...all alone in the woods with
wolves in the dark
pleading
little red, won't you stay...?
She couldn't say no. Hell, if'n she were to be honest, she knew she wouldn't say no. Get out of the cantina, have everything set and paid for and a warm shelter with basic needs when she got back? An upgrade from the sad ten by ten under the cantina.
Multi-tasking had its uses, of course Manda knows she needed to learn, better, how to balance multiple appointments across more than simple comm-calls.
And maybe having an extra pair of hands in friendly discussion at her three would keep a comfort in a place she didn't want to admit needed filling when she crossed the long-disused tracks and into years-condemned territory. Initial reports pointed to the fifty story block as clear: completely devoid of sentient life. Just scattered remains.
Scattered... fresh remains. A dumping ground, perhaps. Maybe occasionally a deadbeat would take a short trip to cross through, or use the place as his last hit before tanking over the last Force line.
Go in, survey, use your talents and assess the place.
Easy. The Cujoe clearly needed to start her on easy, and Yain refused to give idle thought to the rage that trickled down her spine at the thought. What was she? A child, incapable of simple tasks?
Yes.
The automated lift DING'd the end of it's whisk to open on Level 99 of the Refugee District. She'd originally uploaded the coordinates to one mister Old and Scary, at an open location by a well-used and populated block--one where the clinic she funded with her extra credits found itself situated. It was public enough, open enough, and she had a delivery to make as well as more than a handful of contacts in the neighboring blocks in the event he wanted his fancy firing stick immediately.
And while some concern flitted the back of her mind at whether the man intended to show up in timely manner to the meet, she decided to deal with that issue when the time came.
Even if the time approached rapidly at the turn of the next corner, to the open-air fountain situated before the dipped and scaled up entrance of the otherwise shoddy free-clinic. Her boot heels clicked, noisy across the rotten, rusted grated metal ground, and the delivery to the clinic weighed her shoulder down to the obvious limp she otherwise attempted to disguise in bad posturing.
