of the 12th (so today)
Where: A mall within Sector 4
Summary: Lisbeth gears up to become Irene Nesser once more.
Warnings: This is Lisbeth. It's bound to be marred by language.


It was the first day she'd been outside of her apartment ever since arriving to Siren's Port. After her conversation with the lawyer, Lisbeth thought long and hard about working with them. She severely distrusted anyone who had anything to do with the law. Lawyers and psychologists had declared her incompetent and that's what landed her in St. Stefan's... She smoked four cigarettes after thinking about St. Stefan's and then went back to the task at hand. But the money that she'd come with was slowly draining; also the clock was ticking for her to either pay rent for that shithole or move out. Lisbeth didn't have to work at the law office, however; Irene Nesser could do it. Unfortunately for Lisbeth, she burned all of Irene's papers - passport, birth certificate - everything she needed to get a job.

Doctoring those documents again wouldn't be a hassle. She still had credit cards in Irene's name, but did they work here? She wasn't sure. But she had to get her whole outfit together one more time. She'd tossed her wig outside of a moving train when she was going back to Sweden.

You dumbass, she thought to herself, but why? She didn't think she'd end up in a place like Siren's Port. So dressed in her Sunday best of baggy black pants, her faithful caterpillar boots with duct tape holding her left sole together, and a worn black shirt that said "Fuck you you fucking fuck." Of course, no one could see the shirt as it was buried underneath her black coat. Her grey beanie covered her hair as she made her way into the mall. Her messenger bag was slung over her side.

As she walked through the mall, her eyes were focused on the ground.

Comments

[drinkthebleach]

[God knows what Pickles was even doing in Sector Four, at the moment except trying to find something to do. Recent unemployment due to reasons of accidentally killing his band opened up a lot of free time in his schedule, and everything worth going to was in Sector Four--at least everything that wasn't in Sector One, which he was trying to avoid for the time being.

So there he was, bumming around the mall like he did when he was a teenager. He haunted the record store for a while, bought a cinnamon bun from a kiosk near the escalators, and was currently heading elsewhere.

That's when Pickles finds himself in danger of bumping into someone walking in the opposite direction. He anticipates the sensation of a mild collision (especially when they don't seem to see him yet, as far as he knows), but he still doesn't move. He waits on them to be the first to look up and go. Mall chicken is the most superior bird, after all.]

[hejhej]

Lisbeth had a horrible habit of not really being cautious of her surroundings when she was in a public place. That was how she'd gotten her laptop almost stolen but ultimately broken in the tunnelbana back home. She faltered in her steps; back home - with Mimmi, the bars, Armansky, and even Mikael Fucking Blomkvist. Whatever. Maybe it was better this way for all of them. She was such a burden to deal with. Her gait picked up once more.

All through this, she didn't see the man walking in the opposite direction, seemingly not wanting to move. So, when looking from the outside in, it was clear that it was Lisbeth's fault for their sudden collision two seconds later.

Even though she would blame him if anyone asked her her side of the story. Lisbeth moved quickly away from him, a wide-eyed searing glare in her eyes.]

[drinkthebleach]

[It takes two to tango, as they say, and two people to bump into one another: by the time he realizes she wasn't going to make a move to avoid him--gait increasing even, by a little bit--it was too late to duck and their shoulders ended up grazing.

His breath hitches slightly and he turns to face her. He means to say something: excuse himself, or give her shit for not looking where she was going.

A response still comes out at length, but the killer look on her face causes Pickles to falter, and then lift an eyebrow.] Hh-uhh...sorry?

[hejhej]

[She quickly looks him over, taking in every detail with her photographic memory. He wasn't that plain-looking either, but Lisbeth could barely use that as a basis for comparison. She didn't like being compared to anyone.]

Watch where the fuck you're going.