It's a Slow Fire of Sorts: Part I

Alcohol is bad for you

To Brunnhilde's dismay, Blondie is actually both calm and controlled.

She's dressed in Sakaaran attire, hair in waves down her back, with a few bangles on her wrists and a necklace around her throat. Purple veil, blue paint; she's settled into the culture quickly- almost looks like she's lived here her whole life.

The bruises help.

Honestly, she should be thanking Brunnhilde for the skirmish back at Sal's. It brings a certain... authenticity to the costume. And if Brunnhilde gets a kick out of seeing mottled skin every time Vers scolds her for something stupid, then- well- that's her business. They split from the rest hours ago, parsing their way through the city, garbage pile by garbage pile. The strip is on the North side, surrounded by gross apartments and even grosser people

"Slow down."

"No."

"Slow. Down." Vers demands. She grabs Brunnhilde's arm, forcing her back and slowing their pace. "Your pace is too fast."

Brunnhilde shoves her into a wall of faded garbage, knife pressed tight to her throat. "Don't get handsy, Blondie. I don't answer to you." Vers is unphased; not a hint of spark in her fingers, or heat in her eyes, which is frustratingly disappointing.

"Slow down," she says firmly. "- and I won't need to get handsy. I don't know this area. I have no idea where we're going, and we need a plan before we jump into this-"

"What do you want me to do? Spoon-feed you the information? We go in, I do the talking, I beat the guy up, and then we leave. You're here because your psychotic Commander decided to be a dumbass."

"I'm here because you need to be controlled."

"Funny, coming from you," Brunnhilde grumbles. She chugs another pint or so of ale before tossing her last bottle to the ground. Blondie gives her a look of disgust.

"What?" Brunnhilde asks, wiping her mouth with one hand and holding knife against Blondie's throat with the other. "Gonna light me up because I don't recycle?"

"You drink a lot."

"Stunning observation."

"It's really not. You've been holding at least some kind of a bottle in your hand for most of the day. It isn't... healthy."

Brunnhilde just stares at her. The knife lowers. "Sarcasm, Blondie. Or do Kree not understand shifting tones?"

"My universal doesn't translate everything word for word," Blondie says, honestly. She's looking ahead into the North city center, eyes flickering over the hordes of faces and bodies. She's focused. She's alert.

She's scanning back and forth, like a flarking idiot.

Brunnhilde punches her in the arm. "Stop glaring at everyone," she orders, walking back into the main street. There are losers and trash everywhere- a stench of desperation in the air. "Follow my lead, pick up the pace, and stay in the background."

She doesn't bother waiting for Blondie's response, just takes off into the crowd.

The strip is full of color, and it's not the pretty kind, either. The buildings are dull, old and faded, with a touch of dried blood smeared along most of the walls. She's going fast- weaving in and out of random pedestrians and stray animals just asking to be hit- because maybe if she times it right, she'll lose Blondie in the chaos of the early afternoon...

Her attempt doesn't work. Vers is neck and neck with her in like three seconds.

"One- Four- Two!" she yells, voice steady- like this is just a casual thing for her. Brunnhilde grimaces. She runs faster, but the voice only increases in volume.