there are as many truths as stars in the sky, and everyone of them different
perhaps that is the only real truth
Sorcha had plans. Big plans. While she wasn't an average everyday American with some low level push-through job, she made do. The world didn't need more of those people, they needed people like her. Entrepreneurs with the zeal to do what was necessary to survive. While she wasn't sure where she stood in the hierarchy of life Sorcha kept pressing on. She had spoken with Tobias in hopes of setting up her own little booth at the Were playground, as she had overheard it called, and even though she wasn't sure whether that was a done deal or not, she would show up there every night until she was certain. Well certain or bitten, one of the two. The latter was not what she wanted but a bit of bravery was nothing new to her, what with the Scottish blood that sings through her veins. Besides, there was something relaxing near the port side, probably due to the fact that it was further away from the suffocation of the city and she craved the earth, although water would have to suffice.
Some might find this part of town seedy and it was certainly decrepit with warehouses that barely kept a skeleton crew while others had busted window and graffiti across the bricks. It wasn't high-end like some of the neighborhoods at the other end of the city or even the high-rise multi-million dollar apartments, but it did not scare her. She was a witch after all and she figured herself clever enough to get out of whatever situation she might land. Besides, she had already braved a nest of were creatures, a few drunken fools were nothing.
She peeks down on the thin cheap watch that encircles her wrist and with a hitch in her breath picks up her pace, knowing she was well behind schedule in case the games have already started. Her sneakers are almost silent on the pavement, raven hair pulled back and bouncing between her shoulder blades and the heavy backpack that she has slung over her shoulder. Everything is placed nice and neat inside to prevent spillages or mixing of potions because, after all, they were her main source of income.
In her haste she does not pay attention, does not peek around the corner of the dilapidated building as she turns. Maybe it is due in part to the almost deserted street she was on. Either way, she takes the corner at a tight turn and before she can stop she will either slam one of her shoulders into his own or jump to the side and slam herself up against the wall. Either way, the glasses inside of her backpack make a clinking sort of sound that only glass can, the kind that means you've seriously screwed up, and her mossy green eyes widen in surprise even as an expletive leaves her lips. "Shit!" She swings her backpack in front of her, hunching over it before glancing at the man with a harried look on her face. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention!"
But already liquid begins to drip from the bottom of her bag and she sighs with a disappointed look, moving to slump back on the brick wall and shoving one hand into her hair, accidentally pulling some out of her ponytail. Sorcha offers the man, whom she has no idea yet is a vampire, a tentative smile. "I didn't mess up your suit, did I?" Oh please god, I sure hope I didn't, she thinks, noting how expensive it looked.