Sufjan Steven enthusiast
In all accounts Denon wasn’t a stiff adjustment, hailing virtually every signature of the Coruscanti underworld she’d grown so accustomed to. The perpetual slosh of someone raising a bottle, the raging instability, rapidly failing infrastructure. It was all some loose intimidation of home. Perhaps, on top of everything, that’s why Arcturus had chartered course here. Rest assured she’d be able to fend for herself while he vanished into the folds of the city. That in itself wasn't alarming. He’d certainly set a precedent of pulling disappearing acts.
A constant downpour of polluted air fell the streets, pooling through the stretches of slums like some cancerous river. The kid pushed through the smog unconcerned, tendrils of acidic air parting in her wake. Walking the confines of the partially demolished sector like a shadow, her hands found their place in the thread-bare pockets of her jacket.
Stirring the half-lidded faces of drunkards littering the street the girl pulled up her hood in disinterest, attention folding through the lanes aimlessly.
She could've kept herself tucked safely within the confines of the Leviathan. It would’ve been easy to welcome the clean air. But there were points that ship felt unbearably artificial, and she wasn’t exactly looking to be alone with her thoughts.
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