Characters: Storm/Lil Ro, OT anyone in NYC Setting: Manhattan Streets in the dead of night Content: We shall see. Swearing, Boozing and Angst at the very least. Summary: Storm celebrates Christmas.
Sneaking clear of the mansion and hopping a greyhound wasn't the trickiest part of this. It was doing it without cue-ball noticing her disappearance. With so many kids out on 'holiday' to see their folks, at least those who it was safe to allow off mansion grounds, there were fewer in the building to make her disappearance less noticeable. She couldn't try the pillow trick either, since ole Chrome Dome had this stupid habit of reading thoughts, and pillows didn't have brains.
So it was a gamble. It was a gamble that he had other damned things to do, and that Logan wasn't going to trail her to make sure she was safe. Logan would have been preferable. He might have even let her have the night to herself. He took enough of those damned 'walkabouts' on his own.
So far, though, it was all good. She'd pinched enough cash off some moron who was drunk out of his gourd to cover her expenses at a not quite too sleazy hotel in the area that Jessica had told her about and left him his wallet without prints so there wouldn't be trouble later. And for the moment, she could lounge with a bottle of something on the streets, the hell away from people.
No damned carolers. No freaking churches. Just her, memories of some stupid batshit crazy in an egg suit they called the nanny and a bottle of something... ok, clear. She'd wanted brown, but the clear had been cheaper. "When in russia," she muttered and winced at the swig, glaring around to make sure nobody was going to bother her and hunkered into a thick denim coat and hoodie to brood. "Fucking hate Christmas."