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 -- Mean Streets, [OPEN!]
Josephine Richter
Posted: Nov 28 2011, 09:10 PM

[ M A E D C H E N ] on the run
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Group: Cannon fodder
Posts: 20
Member No.: 742
Joined: 19-October 11

The evening was dark and foreboding. Lightning flared up between purple-grey clouds and forked across the sky accompanied by the booming echoes of rumbling thunder. Rain fell in thick, dark sheets that flooded the streets and sidewalks, forming puddles as it went. This was a night made for comfortable couches, soft blankets and mugs filled with steaming liquids and not for the first time, Josephine found herself bemoaning the most recent turn her life had taken, if only mentally.

Things had been working out so well. She’d made it across the border without a hitch, she’d found a home – a strange, weird and oversexed if not slightly perverted but still very loving home - with the Nidaz brothers in San Fernando and she had felt safe. And happy. Genuinely happy. Maybe that was the reason why she hadn’t told the brothers what she should have told them from the moment she had decided to stay with them.

In retrospect, of course, not confiding into Adolf and Virkin – alright, Virkin rather than Adolf – had been a stupid thing to do or not do, as it were. She’d successfully pushed the thought of even hinting at her family situation out of her mind. So far, in fact, that for a whole of two days she had felt betrayed and cheated by the brothers because she’d been convinced they’d had to have known. Somehow. Yes, even without her telling them. But then, of course, she realized how much she’d wronged them.

Really, it wasn’t their fault she’d been too much of a coward to tell them, wasn’t their fault she’d put that talk off until she’d put it out of her mind entirely; until the day Falk’s voice echoed through the apartment. She had no reason to blame them and she knew that, but it was a difficult task – not blaming them. And their rejection of her stung a lot more than the unkind thoughts she’d had towards them during the first two days back on the road. If they hadn’t wanted her there, they could’ve just told her; they could’ve kicked her out or asked her to leave. No one had made them protect her when a group of teens leered at her on her way to the beach; no had forced them to delay her departure and to take her in. Those were things they had wanted to do – out of their own free volition. And that – for some reason – they had now decided to get rid of her without even telling her… yes, that stung. That was the true betrayal – the fact that they’d wanted her gone and didn’t tell her so.

A word would have been enough and she would have packed her stuff and left. A word. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Josie stared out into the rainy night, just in time to watch a bolt of lightning snake across the sky, followed by a thunderous explosion that shook the diner’s windows. The German jumped in her seat and edged away from the thin glass barrier, if only minimally. Instinctively, her left hand reached for her black monster of a backpack, pulling it along. Like any child living on the road for any amount of time, she had learned that what she owned was what she owned and it was important to keep those things close. Her wide eyes flew from one corner of the diner to another – but she seemed to be the only one concerned by the ruckus. Everyone else, it seemed, was either quite used to that kind of weather or totally unfazed by it. The teen relaxed slightly – surely the locals knew when it was time to panic – and took another sip of her hot chocolate.

It had been sheer dumb luck that she had met up with Becks, a truck driver who had been kind enough to give her a ride to Bishop City and even treated her to dinner at a rather nice diner. Becks – Rebecca, actually – had pushed a twenty dollar bill into Josie’s hands after settling the check and wished her luck before leaving, and now the runaway was sitting at a neat white and blue window table on her own, an emptied plate that had held apple pie and ice cream in front of her and an empty mug of coffee, the sole remainder of her new friend’s presence, for company. She was trying to put off having to go outside, to face the cruel elements – howling winds, ice cold water, eerie lightning and booming thunder; yeah, she could do without that.

It had a lot to do with being ill-equipped to face such weather. She’d spent months at the West Coast, in an area close to the desert which was naturally warm (read: hot) and dry. Of course, there had been thunder storms there, too, but they were rare and not as intense, or so she’d liked to believe. Not to mention she’d had the luxury – oh yes, it was a luxury – of watching those storms from the safety of a single bedroom department, curled up on the bed while Virkin typed away in his closet and Adolf was out doing god-knew-what.

Dressing for the cooler temperatures up North was a challenge if your wardrobe had been reduced to mini skirts and summer wear. Because it had been summer when she’d come to the States and had gotten her clothes. She’d planned to get sensible winter clothes with her next paycheque. You know – the one she’d never gotten because she had to hightail out of San Fernando. This probably explains the two sets of tights worn over each other: a darker pair in raspberry colour, dirty and slightly torn, and a sheer pink pair that was just as torn and dirty, but thankfully not in the same places. Black ruffled leg warmers helped protect her calves from the cold, exposing only her knees and thighs to the air. She dearly regretted not having taken along the sole pair of denim pants she’d owned while living with the Nidaz brothers, but the truth was she’d been caught in the throes of panic and she hadn’t been able to find her pants, although she’d made a conscious effort to look for them. Instead, she’d stuffed all sorts of mini skirts into her backpack, of which she was presently wearing one: a short, stained denim skirt.

Her denim jacket lay to her left, atop of her backpack. She hadn’t bothered to extract the thin fleece hoodie she’d worn underneath from it, instead opting to leave the two jackets tangled. She had combined them for warmth, but they wouldn’t be doing her any good once she stepped out into the rain. A colourful scarf consisting of many individual knit-blossoms sewn together was loosely wrapped around her neck, hiding the rose gold necklace tucked into the two tops she wore underneath a purple plaid shirt, the necklace being her only truly valuable possession. The masses of brown hair were held back just so by a pale pink braided satin head band, showing the teal feather earrings that hung from the girl’s earlobes (and rested comfortably on the blossomed scarf).

Josie’s heeled chucks were made from black fabric which meant that – like her denim jacket and the fleece hoodie – they wouldn’t be able to offer her much protection from the weather. What she needed was for the rain to stop, or at least a sturdy umbrella that would survive taking her to the local shelter or a club where she could pick up someone who would offer her a chance to sleep in a proper bed.

A waitress came to fetch the empty coffee mug and the plate Josie had cleared, shooting the girl a questioning, possibly even pitying look. The brunette merely pointed at her mug and held up a finger, mutely telling the woman that she wanted another mug of hot chocolate.

The teen sighed.

Getting used to being on her own again was a lot harder this time around. She disliked it a lot. And for the first in a long time, Josephine Richter truly felt lonely and helpless - a feeling she detested like no other.

’Stupid rain.’

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