this town is crazy; nobody cares [Ishiah]
[Dated September 28th, 2011]
CRASH
Kicking the chair didn't help, in fact, with the way her toe throbbed, it had been a pretty shitty idea to begin with but she just didn't care at this point. Looking around her small kitchen, she surveyed the wreckage. Cupboards were opened, contents pushed aside, in some cases removed entirely. Furniture had been moved, the blankets that had covered chairs tossed and left wherever they landed. Her bedroom was much the same, her mattress turned and askew, pillows on the floor. After yesterday's measured and methodical search, today Trixa had resorted to a frantic tossing.
It didn't change the results.
Two nights ago, she'd come home after her shift at the Winchester exhausted and tumbled into bed. Waking up, her hand had been under the pillow, as it had been every morning, only this morning her hand had been empty. Leo's feather, her one tangible reminder of her life back home, hadn't been there. It wasn't a worry, not then, it could have slipped out and onto the floor as she tossed in her sleep. Things like that happened. But after searching and almost destroying her own home, she was coming to another conclusion. A darker one. One that promised retribution if she was right.
See, she knew the island pretty well by now. Things didn't just disappear on their own, not unless they disappeared with their owner and since she was still trapped here, it meant someone else had taken it. Her property. Her things. From her home. And man, did that ever piss her off. She wanted to break things, maybe even kill things, but for the moment, she settled for kicking the chair. Who the fuck even knew the feather was there, let alone want to take it from her? Who walked into another person's home, passed by all the weapons and alcohol and left with a feather?
Biting off a curse, she wheels for the door, grabbing a bottle of alcohol she'd been planning on taking to the bar that night. If she started now, she could sober up again before her shift and none would be the wiser. Sitting on the stoop, she took a long, hard drink, enjoying the burn as it tumbled down her throat. Drink. Work. Then work. Her work, the work of a pissed-off Trickster.
God fucking help whoever she found.
CRASH
Kicking the chair didn't help, in fact, with the way her toe throbbed, it had been a pretty shitty idea to begin with but she just didn't care at this point. Looking around her small kitchen, she surveyed the wreckage. Cupboards were opened, contents pushed aside, in some cases removed entirely. Furniture had been moved, the blankets that had covered chairs tossed and left wherever they landed. Her bedroom was much the same, her mattress turned and askew, pillows on the floor. After yesterday's measured and methodical search, today Trixa had resorted to a frantic tossing.
It didn't change the results.
Two nights ago, she'd come home after her shift at the Winchester exhausted and tumbled into bed. Waking up, her hand had been under the pillow, as it had been every morning, only this morning her hand had been empty. Leo's feather, her one tangible reminder of her life back home, hadn't been there. It wasn't a worry, not then, it could have slipped out and onto the floor as she tossed in her sleep. Things like that happened. But after searching and almost destroying her own home, she was coming to another conclusion. A darker one. One that promised retribution if she was right.
See, she knew the island pretty well by now. Things didn't just disappear on their own, not unless they disappeared with their owner and since she was still trapped here, it meant someone else had taken it. Her property. Her things. From her home. And man, did that ever piss her off. She wanted to break things, maybe even kill things, but for the moment, she settled for kicking the chair. Who the fuck even knew the feather was there, let alone want to take it from her? Who walked into another person's home, passed by all the weapons and alcohol and left with a feather?
Biting off a curse, she wheels for the door, grabbing a bottle of alcohol she'd been planning on taking to the bar that night. If she started now, she could sober up again before her shift and none would be the wiser. Sitting on the stoop, she took a long, hard drink, enjoying the burn as it tumbled down her throat. Drink. Work. Then work. Her work, the work of a pissed-off Trickster.
God fucking help whoever she found.