⟡ ݁₊ .― phoenix hendrix / closed starter / @tribridoutoftime
the night air buzzed with that familiar kind of tension—like the city was bracing for something, but hadn’t decided what yet. nix moved through it like she belonged there, hood up, boots scuffed, the fray of her backpack straps swinging with each step. she had one earbud in, chewing absently on a straw wrapper, when a flash of auburn caught the corner of her eye. she didn’t stop walking at first. just slowed. turned her head. and there she was. hope mikaelson.
the infamous tribrid. the girl with a name that echoed like a warning in certain circles and a prayer in others. the half-sister beckham had never shut up about—not in the loud, dramatic way, but in the quieter ones. the glances. the half-stories. the ache he never said out loud. and suddenly nix wasn’t walking anymore. she was staring across the street at a person who had haunted her best friend’s story for years.
a heartbeat. two. then nix stepped off the curb like gravity had nothing on her. she jogged across the street, weaving through slow traffic with a raised hand and a muttered, “sorry—,” before she was in front of her. not too close. not threatening. but there—all brash energy and too-honest eyes. “you’re hope, right?” she asked, breath still catching up to her. “hope mikaelson?” a beat. “i’m nix. hendrix. i was—am—beckham’s best friend.” her voice didn’t wobble on was, but it came close. "so i figured… i don’t know. felt right to say hi.” she offered a hand.