the blood from her nose drips from the tip onto the floor. a consistent dripping noise. yet she smile at adam. there was a freedom to this fight, something ellie wasn’t used to having with people she saw everyday.
usually stranger.
actually always strangers.
blood from this encounter is trickling, tickling skin with it’s steady movements. a lip, a possibly broken nose & a cut forehead, sluggishly trail blood towards the floor. ellie can’t help but grin, the way in which the adrenaline is holding on leaves her feeling light.
“ you should see the other guy, ” she can’t help it. “ got jumped, no biggie. ”
she's the pith of toothy grins & merciless fangs. a tint of pigment to this wretched world, ever the unabashed - ever a necessity. like lamplight, casting a whit of luster amid those deserving & those undeserving. when she speaks of her escapades, there's a buzz of thrill - fostering what scarce smiles remain - imparting temporary peace to an otherwise dingy, grimy district.
“ he better have some broken-fuckin'-bones! looks like he got you good. ” suspension fills the climate. comparable to the familiarity of dread, apprehension. a constant. it's of his own volition, eventually; a particular query dwells at the tip of his tongue, permitting its decampment from brimful lips with palpable hesitation. “ is he uh - is he . . . dead? ”