Arel's Story

Rain. The air was humid, grey. Kalia snagged her coat, heading out the worn door. The onslaught of senses - the subtle shifts in the raindrops - was both comforting and distracting. The familiar and coarse hum of city traffic brought a frown. Green eyes settled on the asphalt walkway, leaving half a dozen times to check the alleyway for unknown persons. Out of the street, she glanced to the left. In the haze of the rainshower, she made out a glow of red and yellow. She began towards it, maneuvering around slower pedestrians while she homed in on her target.

At least, until she felt her shoulder clipped. Stopping dead, Kalia's eyes flashed to the culprit that had managed to barely make physical contact. A taller boy, dark hair. White. Nothing special. "Watch where you're walking." she growled.

Where she expected to be met with only a dismissive swear, Kalia found herself defensive. Half a step taken back, she felt raindrops pelting her skin. Each one, a little colder than the last in the tension. She met the offender's gaze, tiny whispers in the air letting her know the water in the air was at the ready should the need arise.

Standing her ground, she disregarded the pedestrians muttering irritation as they walked around the two. "These aren't your streets." she finally responded. Then paused, while she took in an idea of his clothes. They were... odd. "You're not from here." Kalia stated matter-of-factly, "Get off the street."

Kalia felt a flare of anger rush through her, the words almost as irritating as the condescending tone in which they were spoken. Here this guy was, an outsider to the territory, talking down to her like privileged white trash.

Straightening her posture, she stared him down. Who did he think he was, strutting about like he owned everyone here? Distantly, she felt the air pull in around her while water froze to her skin. "You don't fucking know me." she spat. Red and yellow sign forgotten, Kalia zeroed in on the self-entitled asshole in front of her.

Kalia studied the figure; the way he turned, his face shifting to adopt a new and even more condescending expression. In the course of a heartbeat, she had a sharper view of him. Blinking, she broke eye contact just long enough to steal a glance at the still-hazy neon lights of the restaurant only a block away. The whispers in the water had quieted, leaving an eerie silence in the monochrome scene.

At his words, she struggled not to glance at her skin. She had felt traces, not realizing she had pulled enough to be noticeable. Let alone strip the air of the rain. Her ears picked up a new tone among the pedestrians; questioning. In the distance, the sound of a siren threatened to draw her immediate attention. Face twisting into an odd disapproving look, she responded with an offhanded "You don't know anything. You just come down here from your fancy-ass hill house to gawk at the lower class." Regaining her stance, she kept a peripheral watch on the dwindling number of people around them. "Oh look at the little hoodrats, dear," she mocked in a false posh tone, "Look at their little hovels, how quaint. Oh that one has a little headwrap. He must be their president." Kalia waved a dismissive hand, returning to her original voice. "Bullshit. Get out of here before you figure out what it's really like."

Mottled green eyes followed the figure as he moved, air shifting oddly to accommodate the change in location. Queer as it was, she couldn't sense any water at his feet to freeze his steps. She turned slowly, keeping the figure in front of her at all cost.

What relief she felt at the guy's apparent leaving was brought to a halt when he turned around to her again. She was again basked in the embrace of humid rainy air, the gentle inaudible whispers giving her a better grasp on how close others were to her. She spotted a darker figure to the side, sticking to the shadows. Watching.

Confidence rekindled, Kalia answered the question with a prompt "Fuck you."