The Bellators

4:5:4

 All day the rain wouldn't stop, tempered above the room and past the walls but still prevalent, still oppressive. Even when on the other side of the window –which only permitted the yellow light although not of a sunlight shade but rather of an artificial tone–, there was still an unnerving sense of hostility that permeated into the otherwise unlit dining room whose primary furniture was a triangular wooden table hoisted up on three legs, and around that table by each face was a chair.

On the table's surface itself was a pile of scattered items including small metal handguns amongst cans and long black sticks all laid out in little organization with clear pouches filled with golden pellets littered about. There weren't many handguns remaining, but there were still a few, all of them styled traditionally with triggers on handles made to be gripped and slides in the back.

Behind the table on one of the chairs specifically being the one facing one of the windows sat the young girl in shorts and tank top both lacking hygiene, although she did too as there was grime on her skin. In fact had it not been for the buzz cut she had there'd likely be more dirt tangled on her head.

In silence as the only occupant of the house whose lack of balanced lighting casts her body mostly in shadows as does the majority of the room, the girl just stared at the window aimlessly as though waiting.

Forbearance was difficult to retain for her however as her disgruntled face was only exaggerated by her youthful innocence, her large green eyes and open mouth both in a state of yearning and somehow boredom.

She passed air out her mouth with vibrating lips as an immature activity to pass the time, but after the first few bursts she already lost interest, leading to her just raising her head up at the ceiling and sighing to an extent that it resembled a yawn, or perhaps it was simply both.

Her focus then moved from the ceiling down to one of the chairs beside her, although firstly not the one that was previously holding onto the jacket. She just stared at the chair for another few periods of silence, although there lacked any occupants to socialize with her.

She then diverted her gaze to the other chair which similarly was empty, as even from waiting for seconds there was no difference made to that fact.

After a few more extended moments of just aimlessly staring at the two chairs, the girl finally, albeit with a reluctant groan, threw herself off the chair, stumbling on the floor that creaked upon her additional weight. She stood up straight and turned around before walking down the corridor in search of a distraction.

Not too far down the hallway the girl passed by a doorway which she stopped at, turning to walk inside the small closet-sized room furnished with the chipped wooden table opposite from the long countertop. On both of the surfaces were the plates and bags, but specifically on the wooden table there was that plate that had a pile of white pills laid out, and that was the plate that drew in her focus as the girl approached it first.

Upon reaching the table she inspected the plate with a contemplative frown, her eyes contracted keenly. She hummed gently to herself as music for her studying, the tune she sang being generated in real time, although due to such, had a lack of intelligent melodies.

Regardless she hummed as she raised her hand up and brought it over the table, opening it the closer it reached the plate as she prepared to grab the pills with her small grubby hand. It reached right over the plate itself, the fingers bent like claws ready to snatch the contents of the plate, and yet at this critical moment they froze still.

That contemplative expression has not faltered on the girl's face, as instead it only seemed to grow more analytical, but at the same time more doubtful. She was given a singular option and yet she was debating it, not between another presented option but between one she could potentially give herself.