Drop off mishaps: Hels and Tim
[Two hours? No way. It only took her a half hour to get to the subway station, the glitz of Times Square turned down a notch or two by the heavy sunglasses she'd chosen to wear. The hoodie helped too, pulled down low over her forehead, hair tucked down the back of her shirt to mask her pale skin in shadow. Sometimes the simplest tricks were the best.
And the quickest. Today was all about speed, because whoever it was? Yeah, they weren't going to wait long before they showed up, not with the way they were so keen on meeting to begin with. Her steps were quick, sneakers louder on the tile than she preferred, but loud enough to drown out the rasp of her dark, skinny jeans that were now almost a size too large on her. Shopping would have to wait until after her work in the dreams was done.
Or maybe she'd just gain it back, work the waning muscle onto her frame again. She'd need it after. Hell, she probably needed it now as she sucked down a breath. No warm up, too many days spent in that little room yanking at her memories and too many nights in the crypts, reforging them and she was getting little spikes of complaint in her calves. Too late to worry about it now.
And too suspicious to be running through the station. Damnit. She slowed, one hand in the pocket of her hoodie, the other wrapped around the bo stick that brought her here. Drop it off, pick up her locket, destroy that, and she'd be back in Mombassa by dinnertime. No fuss, no muss, and no overwhelming experiences courtesy of the hotel.]