Post by Bridge Delacroix on Nov 7, 2016 20:55:56 GMT
Bridget Anouk Delacroix
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Whew! You’re cold as ice, officer friendly.”
Full name • Bridget Anouk Delacroix
Nicknames • Bridge
Age • twenty-seven
Birthday • May fifth
Gender • female
Sexuality • bisexual
Former Occupation • vet assistant, dog trainer
Alexandria Role: on-call doctor /
face claim • elyse taylor
"Oh, Reverend Shane's preaching to you now, boy."
Born and bred in Tacoma, Washington, the woman is a self-proclaimed native of France.
Her parents met there by chance one summer in the early 90’s. Her father, Hugh Delacroix, was a competitive cyclist and her mother, Anouk Benoit lived in the villages on his competition route. She was protesting the travel course; it was disruptive to their quiet way of life.
After the route was not changed, Anouk’s patisserie was swarmed with business, just like all the other ones. After the race, spectators, media and competitors swarmed to the stops along the route to experience the French culture. That’s when her Hugh and Anouk met.
He too was a man of French descent, however he was a third generation statesmen. Their relationship began as one of convenience. Hugh traveled during competition season so if he was around, he was her ‘in town lover.’ They were both happy with the arrangement and it continued, impersonal as it was, for nearly two years.
It was when Anouk got pregnant that Hugh decided perhaps they should give family a real chance. He loved Anouk and she loved him. Anouks family was small just after Bridget turned three, Anouk had moved to Tacoma, Washington and married Hugh shortly thereafter.
She was happy with the arrangement, but adamant that Bridget be brought up with a strong knowledge of her heritage. Hugh wanted the same, thus their household was a beautifully balanced blend of French and American traditions.
She technically spoke French first, but just by ”un seul cheveu.” English came to the girl fully at about five years old. She attended an immersion school that she thrived in. Not only learning about the culture, she also became an avid fan of the country’s history and of European history in general.
She found her intrests broaden when she attended jr high and high school. Jr. High was the first public school she’d ever attended and the drastic differences in her peers backgrounds and views she found exhilarating and terrifying. She was relatively average when it came to her grades.
The few the exceptions were language arts, for obvious reasons. Concert choir; her voice was something passed down to her by her mother. She was well versed in history beforehand, so that came easily.
But perhaps the strangest unknown gift of hers was her consistent recognition for a job well done in gym class…She got an A+++ for effort and…who would have though?! Little Frenchie was athletically inclined.
Perhaps the most stimulating of all her time there, ‘study wise,’ was the time she spent sweating in her disgusting cheap poly-blend running shorts and two sizes two big tee shirt. She broke a couple track records and won a metal for the pole vault in one of the divisional competitions, but Varsity sports were the farthest that ever went.
Her continuation of athletics and her curiosity about more extreme sports began to cause a rift between her and her mother. Her father was always proud of her, but Anouk seemed disapproving of her daughters active lifestyle.
She was a quiet woman and she wanted that calmness about Bridget too; she started getting weird. Anouk lashed out, verbally becoming hostile, bitter…It mattered a great deal to Bridge, but it was her father that told her to do what she loved; her mother would come around.
” Si vous êtes heureux, tout le reste va tomber en place. Elle viendra.” He had told her. Bridge did what she said. She was patient. She gave her mother time and, she kept the faith. She was doing what she loved and she was happy…at the expense of her mother.
It was still the most heartbreaking feeling in the world to know her mother was disappointed in her, but she had the support of her father and that meant a great deal.
The blonde had grown accustom to the feel of a rapid heartbeat and the buzz of excitement when the score cards were revealed. She thrived on the runners high and that feeling of moving effortlessly, fluidly. When she hit her stride, it was euphoric. She wanted that feeling to last forever. She’d become an adrenaline junkie
She spent two summers at different camps, both of which were for teens who enjoyed extreme sports. She spent the winters at the mountain on various school trips and during the warmer months, she made it to camps.
She cycled, she skateboarded, she moto-crossed. Her favorite was parkour. She practiced parkour until her neighborhood housing association threatened to fine her parents. After that, she wasn't allowed to practice any non-school sports during her final year...and until she turned 18 her choice activities for breaks were going to be "...chosen for her..." Those were scary words for a teenager who was terrified of her mother.
It was terrifying, but curious and fascinating. She had to work at this freaky, fucking farm...it was like Deliverance without creepy sex parts. She didn't even know people like this existed...at least, she hadn't met any in real life.
Unfortunately, the gruff nature of the family didn't afford for much conversation. She learned to keep quiet and observe. That was the start of a skill that has saved her life many times. The blonde is incredibly observant. You learn about a persons actions, that's what's telling. Personal matters are for verbalizing. Things like opinions or peoples pasts. They were all individualized and unique. There was only so much to be learned by watching; hearing was a key part of that.
In part its because she's not as much of a talker these days. She isn’t closed off about her personal life, the woman is simply more interested in others backgrounds. Bridget's been through a lot, but she finds herself quite dull to be frank. She nothings special. Thus, she is happy to speak about herself, but she's not one to give that information first. 'Ask and you shall receive.' Now wasn't the time, so she honed her skills at silence and watched...and listened...and learned.
For two summer, winter and spring breaks, she worked for a family outside of town. They were 'rednecks', with just a tad too little land to be considered 'backwoods folk.' However, they did have a cabin in the woods complete with outhouse and bleeding shed. Mom homeschooled the girls. Daddy was always killing things with their second oldest and one that always came to town to get things seemed to collect scrap metal. Bridge supposed it was a way to make money although, like many people, she thought there was little dignity in it. She viewed it like homeless people collecting cars. Scrappers just were 'bums with trucks.' She always assumed that stereotype to be true. He seemed to fit although she usually heard about these people being middle aged with drug addictions. These guys just worked the kids like mules and drank too much.
The family used their blonde worker bee to the fullest. 6am to sometimes as late as 8pm! But most of the days went unsupervised and the blonde tended to doddle. She chopped wood at her leisure and took it via ATV to the woodshed. Sometimes she'd share a cigarette or take a pull of a bottle with the younger boy.
Most afternoons she had to run horses, which she rather enjoyed. But then it came to cleaning the stalls. Their horses clearly weren't eating a balanced diet. It took three bandanas tied around her face before her own recycled hot breath would clear the stench from her nose. She was shoveling shit constantly...and once they made her assit giving a cow an enema. That was the older boys idea. He was more like his dad; he was kind of an asshole.
It was a summer full of firsts, but the most traumatizing one came in the middle of the summer when the air was stagnant, the flies swarmed and the heat was record breaking. They took her to a shed deep on the property and left her alone to dress a deer! She did a piss-poor job, but daddy was so impressed at the mere fact she did it that he invited her to her first family bonfire that night.
At the bonfire venison was on the menu. She snuck hers to the dogs and hasn't eaten meat since. But the bonfire was fun and it became tradition that she came over and assumed the roll of the beer girl. While they were spitting at the boys to get fold out tables and camping chairs, the girls would be shuttled inside to take care of their own needs. Dad would man the grill and Bridge was content to be away from home. Even if she was their little servant girl.
Her and the older boys were allowed to go outside and mingle with the adults. Of course, certain rules did apply. They were to be seen and not heard. They were to make sure all adults had their drink of choice in hand and full. Kids brought the adults food and took it away. They also stoked the fire and picked up garbage as needed.
For the adults, these nights involved heavy drinking and political incorrectness that left Bridget dazed, confused, baffled and blushing...brought to silence eventhough everything in her gut told her to stand up and protest their beliefs. Bridge didn't follow grown up topics like the government, or religion or race, but she knew well enough these people weren't the type she'd ever spend her own time with. They hated everybody...in the most terrible of ways. Oh yeah, they thought they had it all figured out.
The blonde had been reminded of this horror movie she'd seen quite recently...people like these assholes were the first to go. Whatever...at least the kids were alright. They still had time. The weekly cook-outs became a glimps into a world she would have considered a living nightmare had it been her reality. Those short interactions weren't bad on their own; they just made her so thankful she wasn't their kid.
She was afforded more liberties than their own blood and most likely, that was the main reason. The children were expected to pick up after the adults, serve them, take their plates, fetch beer and liquor just as she was. Unlike them, her school-girl giggles weren't met with a shove or a sharp comment about watching "...yer tongue." and threatening of a backhand. She didn't get smacked on the back of the head when she walked by and her dad never called her "...worlthless." At most they mumbled to her to get a bag of chips or check the garage for more beer. She had it easy; it was kind of a game actually...
She'd flutter around playing 'house' with her typical cheerfulness and acted as if none of their words or actions bothered her and all was well. Another perk was that they shared booze and she always went home with a happy buzz and a smoke for the road. So she got to drink and giggle with the adults.
It was fun in its own short-lived way like holding a newborn was wonderful until it puked all over a persons shoulder. That's what their parties were like. She went home appreciating her life and a warm bed. When she would arrive home, she was always glad to be done. There was a sadness that came about it all when a she began to develop a fondness for the second oldest boy in the family. He would have been in her grade had his father not forced him to drop out. He was too closed off to get to know; she always wished she could.
Those summers were beautiful and became bittersweet. There was a lonely ache Bridget had discovered... Senior year was starting in just a few weeks and she'd wandered far off from the circle of trailers where everyone lived. Family was in town so four more RV's created a wagon wheel around a large campfire.
She'd stumbled upon the 18 year old boy welding something on the edge of the neighboring gravel lot. It was sweet. Her feelings turned from indifference, to quiet admiration. A man from town was there buying one of his sculptures. It was lovely; a memory she holds onto still to this day. One of the few that make her smile. The metal-work must have been his escape; hers was parkour.
However, the first day of school came and...she couldn't fit into her skinny jeans. Her lucky jeans. It worried her. She wasn't as fit as she used to be. For all the farm work, she hadn't toned or strengthened much of her body. In fact, the weekly
Bridge slipped into the position of starting server for the girls varsity volleyball team. She played the point guard on the varsity girls basketball team, but it was in the spring when she really came to life. Bridge thought it was track and field, but her friends pressured her to come out for softball with them all. It was the senior 'thing to do.' Girls fast pitch softball. Who knew?
She stole second in the hitting line up and was trained as their back-up short stop. The parkour came in very handy for the stretching and fast actions involved in covering the infield. A coveted position to say the least. Bridge loved the extra-curricular activity, but to her, that’s all it was.
It was merely something to do to pass the time while she wasn’t studying or hanging out with friends. It kept her strong; which was key for her future career. But most importantly, it kept her out of the house and away from her mother.
She had no idea college recruits had their eyes on her; all she was concerned about was staying strong and getting into her parkour school. She had one in mind, but part of the admissions requirements was a video...then a final interview with a practical test.
When it came time to apply for colleges, she was accepted to the school of her choosing and both her interviews were met with enthusiastic approval by her reviewer. She felt like she was about 100 yards from the finish line. So close…but then something unexpected happened. A fork appeared in the road.
Radford University offered her an athletic scholarship; a full ride if she wanted to play third base for their womens softball team. She didn’t want to; she wanted to do parkour.
She had some thinking to do and in two weeks time, she was in an admissions office with the athletic director of Radford finalizing her paperwork. As much as she hated sacrificing parkour, she knew this wouldn’t be the end of her formal training. What she was sacrificing in the present was going to earn her a professional degree and it going to keep her out of debit. Barely anyone graduated college debit free; that just didn’t happen these days.
After two years, she declared her major; another safe choice for the woman. More and more she was coming to find practicalities outweighed her own personal desires so, Things could wait, but a foundation was important. So despite her ever growing fondness for linguistics, she decided to take the age old saying “If you do what you love you never work a day in your life’ to heart.” She figured it to be true because those were the people who were always unemployed or had little to no retirement savings. Unfortunately, money was important. Her choice career could have changed the course of her entire life... She graduated four years later with a B.S. in Sports Medicine, but also chose to go Pre-Vet. She'd always loved animals and currently was involved in multiple non-profits as a volunteer. She also fostered dogs.
However, she found a job easily and decided saving up before returning for college might be wisest...the debit.
The blonde worked for just over a year at a canine obedient school while looking for other work. The pay wasn't great so she went to a neighboring town and began to explore her options. It was a small place with an aging Vet who was looking for an assistant to make house calls. She decided to do that.
The town was smaller, but the work was personal and with less than a dozen clients, she was always busy. She built a relationship with every patient she had...both the two and four legged kind. It was nearly eight months in when she slipped into another roll training guard dogs at a scrap yard and she couldn't turn it down. It was completely at random that the part time job was offered, but it tickled her fancy so she agreed to the 'joke' as if to call the owners bluff. He must have sensed it and thought his hand was better. He upped the anty by telling her to come in for an interview the next day. When she didshow up, he hired her on the spot.
Three years later, she was working with one of their newer dobermine pincers Lulu when there came the rattling of chains and the gurgling snarls of the dead. The walkers had come. Lulu went for the creatures, her lips curled up exposing a long row of jagged teeth. The dog snarled as it leapt at the fence and bit the walkers arm. Flesh was flying through the air, spitting blood at her even while she screamed at the dog and backed up. She was running inside for the phone by the time the biters had finally pulled the dog to the fence. Their arms wrapped around it as bits of flesh came from the skin through the fences. She heard its cries, but she was now trying the landline; her phone was dead.
For nearly six months she hid amongst the broken down, picked apart cars in the labyrinth like yard. She hid behind heaps of bent metal that jutted and provide easy cover. She skulked around, breaking into the vending machine and draining the watercooler as she needed too. Eventually, the biters were gone, but she was out of provisions. So, she took the shotgun from under the desk and
She did well from there until about Aquia, VA. That's when all the trouble started.
The car died and she found herself traveling north, by no choice of her own, with a group of people who were far from friendly. They were a vulgar mix of men and women who were thieves. They were the type who were nasty before and could get away with more. For a long time, she formulated a means of escape while playing the part of the submissive blonde. She was there mainly for her looks, but even in that respect, she was far cookie cutter for their tastes. They weren't just rough and tumble-y in the 'outside world.' They liked it all rough and tumble-y in the bedroom. They were already all paired off, being rough and loud and disguesting at night and vulgar and violent during the day.
She was obviously the odd man out in all ways, shapes and forms. But, while they were off in lala land, living in their own 'Night of the Living Dead.' Her being there was part of the 'horror movie' formula.
They stuck to the code, so when she went to check on a strange noise one night after going off and staged a scuffle, complete with previously caught 'live' walkers and her own bloodied clothing, they joked that their 'token black guy' was next on the list.
Meanwhile she had doused herself in walker guts and fled into the forest looking, smelling and eventually walking with the hoards. She was with them for far too long; the blonde became closed off, quiet.
People were scarce and the ones she did run into generally thought she was a walker... A mutual distrust in the living quickly formed.
She still believed in the innate goodness of people, but it was getting hard....
Her mind was left to think far too much in that time traveling. Eventually, aman with a dog found her. That was about three months before she settled in Alexandria. He wasn't a member of the community, just an admirer from afar. The man had been debating for some time going to the town for refuge. There was a recent walker attack, but they'd just barely pulled through.
"You seem to know a lot about the town?" She questioned his knowledge at the time and brushed off her reservations when he invited her to camp with a few others for the night. She remembered chuckling and thinking how unsafe it was to wander off with some stranger to a group of more strangers in the middle of the night and she decided.
"Fuck it...why wouldn't I?" And off she went traipsing into the woods where she met a group of people who stuck around for nearly two and a half months. When she connected with this ex-construction worker, her personality brightened again. He had a dog...a bulldog named Friar Tuck and more common interest than she could have counted on two hands. They really connected and she was finding that feeling of intimacy growing with the entire community.
Bridget was finding people captivated her. Before she was fascinated with the inner-workings of others. Even the ones she didn't agree with, she wanted to understand. She learned how to settle her mind, which brought about her the ability to listen.
During her time with them, she began to learn from others and it all came from closed lips and open ears. Much of the time, less is more. Her words are wiser now and she keeps clear the distinction between banter and seriousness, but behind the tranquil eyes and often sly smile is a contemplative woman. She'd rather let her actions speak for themselves. Mostly, its loyalty that matters and it should have gone unsaid. That's what made it real.
Perhaps she would participate here and there with the occasional zen zinger or personal experience. Maybe she'd buy the group a round; that would be more her style. Keep 'em laughing. Keep 'em happy. Keep it light hearted... It's a distraction from practical problems as well as the ever growing internal struggles that went unseen.
There were a strange string of interactions with some people lurking in the woods. They knew them not to be with the town; they were hostile. The fourth time they came was in the late afternoon, when the air was thick and the sun was heavy lidded. The group was lounging under the heavy branches of a grove of evergreens.
Bridget was one of the ones tackled. She heard muffled screams silenced by gunfire, but the last thing she can remember before the incident, still to this day, was the cold rock sliding into the back of her head. There was a sudden warm sensation of blood on the back of her head. That's when she passed out.
About two minutes later, the fight was still continuing. All of Bridges group were now rolling on the ground, slowing in their struggle due to their waning energy.
Someone else had come across the fray and Bridges attacker now laid limp and lifeless on top of her. That's when Bridge was taken to Alexandria. That's where those people that had saved her were from. "Everyone else died...but uhh..." The guy had rubbed his neck. "A dog followed us back. Cute little guy... 's he yours?"
"Est-ce si evident.."she'd deadpanned as if looking for a fight. If her dog was alive...why the hell wasn't he there? With her. Bridge immediately demanded Friar Tuck and the guy had scuttled off to get the dog.
People used to tell her the 'language swap,' was going to get her into trouble one of these days.
During her childhood, she was passive aggressive and used her French as a means of insult. Nobody spoke French, or to a lesser extent, Spanish. She could say all kinds of things that went unnoticed. However, she wasn't much of a 'rebel' in her teen years, so mumbling someone's dress looked slutty was about as nasty as she got.
In the beginning of the breakout, when she was met with a higher level of verbal hostility. Her natural inclination was to get nastier. Be meaner. Being a competitive creature at heart and having improved the talent with a lifetime of competitive sports, she liked to be the best. Her only focus was getting the last word. Short term...and still in those heat of the moment, when she finally bursts and anger spwered from her mouth, its because of a loss of control.
It used to happen often. Something people before the outbreak would simply frown at, but hesitate to ask the meaning for fear of being thought ignorant. Now she was asked the question with frequency
" Th' fuck you just say?" At times, she really did have a with words and still those times of great emotional turmoil, she will go out looking for a fight as a means of release. The words become her weapons. They can come fast, sharp and hit hard. Sometimes they're dark; sullying conversations and leaving a bitter taste that remains long after the interaction is over...and on those rare occasions when really bad things happened...when she's completely stunned...words don't come at all...but as a rule of thumb, she's a talker...If she's quiet for too long, somethings wrong.
At the best of times, when she's elated she takes a swing to the other side of the spectrum. She finds humor in her weakness and brings about happiness by combining the words. She mixes and muddles them so her words become things that are confusing and leave a lingering pleasantness. Sometimes her words are smooth and rich; they tickle at the ear and pull laughter from a person. She hasn't been happy like this since she came to the town.
Her and Tuck have been in Alexandria for only about two months, including the three she spent in the hospital. She lives in a small flat in a building reserved for newer residents. It's cozy enough, but there's something she finds eerie about the seemingly strong community. People are so optimistic; only a handful seemed to be living in reality. The rest were all in LaLa land, like those 'Horror Movie Freaks.' These people were living in a fairytale.
"I hereby declare we have spaghetti Tuesdays every Wednesday"
The score wasn't settled...
Back in the day when the world was old and the walkers were new...
He shot her!
The woman's head turned around and eyes narrowed on the shadow of a man. His figure was disappearing down a hall.
She groaned.
He owed her...obviously she wasn't going to shoot but...The woman shook her head.
"nope. juste laisser aller..."
Good girl. Good girl....just let it go.
Alas, perhaps not as much as what would have been wisest. There was only one way into that wing of the compound. He had to come back sooner or later. She had a bit of time to kill; so with a fresh cup of coffee and a bran muffin, the woman took a seat in an overstuffed arm chair in the corner.
Bridge settled in and pulled out a book about the making of a documentary from her bag.
She had read the introduction and skimmed through the first interview with Michael Schmidt, the photographer of the film. He spoke freely and fondly about what it was like to travel with the bikers.
His words flowed nicely and were put together with poise, but she was more fascinated with the pictures.
The big glossy pages caught the fluorescent lights high above while her eyes traced the outline of a red chopper. It was somewhere outside of San Francisco.
There was a series of stills and a two page spread background. The three bikers were screwing around in wet sand. There was a distressed filmstrip that ran diagonally along one of the corners.
Despite being stuck, the biker in the front was continuing to push the machine hard. The biker behind him was stuck too; so the one in the front was just spraying him mercilessly with flecks of stinging, wet sand...and grinning the whole time...Frame by Frame. Shot by shot.
When she turned the page, there was another spread with the same layout. On the film strip this time was the two of them tackling each other in the same location, drinking from a bottle and smoking cigarettes...the third page was a simple spread of the two of them pushing their bikes as a storm brewed on the horizon.
She flipped through the next two pages and frowned. There were too many words. Too much text. Too much black and white.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
She closed the book with a sigh and put it on the coffee table.
"Jesus" she mumbled while her eyes set on her wristwatch. This was getting boring.
Bridge stood up and crossed the room to fix herself another cup of coffee. This time, the hot cup held cold coffee, filled all the way up with ice that quickly was melting as it mixed with the hot coffee. Two green stirring straws were poking out through the mouthpiece of the lid.
She took a sip and opted out of cream and sugar, just as she had the first time around. A small stifled yawn escaped in part while she wandered around a table back to plush chair and took a seat. She slouched in the chair. Propping her boot up against the edge of the table and noticed a small hole just below the knee of her jeans. Bridge sighed and stretched out her leg onto the table. She crossed the other leg over it and picked up her book again. She went straight back to the center pages that were photograph heavy.
Ahhh…'shineys'. She was bike-curious. The woman liked to look, but she had yet to take the plunge.
The blonde stared at one of the men on a beautiful blue metallic skeleton bike. He was ‘Walking Out’. The bikes were pretty, but the bikers sure were an unattractive lot.
They were ratty and dirty. All the old Classic Rock was played out as were the heavy leathers. They needed their beards trimmed and were all due for a shower. She could nearly smell them just through the photographs. They were probably a crude crowd; nothing to like really.
Bridge giggled at one of the pages. They sure looked like they were having fun though…and speaking of fun.
When "Trailer Park" returned, he was brimming with confidence, although it wasn't spilling so like the haughty man she'd seen before. It was controlled and strong...she suddenly thought him handsome
His body language seemed more open, but his lack of eye contact made her wonder if he was still on edge. The man seemed awefully focused on whatever his task was. She suspected it to be ignoring her. She wondered if she could get the bull as easily riled up as before. She forced herself to leave well enough alone.
"Trailer Park," she said under her breath and waited for a response.
Her eyes followed him as he passed. The blondes face settled on a frown as she began to sink into the chair. Only her eyes were visible over the book, but she dare not look at his face, lest he take note if her disapproving stare. The frown had grown into a bold scowl hidden behind the pages of the book. Those baby blues were now casting daggers as he crossed her path. She brought the book a bit higher.
The air was tense; he must have known she was looking at him, surely? Perhaps not?
Was he that oblivious? She couldn’t believe it. ”Oh mon dieu…” she mumbled into center of pages 42 and 43. She stared at his hair, snorting as the policeman passed. She thought it rich dark color rather nice.
That in itself irritated her; she wasn't here to admire the way he looked. She was here to tell the 'scenery' he was an ass...
There was nothing to like...really... Nothing at all except maybe the hair.
"Ugh," with a scowl, the woman forced the thought from her head and watched his shoulders. She examined his body and began to blush.
Nothing to like at all...
She was smirking by the time she realized her eyes had lowered and although her shoulders had originally caught her attention, they were resting just below his waist and the view wasn't bad at all.
She called him an "ass..." in French. When she heard herself, It occurred to her that the shape of his ass was rather nice and she silently scolded herself for finding anything attractive about the man.
It was something to appreciate, but that just irritated her further. At this point, she very on edge. She was looking for someone to argue with.
When he ignored her taunt, her target was acquired. Bridge sat up snorted and set her mind back to finding the negative. It was an unnatural thing for the woman to do, so she had to actively focus.
It was the dip of the shoulders that made that walk seem haughty. There was a certain sway that she found egotistical and somewhat dismissive, but he didn't care about her insult and that in itself was irritating.
”Hey?” She said, her she hollered and listened to her echo reply in the otherwise silent room.
He disappeared around the corner without any response whatsoever.
The womans eyes narrowed; that really irked her. She liked to have the last word and there was no satisfaction in being ignored. It was like losing the battle.
The blonde couldn’t help herself. Abandoning the remains of her bran muffin, she pulled her bag over her shoulder, tucked the hardback book under her arm and grabbed her coffee.
She went after him.
Her original intent behind waiting for him wasn’t entirely known to her up until this point.
She was going to fly by the seat of her pants, expecting the aggressive banter to continue and tread the line between biting and scathing. Eventually, one of them would have gotten bored or ran out of time to continued. She had expected them to part ways thinking rather blandly of each other and even suspected a bit of distaste would remain.
The last thing Bridge had expected was to turn the corner and run straight into the same man she'd been antagonizing all morning.
"Oh my god...Desole'." She grimaced and blushed when she looked up. God, it was him. "Really," She began quickly and dug into her pocket. After handing the man a few crumpled napkins she watched him with an expression of silent apology that was quickly made known. "Really...I'm sorry."
"The whole world's having a tough time"
Alias • CompyHow'd you find us • An advertisement on another site I play on
Other characters • n/a
Other • Buckle it up. Buckle it up. Buckle it up or Die...
MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOXOGRPHY 2.0