"Fuck, fuckity fuck." it was mostly a mumble. The street was quiet this time of the morning, before the early rush and after the late. There was blood dripping steadily out of his mouth, an arm around his chest and a heavy limp in his left foot, but Bigby forced himself to keep moving, determined to get home. [ Hi 8I ]
Wanda loves going for runs in the relative stillness of the very early morning—before the sun has risen, but too close to daylight to be considered the night before. It’s a time not many women are able to enjoy outdoors, but one of the perks of being Wanda was enjoying a complete and utter lack of fear.
The merc didn’t care to waste her emotional energy on things it would give her no advantage to feel, and that (paired with insomnia that would derange or kill a human without a healing factor) meant she was often awake to take advantage of these wee hours.
Which is why she doesn’t hesitate to pause her morning exercise and investigate the stumbling, wheezing figure lurching around in the darkness of the alleyway she’s just come upon.
"Rough night, buddy?" She sounds obnoxiously chipper.
