There's blood on my hands like the blood in you...
In an alley behind a rather nice Chicago hotel, there's a blue-haired demon wrapped in a coat, with an overnight bag at her feet. She licks the blood off her crimson-and-black-splatered hands like it's no big deal, and tries to ignore the black blood running down her legs.
Upstairs, there's a man torn to pieces, and a razor blade coated in her blood, and Indy thinks maybe it was a stupid thing, leaving the room, even if the glide down from the window wasn't that hard. She wasn't thinking, couldn't stay in there, and she really hurts right now. She thinks she might be in deep shit with Leona.
Mostly, she thinks about not being noticed, keeping to the shadows behind the dumpster, looking like any other vagrant -- a far cry from the woman in the very nice dress who walked into the hotel a few hours ago.
She's really, really not feeling so great, but if she's lucky, help will be coming soon.
If she's not... Well, anyone could stumble across her in the meantime.
She lights a cigarette and waits for something to happen.
Upstairs, there's a man torn to pieces, and a razor blade coated in her blood, and Indy thinks maybe it was a stupid thing, leaving the room, even if the glide down from the window wasn't that hard. She wasn't thinking, couldn't stay in there, and she really hurts right now. She thinks she might be in deep shit with Leona.
Mostly, she thinks about not being noticed, keeping to the shadows behind the dumpster, looking like any other vagrant -- a far cry from the woman in the very nice dress who walked into the hotel a few hours ago.
She's really, really not feeling so great, but if she's lucky, help will be coming soon.
If she's not... Well, anyone could stumble across her in the meantime.
She lights a cigarette and waits for something to happen.