all of the furniture sold

There are some aspects of society that seem to linger no matter how great or small the population. They slip out of the background, familiar and subtle, a breath permitted in the midst of a busy day — the stares from passerby, the free drinks at a bar, the sound of a breath harsh in the shadow of a deserted alley. Every detail worms its way underneath Faye's skin like a call for complacency, but that isn't how she takes it, no matter how much the way of life coaxes her. This is no time for relaxing, she thinks.

This is nothing more than an opportunity to use her skills to keep afloat. A game that sharpens her reflexes. Nothing more than that.

Individuals still disappear in the crowd as easily as they ever have, and so when Faye goes to insert herself as a more direct solution for the crime that permeates the city, plenty of people take her up on the offer. Today, the small slip of paper with the description doesn't tell her much:

Broad-shouldered, Asian, medium height. Likes to wear earth tones, plenty of green. Don't let the smile fool you. Frequents the noodle shop across the street from the park.

But it's more than she's done in weeks, so she keeps an eye out and waits for more details, a cup of yellow wine standing still in the middle of lightly brushing fingers as she surveys her surroundings.

He's a little younger than she expected, but when the man steps in, Faye wonders just how obvious she can get, how she can pull as much fun out of the chase as she can.

So she slides herself in the seat right across from him, playfully dropping her chin against the heel of her palm.

"Hi."

let's get these teen hearts beating faster, faster

She sees flashes of her old life in the new walls around her now. The flicker of ash, the hint of a spark — she can smell what accompanies it, smoke, billowing and dark and sudden, the crash of glass in the background, screams buried under the rest. There's a trickle of blood down her jawline, once sickly warm and now dried, cracking with the slightest movement, but Faye pays it no mind as she searches for a better place to hide — the shadows are too dangerous, the rooftops too restricting, and it feels ridiculous for her to be sitting on top of a stone statue in the park, and yet.

The frantic words of passerby have been enough to warn her of what's to come. Fears, manifesting and contorting, fears personified, all geared towards following their targets until they run out of breath. Some impossible thread of optimism twists itself in her stomach, but Faye doesn't keep her hopes raised too high as she stares about her, wondering if there's an end.

She wonders for a second too long.

There's a scatter of gravel in the distance, immediately setting her on edge as her eyes fly open, gun tugged from her hip with a rattle as she points it in the direction of the noise.

"Figures," she mutters to herself when recognition dawns, hesitantly starting to lower the weapon.