damia ravin speaks fluent sarcasm (contrabandist) wrote in emillion, |
For whatever reason, the Tenements always gave Damia a sense of safety. A strange realization, she'd understood, but it was the shiftier parts of the District that felt like her security blanket, like these were her streets even if she'd never lived her and only done business, shady jobs and the like. Or maybe, on some unconscious level, she felt a connection because the District, prior to massive monsters stomping around, reflected her best: decent enough on the outside until you took a closer look and saw how damaged it really was.
She'd found herself frequenting the Tenements more often these days, sometimes for no particular reason, like she was restless and looking for more to do. It wasn't that she had any shortage of menial, shitty jobs that usually meant her tucking her dagger into a hidden place, so was there much reason to be there at all that morning? Not really.
From some distance away, the corsair spotted Cian's back, and a sense of deja vu struck her. But no, that had been Ash not long ago, not Cian. She worked the elastic band off her wrist and shoved her hair up into a ponytail, walking slow, thoughtful steps until she was within fifteen feet of him.
"That looks tempting," she called out, dropping her hands when she'd successfully tied up the blonde. "House hunting, or admiring the view?"