"Am I? Or am I just going along with what I'm told? Do I even want anything? Did I ever?"
Lynx Fortune used to have goals and aspirations. She did, didn't she? Surely at one point, she had things she wanted to do, right? She isn't sure. Lynx want...
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Two hoursof cardio,four hours of combat, and four hours of lung strengthening training later and it's still barely past six pm on a Tuesday.
So of course Lynx Fortune just has to spend her free time at the mall. There she stood amidst the display of shoes in the bustling Vans store in her red winter bomber jacket and black turtle neck. She scrutinized the green and white checkered sneaker in her palm, poking and prodding at the soles periodically.
With the nature of her quirk and her tendency to be overly reliant, using it to indulge in her downtime activities, she's constantly burning the rubber off her favorite branded shoes. She'd always chalk it up to the manufacturer's fault—why call them running shoes if they literally fall apart when she runs in them?—so this time she's doing her own research to decide what pair is the most durable.
Pure vibes, she hums satisfyingly.
Usually, Keigo would be next to her raving about the boots in the opposite aisle and vetoing all of her choices, something that would irritate Lynx to no end and would always end with both of them storming off to different stores. But alas, Lynx sighed, she hasn't seen or heard from her training partner in a week. With the waves he's making in the media, the TV screen interviews of 'Hawks' is really the closest she's been to conversing with her friend.
Her ponytail felt a tug, making Lynx lower her hand and lightly yelp. Her left hand reached behind to grip her hair, almond-shaped eyes turning to glare at the culprit.
"Shit- Sorry! Here just let me—ugh sorry one moment uh!" A young male's voice rushed to placate, widened black pupils and stubby-tanned fingers attempting to detangle the white strands that got caught in his decorative shoulder button.
Oh, it's that boy who has horrible fashion sense, Lynx passively notes through all the tugging and floundering he was doing. A quick scan of his pleasing color palette was enough for her to decide that she wouldn't hold a grudge against him for basically pulling her hair out.
She cleared her throat, "It's fine, I got it, you can stop now."
The boy looked at her for the first time since assaulting her and jerked back in surprise, "You!" He looked like Lynx gave him a bomb instead of her scarf the last time they met.
The whitehead frowned after tugging her hair free, "That's so rude, dude, what the hell. Don't point at me, please."
He took a step back and grimaced, "Are you following me?" He accused insultingly.
Lynx shot him a curious look, "No. Why? Are you doing something you're not supposed to be doing?" she looked around conspiratorily.
He—did he tell her his name last time?—glared at her, "No!" his eyes fell to the shoe in her grip and he deadpanned at the girl, "You know those are men's shoes right?"
