[Joining the rank odor around the phone booth is the similarly distasteful and borderline noxious smell of cigarette smoke, so chemical-laden even a nonsmoker would be able to tell that it's a cheap brand. It gets the job done, though, and if ever there was a time where Bigby would like to dull his senses, it's now. Beyond the phone booth, clusters of strange bright orange flowers grow low on a nearby tree, oozing fluid onto the ground. How it can smell both disgusting and incredibly, inexplicably delicious is a puzzle Bigby doesn't care to solve just yet, so he lights a cigarette up as he waits for his contact, sucking nicotine in a little more forcefully than he would any other day.
He doesn't have to wait long. He hears the girl moving through the trees long before she breaks through them, hears the long piece of metal she's using to feel her way around thump against the side of a tree, and sees one end of her tattered blindfold trailing in the air behind her before she raises her head to Bigby, giving him a view of her face. So she's blind. He wasn't expecting that. At the same time, it feels... appropriate, somehow? A little bit like the stories he's heard of oracles and seers who lose their eyesight in exchange for power.]
Wouldn't hurt, even if it feels like being back home. [It's a mild answer that comes after a tiny pause like he's taken time to consider it — when in actuality he's considering her, watching her carefully, picking up on the way she's speaking which is pretty much like the way she writes too. Interesting kid.] Got a place in mind?
no subject
He doesn't have to wait long. He hears the girl moving through the trees long before she breaks through them, hears the long piece of metal she's using to feel her way around thump against the side of a tree, and sees one end of her tattered blindfold trailing in the air behind her before she raises her head to Bigby, giving him a view of her face. So she's blind. He wasn't expecting that. At the same time, it feels... appropriate, somehow? A little bit like the stories he's heard of oracles and seers who lose their eyesight in exchange for power.]
Wouldn't hurt, even if it feels like being back home. [It's a mild answer that comes after a tiny pause like he's taken time to consider it — when in actuality he's considering her, watching her carefully, picking up on the way she's speaking which is pretty much like the way she writes too. Interesting kid.] Got a place in mind?