Exile! The word screamed in her mind as she trudged through the sparsely populated streets of what had to be the saddest little mid-strata sector she had ever imagined. She supposed that was a good thing, however, for maybe, just maybe, if she kept her head down, she could spend time amongst individuals who could think past their lust and impulses. She craved sensibility at this point and was willing to take every necessary precaution to aid her in this endeavor: she adorned thick goggles to disguise her glowing amber eyes, and long thick clothing to hide the crystal ridges easing out of her arms and legs. But most important, and most heartbreaking was her hair. She painstakingly shaved off every strand of her vibrant strawberry hair shedding a tear to match each lock. Now even her kin wouldn’t recognize her…now she truly was no one.
Truth be told, she had never actually personally experienced a sector above The Deep, the home of her kin. All she knew about life above the lower-stratas of Abanancie was from the stories passed through the clans by her Deepborn elders, or those salvage traders that would come around and with journals from above and tales of the grandiose halls of the upper-stratas surrounding The Core Spire. This was like nothing she had imagined or been told. Honestly, it didn’t look to much different from home…or what had once been home to her.
So far so good. She was just like anyone else, just another downtrodden meandering about through the rough and rubble trying to find something to live for in this prejudiced war torn land. Now she just had to keep her emotions under control. She had to stop thinking about…that place.
Nobody really gave her a passing glance as she made her way into a quiet hostel and approached the front desk which, apparently, doubled as a bar. The ragged looking girl pull up to a stool and took a seat joining the handful of others there. When a man came over to ask her what she needed she just shook her head lightly; she just wanted to get off of her feet. She shrugged and he walked off.
She sighed, folding her arms on the bartop and dropping her hooded head into them.
“I know that look,” a low but soothing voice came from the man that had been sitting next to her. She pulled her head up slightly to look at him; he was sitting with his hands wrapped around a tall mug of steaming liquid and looking down into it. He too wore goggles but he had a head full of luxurious salt and pepper dreadlocks. She frowned and dropped her head again, envious of the hair he had. Within the next few moments she heard the sound of a mug being slide in front of her and when she looked up there was a hot drink. She turned her head towards the man, eyebrows raised, then looked back at the drink and to him once more.
“It’s easier if you don’t think about it so much.” He smiled gently and lifted a hand to pull down his goggles revealing gleaming violet eyes.
Daily Prompt: Aimless