Thread: Rebel Grrl [Katalina and Cosmic]

Nothing compared to the smell of the rotting gutters, cheap perfume, and the burning crack that swirled in the autumn air of Soho. In a way, it was a little disappointing that she had to leave the bar to get home this early. After all it wasn't even midnight yet, and the guys were probably still at the bar on their second or third beer of the night. She gave a little smile at the thought of not having a hangover for once, but it quickly turned to a frown as her hands entered the pockets of her jeans and she realized she forgot both her wallet and the handful of change she usually grabbed for bus fare. A sigh passed through her lips as her eyes closed in a mild frustration. she shifted the bright cherry red guitar on her shoulder as she mentally prepared her walk home. It wasn't that it was too far or anything just that walking alone at night with a bright red target on her back. Not to mention the whole being female thing. Kendra Caliko Degalia however was a force to be reckoned with. She was a good 5' 11, without her combat boots on, and had a toned frame from three years of hard work and dancing. She was a bit broad shouldered but had a narrow waist and thighs that despite their subtle curves held much more strength than someone would think. Her hazel eyes came with a certain determined gleam that most people her age had now. It was the sign of disillusionment. She licked her lips and shivered under her black cut-off tshirt as a breeze sliced through her side. The bra-less nineteen year old in drainpipe jeans and hair that looked like a dangerous weapon did not seem like the type of person who would have given two shits about some kid on the road. And truth be told, until very recently she didn't. However as she rounded the corner something in her gut trembled as she caught sight and sound of some little girl sitting on a bench. This was hardly a new phenomenon. The war on drugs was picking up intensity everyday. But for some reason this image unsettled her. A girl, what fourteen? Fifteen? Sitting all alone bathed in flickering streetlight and her own sobs was not something she could stand to see. Maybe it was just being sober for once...or maybe it was just the fact that it reminded her of herself oh so many years ago.... Watching the late-night traffic like an old lion tamer watches an old lion, she crossed the street with some speed getting a closer look at the girl. It wasn't until she was about three feet away that she realized she wasn't a kid at all. She was a woman...hell, probably no younger than herself. She felt her gut tug again. With a fluid motion she swung the guitar around to her front and sat on the other side of the bench with an odd kind of smile. And I thought I was the only one who found the traffic to be ungodly depressing. She spoke out loud, her voice soft in the small waves of urban life that penetrated the muffled sounds of the other woman's crying. Bench doesn't help much either. Art be damned, graffiti is really annoying to sit on. Particularly when it's fucking carved ... She dug her cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one before taking a long drag. You must be pretty far away from home kid. You ain't dirty enough to be a crack addict and you are much too soft to be my kind. So I'm guessing you ran away due to some misogynistic fucker, or you are one of them idealists who aren't aware that life here comes with equal amounts of bullshit to all the joy.