(no subject)
Sometimes you're not being paranoid, someone really is out after you. Though it's not really someone is out after her in a malicious way, at least, she doesn't believe so. It's just, odd. It started one morning with coffee, there was someone there that she had never seen before, someone in the coffee shop behind a laptop, innocent enough. Though the person wasn't one she had seen before. The same thing happened on the way to the grocery store, and back. Different person, but in some way, the same, and it took Lisbeth a minute to realize that what was the same was the jacket the person was wearing, both of them had been wearing the jacket, a leather jacket, or what appeared to be.
It was way too fucking hot to be wearing any jacket let alone a leather one, though, people do weird shit in New York. Especially in New York.
Sitting outside on the front porch, reading her rather worn copy of Nineteen eighty-four and smoking a cigarette, waiting for Bobby she heard her name. Soft, oddly soft, maybe a tentative name calling. In retrospect she shouldn't have looked up.
"Are you Lisbeth Salander?" Really, who the fuck wants to know? Who needs to know? The group outside of the gate was dressed in a rather weird looking get up. Of course back in Sweden just a few months ago she was wearing the same thing except, well, it was different then. Still, the sight in front of her was like looking in a fun house mirror at yourself, a vague picture of such but not the real thing. Not even the real thing, since she was now in shorts and a tank top, and dark instead of the pasty pale these kids were.
"We just, oh, wow. . ." A girl is speaking, perhaps the leader of the group? What a shitty job that's got to be. "We just, are, like, really big fans."
LOLWUT?
"Can we have your autograph?" One of the smaller, rounder ones spoke up and was met with silence, and staring, because. . . what?
"Maybe she doesn't speak English," a rather rational young man whispered.
"Of course she does, she can do anything." Holy shit, these kids might be on some serious drugs. This is the thought that is currently running through Lisbeth's head. That and something sick running through her stomach.
She pushes forward to stand and the group takes a breath in, she-who-must-not-be-named will SPEAK. Except, well, not really. Flicking the cigarette toward the group at the gate she breathed out, "fuck off this is private property." Inspiring words to be sure.
Disappearing inside the house she shuts the door and locks it. Creepy kids: 1 Lisbeth: 0
It was way too fucking hot to be wearing any jacket let alone a leather one, though, people do weird shit in New York. Especially in New York.
Sitting outside on the front porch, reading her rather worn copy of Nineteen eighty-four and smoking a cigarette, waiting for Bobby she heard her name. Soft, oddly soft, maybe a tentative name calling. In retrospect she shouldn't have looked up.
"Are you Lisbeth Salander?" Really, who the fuck wants to know? Who needs to know? The group outside of the gate was dressed in a rather weird looking get up. Of course back in Sweden just a few months ago she was wearing the same thing except, well, it was different then. Still, the sight in front of her was like looking in a fun house mirror at yourself, a vague picture of such but not the real thing. Not even the real thing, since she was now in shorts and a tank top, and dark instead of the pasty pale these kids were.
"We just, oh, wow. . ." A girl is speaking, perhaps the leader of the group? What a shitty job that's got to be. "We just, are, like, really big fans."
LOLWUT?
"Can we have your autograph?" One of the smaller, rounder ones spoke up and was met with silence, and staring, because. . . what?
"Maybe she doesn't speak English," a rather rational young man whispered.
"Of course she does, she can do anything." Holy shit, these kids might be on some serious drugs. This is the thought that is currently running through Lisbeth's head. That and something sick running through her stomach.
She pushes forward to stand and the group takes a breath in, she-who-must-not-be-named will SPEAK. Except, well, not really. Flicking the cigarette toward the group at the gate she breathed out, "fuck off this is private property." Inspiring words to be sure.
Disappearing inside the house she shuts the door and locks it. Creepy kids: 1 Lisbeth: 0