cliche shoujo moment #1
It's dusk. Probably.
Smog lingers over the skyline of New York, smudged in oranges and yellows-- and the streets are quieter, though no less full. People are tired now, coming home from their blue collared jobs in cramped spaces.
Jet is headed to Queens, dressed in ankle high houndstooth slacks held up by suspenders over a wrinkled white shirt. His mess of brown hair is matted in the back of his head-- he's only recently woken up from what he guesses was a .. two to three hour nap. The time gets away from him when he isn't, well, conscious.
It doesn't matter, really. The Colosseum doesn't enforce any sort of punch (ha) in time, so Jet ambles his way through the current of people and down into the bowels of the subway station where everything is lively again, noise amplified off the walls and then muffled against the people and all their stiff clothing.
Speaking of, there's this girl. She's covered up neck to toe in pinks and dark magentas, a shawl over her frame-- don't get it wrong. Jet isn't staring, hadn't been inspecting her or anything like that-- he's always been quick to take down the details, but the reason she gets even a mention amidst all the other frumpily dressed girls is that she fell.
She fell up the stairs, and now there is a small pocket of space where people walk around her with their long coats whisking at the edges of their calves.
"You alright?" On one knee, Jet offers her his hands with both palms up. His coat is slung over his left arm, and he smiles unevenly. "You took a real big nosedive, there."