I'm going to hell so I might as well make it worth my while... [Locked]

[taibhsearachd]

It's a warm, clear night. The Chicago summer seems to have slid into improbably perfect weather, which after a series of nasty storms is only fair. It's a little past midnight now, and there's a young woman wandering down the street with her hands jammed in her pockets, head down and long brown hair in her face. For once, she's not wearing a dress or a skirt - she's in jeans, and a leather jacket that's not hers, though her feet are still bare. Kara's feet are always bare, and though there's broken glass on the street, it doesn't seem to have any effect on her.

Some of the streetlights on this street are out, and Kara's weaving between pools of shadow and light, singing softly to herself in Gaelic. "Ta gach sean-duilleog dul air crith,
ach is og an beannglan thú..." She shouldn't be out of the hotel now. She shouldn't be out at all. If she just went back now, curled up in her bed and stayed there the whole night...

But there's the problem being psychic. You know the way things have to go.