WHO: Lydia Martin & Open WHERE: French Quarter Courtyard Restaurant</a> WHEN: Monday evening WARNINGS: TBD SPOILERS? TBD
With her classes over and no job, the apartment was boring during the week. By lunchtime, she'd given up on accomplishing anything at home and was out exploring. They'd done quite a bit of a tour of the city on arrival, but now Lydia was on a mission. With all of the recent upsets and the upcoming holiday, there was only one activity that was going to soothe her nerves while being productive.
Shopping.
Over the course of several hours, she accumulated possibly more shopping bags than any mortal should be able to carry, but when it came to shopping she was no mere mortal. She was Lydia freaking Martin. Almost every gift on her list was accounted for (along with a few presents for herself, naturally), housed in no small number of bags. Exiting her latest conquest, she noticed that the sun had gone down at some point. Shuffling bags, she checked her watch. 6:30. Well, she might as well get something small to eat before heading back. Especially since she'd only settled one of her reasons for going out.
The soft sounds of live music floated through the air, drawing her into a neighboring courtyard where a jazz band was playing a soothing piece while diners enjoyed their meal. Getting herself a seat at a loveseat with a small table, Lydia set her bags on the floor and sat down for the first time since leaving the apartment. As if sitting meant she had stopped running from her problems, the questions came flooding in. Why wasn't she doing more to help figure this place out? How could she help make sure they didn't lose anyone else? Had she grown complacent, deciding too many cooks would only ruin the meal and excusing herself? What she knew for sure was that she was letting herself and the others down. She needed to figure out a way to do more.