Maybe it had already been a little close to a month since she'd gotten here, just about another week or so-- a few days, a handful of something that she was holding onto for hope. You didn't fall into an entirely new reality for a few weeks time and have nothing to show for it-- love it or hate it, you'd have to pick yourself up by the bootstraps and move on. But, even moving on, it didn't seem like enough to pretend like it all didn't happen. It felt wrong to call it all just a bad dream, from the storms and tornadoes to the losses and now the grave marker of an old life somewhere in the middle of River Town in the form of broken trash cans and dumped-down puddles that the pantheon deemed fit enough to place her.
She didn't want to forget-- she didn't want to move on, but she knew herself too well to know that Max Caulfield was too resourceful for her own good. With a job at the paper slinging stories and polaroids like nobody's business, a home and a life would soon follow. Maybe even friends when she'd actually started to get to know people. ...Maybe.
The job came first, however. One step at a time, after all, like her father would have always told her. According to the editor, it was a story that needed an interview with a few residents-- the Exalt if possible, but nothing had been popping up her way. It was almost as if she'd approached, they would immediately scurry. The moment the words 'newspaper' and 'questions' left her mouth, the ones that left theirs always said they didn't have time. No amount of persuasion, camera waving, or promises that the interviewee would turn out famous like 'Toby D' seemed to hack it.
Already two weeks in, and she'd wind up fired if she came back to the office without anything to show for it-- empty-handed and empty-lensed.
It was tiring. She was already tired. In the middle of town, with nothing going right, crouched underneath the canopy of an anchored, massive sprout of a tree. Her back rested against it, the hood of her jacket almost functioning like a pillow as she framed her neck against the bark-- the feeling of the air around it surged in... something. A kind of energy, calming to the touch and flowing through her lungs with every breath. Where stress had come, it was gone as her legs stretched out and eyes grew heavy-- leaving the cloudy day darker than she'd left it.
Castles and canopies were left behind, overtaken by a familiar sight of rooftops and raindrops. ...Different, but visibly similar. Glass windows and concrete as wide as the eye could see from where she stood at its height, the ocean far off to the distance and dormitories close to the center. It had been the source of memories, joyous and painful, time and time again. Stained in realism, but the horizon blank white like an empty canvas and everything faded like an old painting. Certain that it was, Pandora itself innocent in the trickery this time, the culprit being the girl's own poor mind.
Where anything could happen, and nothing caused consequence.
Rain poured over the sky, bleeding in like watercolour and dripping blue to fill in blanks wherever it fell. Yet-- it avoided her. Like a halo of untouchable status, the rain cascaded in a dome around her that left her dry wherever she moved, wherever she went-- no matter how fast or slow, tall or small she'd go. Even though it moved, it all even just seemed to hold still.
A soporific sigh left her lungs, tiredly staring off into the half-finished replica of her mind's home-- unenthusiastic about it already, hardly waiting for it to be complete. "This is bullshit," her arms crossed as she gazed across the painted horizon. "The diner's not even open."