It was misty that day in the Sea of Crises. Morgan couldn’t see that far ahead of her on the street, but she’d been trying to figure out what in the hell was going on lately with her new environs, her new home for lack of a better term. She rested her head here, anyway. The good doctor hummed lightly to herself as she headed out of the Palilicium’s doors, a few empty bags hooked over one forearm. Today her knees weren’t killing her, so she managed walking sans her cane, although it was still folded up in one pocket.
Humming a tune lightly, she let her booted feet carry her across the sidewalk down the block to the nearest grocery she had managed to figure out a route to and from. She sadly hadn’t managed to find any Sichuan peppercorns to make mala sauce with, but at least they had chilies and so on, and she was feeling like making something spicy that evening. The good doctor’s stock of food had been low, hence the jaunt.
Her attire wasn’t that complex, just a coat she’d bought with some credits, woolen and dark gray, a simple button-up white blouse, and slacks with her boots she’d acquired, the pants bloused into the footwear.
That was when she rounded a corner in the fog, and then walked headlong into a bearded, long-haired gentleman. “Shit,” she swore as she stumbled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see-”
Wait, what the hell? She pauses, cutting herself off, eyes flicking across the man. She knew that man, even bedraggled as he was at the moment. Oh, shit. It was Dahl.
“... Commander Dahl,” she said in begrudged greeting, acutely aware she was unarmed (if one didn’t count the cane as a weapon) and not as physically capable as the other.
