People are looking at you, and you count the fucking seconds until Marduk appears.
The little comments are easy enough to ignore, and you can deal with the looks, although it makes you want to put your thumb through someone's eye. But the boredom is what's getting to you, more than anything else. You've been over in this side of town before, running the occasional pick-up for one of your moirail's bullshit orders. So long as people assume you're someone's pick-up, shit's fine: it's when you start acting like you're here for anything other than business by breaking out your phone or fucking with your bike that the highbloods get shitty.
Case in point. You're not even doing shit, but there's a finhead peering at you, her painted lips pulled into a careful frown. Judging by the set of her horns, you'll give it twenty, thirty seconds before she flounces over to see why the hell you're idling here.
Maybe you'll just tell her to fuck off. You're still amped up from dealing with OA and PC's bullshit, and right now, the idea of getting to sink your claws in someone's throat sounds great.
But you know the fight wouldn't go like that: bubbleblowers don't believe in playing fair, and bluebloods are always willing to play family when it comes to beating down the lower castes. You'd get culled, painfully and publicly, and the thought makes you force a thin, toothless smile at the seadweller until she looks away.
Thank god that Marduk appears at that point, because you feel like you're about to start biting yourself, in lieu of shit else to do.
She's being led by her lusus, all set up on a little leash-rig, and.. for some reason, there's a lanky-ass seadweller tailing her, a fuzzy black robe trailing her like a cape. She's got to be one of those in-betweenies: girl looks purple as a churchmouse, all legs and frizzy curls, but those are definite fronds on her neck. Shame: she'd be almost cute, for a blueblood.
"Sup, kid," you call out. You're glad you cleared out the sidecar: Marduk's barely seven, but she's not exactly tiny, and neither is her lusus. Even empty, it might make for a tight fit. "You ready?"
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The little comments are easy enough to ignore, and you can deal with the looks, although it makes you want to put your thumb through someone's eye. But the boredom is what's getting to you, more than anything else. You've been over in this side of town before, running the occasional pick-up for one of your moirail's bullshit orders. So long as people assume you're someone's pick-up, shit's fine: it's when you start acting like you're here for anything other than business by breaking out your phone or fucking with your bike that the highbloods get shitty.
Case in point. You're not even doing shit, but there's a finhead peering at you, her painted lips pulled into a careful frown. Judging by the set of her horns, you'll give it twenty, thirty seconds before she flounces over to see why the hell you're idling here.
Maybe you'll just tell her to fuck off. You're still amped up from dealing with OA and PC's bullshit, and right now, the idea of getting to sink your claws in someone's throat sounds great.
But you know the fight wouldn't go like that: bubbleblowers don't believe in playing fair, and bluebloods are always willing to play family when it comes to beating down the lower castes. You'd get culled, painfully and publicly, and the thought makes you force a thin, toothless smile at the seadweller until she looks away.
Thank god that Marduk appears at that point, because you feel like you're about to start biting yourself, in lieu of shit else to do.
She's being led by her lusus, all set up on a little leash-rig, and.. for some reason, there's a lanky-ass seadweller tailing her, a fuzzy black robe trailing her like a cape. She's got to be one of those in-betweenies: girl looks purple as a churchmouse, all legs and frizzy curls, but those are definite fronds on her neck. Shame: she'd be almost cute, for a blueblood.
"Sup, kid," you call out. You're glad you cleared out the sidecar: Marduk's barely seven, but she's not exactly tiny, and neither is her lusus. Even empty, it might make for a tight fit. "You ready?"