man down | +themisguidedsaints
She's looking for an old friend-- or, at least, it's a thread that speaks to a friend. Silver can't imagine why she'd lay down a marker for her eventual return to this planet for an enemy-- but, then again, she was young, foolish, and curious. She could have laid down a marker in the interest of continuing her studies into Earth's most dominant, highest-ranking species.
All it means is that she's lead to this little house in New York, her fourth time circling the place. She's sure that she's drawing stares, what with her bag slung over her shoulder and her fingers wound tightly around an insubstantial thread. At least her hood is up -- it's shielding her starry-glazed eyes from the curious looks of any passers-by-- and the sky is getting steadily darker, which means her powers will be in full blaze by the end of the afternoon.
She is, however, at her most vulnerable right now, a fact that makes her antsy. So it's with trepidation that she moves herself to the front door, breathing deeply, laying her two first fingers on the knob for a brief moment before she knocks.
Silver doesn't shift. She doesn't move, except to straighten her back and lift her chin up.
What is this, but another message to deliver?