It gave her something to do while she was at the gym, working her leg, working to get her strength back after everything. If she didn't keep up her rehab, she'd be pissed at herself, much less how somebody else who knew about it would give her shit for an old injury. So she's living the life of the relative gym rat, pouring herself into physical fitness because it's better than the alternative.
She doesn't want to get too mentally stuck on anything, and exercise is a good way to distract yourself. But so, long story short, Kara's been watching the reports on the spate of disappearances, of the warnings, and she's really frakking confused. This place - it's not terribly advanced, and it certainly isn't magical - at least, as far as she knows.
Who knows, right?
But she walks out of the gym in a sports bra and cargo pants, her boots crunching on the shed leaves as sweat dries on her skin. She's overheated, and the cool air's a gift-- sure, she'll be cold soon enough, but her apartment's a ten minute jog and then she can throw herself into the shower. She takes three steps out from under the awning before her brows furrow. Dropping into a crouch, Kara rubs some of the grey ash that's accumulated between her fingers, frowning.
Shit. Everything's darker than it should be, and she looks up, anticipating only another forty-five minutes or so before dark. She doesn't know where she's supposed to go, but from the news it made it sound like she's got a limited amount of time before shit goes south.
It's simple, then. She turns on a dime, and she's moving to jog to the pawn shop, her dogtags clinking against her chest - it's only a few blocks away, and from everything Kara's heard? She's going to need a gun.
no subject
It gave her something to do while she was at the gym, working her leg, working to get her strength back after everything. If she didn't keep up her rehab, she'd be pissed at herself, much less how somebody else who knew about it would give her shit for an old injury. So she's living the life of the relative gym rat, pouring herself into physical fitness because it's better than the alternative.
She doesn't want to get too mentally stuck on anything, and exercise is a good way to distract yourself. But so, long story short, Kara's been watching the reports on the spate of disappearances, of the warnings, and she's really frakking confused. This place - it's not terribly advanced, and it certainly isn't magical - at least, as far as she knows.
Who knows, right?
But she walks out of the gym in a sports bra and cargo pants, her boots crunching on the shed leaves as sweat dries on her skin. She's overheated, and the cool air's a gift-- sure, she'll be cold soon enough, but her apartment's a ten minute jog and then she can throw herself into the shower. She takes three steps out from under the awning before her brows furrow. Dropping into a crouch, Kara rubs some of the grey ash that's accumulated between her fingers, frowning.
Shit. Everything's darker than it should be, and she looks up, anticipating only another forty-five minutes or so before dark. She doesn't know where she's supposed to go, but from the news it made it sound like she's got a limited amount of time before shit goes south.
It's simple, then. She turns on a dime, and she's moving to jog to the pawn shop, her dogtags clinking against her chest - it's only a few blocks away, and from everything Kara's heard? She's going to need a gun.