location: bran’s home time: late evening status: closed for @branshapiro
Perhaps it was time for her to confront the fact that almost every single decision she had made up until that point had been a bad one - though that thought itself lingered quite bitterly and Grace was not one to self discipline. Her arm had just healed from her last bout of stupidity, and somehow, now she had found herself in another rendition of the same thing. Only this time, alcohol was involved. She pushed the car though, wanting to put as much distance in as least time as possible between herself and the empty warehouse where she’d been testing out a new shipment of balisongs. The knives themselves? Excellent quality. Her hand? Worse for wear.
With an old rag wrapped around the right hand, she knew that the slice was serious and rang Fletcher first. Voicemail. Deciding against worrying Will and Richard, and realising that she only had one other place to go, she had gotten in the car feeling rather disappointed in herself. She didn’t have Bran’s phone number, which seemed stupid as this seemed to be a rather common occurrence lately, but pushed the car anyway, feeling it rev and purr beneath her. It wasn’t too long before she was at the all too familiar door, her good hand raised to knock gently against it. “It’s Grace, please be home.”
