Her mode of transportation across the country abruptly ended, Jodi had been wandering the streets of this new found city rather idly- much like the lost do with no where to go. Much akin to her accustomed behaviour, she followed the rats and club kids to a place that remains universally recognizable. Places like this, crammed full of drunken, high, generally disoriented patrons felt peculiarly like home to Jodi. If she had some blow, she could pawn it off quick in a place like this but she ruefully recalled how she had given that up back home. Somehow, it had not been so hard for her to drop it, like a bad habit, she laughed to herself. She had heard a fair deal from the Powder Boys how, once you’re on it, you don’t get off of it; when in truth, she was feeling quite… fine. Itchy, sure. A little paranoid, but she reasoned to herself, when isn’t she paranoid?

She twitched a little as she circled around the writhing bodies to the bar, where she slipped a twenty out of her bag and order a shot and chaser. True enough this was not the way to conserve her hard earned money, considering she was fresh out of employment, but it seem logical to her that in a new city, one must celebrate their arrival. Her shoulder bag, with extra clothes rolled up tightly over and around wads of cash, was held securely against her side with her free hand while she snapped her head back and downed her shot. Sipping the chaser somewhat more casually, she turned her eyes to the crowd. Dancing wasn’t her forte, she rarely did it back home as she was usually working. She allowed herself to be entertained by these people, all unknown to her, all beautiful in their own right. Usually, she stopped her thought process at this point, but tonight she was feeling good and so she let it take its course.

All these people, unaware of her, so absorbed in their own lives, their mortality. Uncountable times she had waited out back or in alleys for them to stumble by, former customers, startled to find themselves at the business end of one of her knives. If they had money left, they were robbed and left to find their way home. If they had spent it all, they met a more unfortunate fate. Of course, she did not kill every one of them, that would have been careless. More often than not, she just beat them to a bloody mess and it was later blamed on a bar fight and alcohol. No one ever suspected her back then, thin, mousy haired little nothing that she was.

Running a hand through her blonde spikes, she wondered if she had made a mistake in her appearance. It would be harder to remain unidentifiable should the urge to cause pain hit her. Then again, perhaps it would keep her in check. This was a new city, a new home. It would be wise to wait until she was well adjusted here before she started up any conflict. She pressed her fist under her chin and glared hard into the crowd, her drink forgotten. Sometimes the urge was difficult to resist.