// @smdssi
There’s a small grunt following the lifting of a rather large box over her head. It almost sounds pained behind the mask she wears over her nose and lips. If it weren’t for the oversized sweater clinging to the tips of her fingers holding the box probably wouldn’t be as hard as it was. If it weren’t for her stubborn nature the contents would have been delivered rather than requiring a pick-up. There’s no sense crying over mishaps, she’ll complain silently of course, grimace and curse but for the most part she’s still lifting it.
“As you can see,“ she begins but she’s still adjusting the weight between her fingers and her head, "I definitely don’t need your help getting home. I know perfectly well where my apartment is and even if I didn’t it’s not that dark where I can’t report the face of someone trying to kidnap me.” It’s important, speaking blessings aloud. It’s how she gets rid of the very fears she should have.
Who was it that said chivalry was dead? Probably her. Oh how she rejected the idea of ever needing help! Not even from a man this wasn’t a matter of empowerment this was a blatant refusal to ever be a damsel in distress to anyone. This was about being her own savior or some other poetic nonsense. Even as she thinks it she takes the first step and she’s hobbling. fuck.