Snatch 2

Getting out of bed was a chore. It was hard to describe just how nice having one to sleep in after sleeping on the streets for a while really was, the sensation of softness beneath her, and a pillow to hold her head, not like the harsh unyielding pavement, and the makeshift support of a filled plastic bag. It felt good to actually stretch, and find something soft beneath her back, to feel clean and fresh... refreshed in a way that had been missing from her for the week spent on the street.

But she couldn’t afford it. Couldn’t afford to get comfortable and become a regular. That’s how people came to know a person, came to mark them and figure them out. Even in this part of town, close as it was to the PRT buildings and the bay itself; safe by some measures, or at least safer than the majority of places in this hell hole... Safe enough that someone had been brave enough to name the place after a black Civil Rights Icon, all but challenging the Neo-Nazi’s in town with its very existence. This place was safe for sure, safe enough to be borrowing trouble where none was warranted. And she couldn’t afford trouble. She couldn’t afford anything frankly. Not even any of the stitches which currently adorned her body.

It was that measure of safety that was its own danger, lulling someone like herself in to a sense of false safety, luring her in to places she should have known to steer clear of. The memory of her trigger brought a blatant chill down her spine, sitting her up in the soft warm bed. It was time to begin her work.

Time to make a start.

The morning routine was fine, she knew the drill well enough, up ready and out of the room before nine, bed made and hygiene taken care off as part of the ‘thank you’ that was inherent to the hope of ever getting a chance to use the space again. Matron’s rules. Sasha could respect that, hell she liked it a bit. Nothing in this world was for free, and it was nice to have even a small price attached. Made it feel less like freeloading and more like… some kind of low end transaction.

She kept the comb though.

She'd made up her mind last night, before the lethargy of sleep took her, to take her powers a bit more seriously. In truth there were plenty of places with plenty of stuff she might be able to make 'disappear' but not a single one had the variety that the city dump did, and frankly put the trashpile was for the most part a neutral zone, owned by no one for the simple fact that none really wanted it that much... or at least you'd heard that when asking about. Though at least one person had warned that the PRT and police kept the dump pretty well monitored for trespassers. Their reasoning was that the dump was a place where a lot of potential raw materials for powers existed, in a way it was the first though of any burgeoning new tinkers to go rooting about. And pretty much all of the gangs had their 'spotters' keeping an eye out for anyone who might show even the least inclination to go dumpster diving despite the mess involved.