Not the Role Model Type

Chapter seven

actual story here, so if you wanted to skip all that right here's a good place to skip too, I'm also using Arrow's version of Nyssa because I personally find that the easiest for me to work with. (If you don't exactly know who i'm talking about, here:  vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/spartacus/images/3/36/Nyssa.gif...

[Your p.o.v]
"Everytime I come here you have my favorite ice cream. It's like you know when I had an argument with my brother or something." You stated, curling up in the white bean bag chair with your knees pulled to your chest, scratching at the corner of the bandage she had placed on for you. When you came running into her apartment with bloody knees and bloody hands, her first instinct was to get the first aid kit. Which has got a lot more than just band aids in it.

"I don't like you eating ice cream all the time, but it calms you down enough for you to speak about what it is that's bothering you." She said, her thick english accent giving you a mom-like tone to her speaking. You didn't see her as family, at all, and that's a good thing. But she had her moments.

"True, It's really not just my brother this time though, there's more to it now." You said, fiddling with the spoon in the glass bowl with green patterns along the rim, they looked really unique and the glass bowl felt as though it would break if you set it down with barely any pressure. Why she gives you fine china to eat ice cream in? You have no idea and will honestly never find out.

"For someone who I know through my dad, I still can't believe you're perfectly clean. Like there's almost nothing bad about you." You added, scraping your spoon at the bottom of the bowl. The light in the lamp on the left of you flickered, usually this happens because of the wiring in her apartment is faulty.

"Completely clean? You do recall me mentioning you that I'm in hiding right now." She said, her green eyes narrowing while he arms crossed over her chest, loose black curls flowing over her arms.

"Yea, but anybody in gotham can be hiding from anyone and still be a good person. And I know you said you came here from Star city and I know that place is almost as corrupt as Gotham, or use to be. From what I hear in the news, their Vigilante over there is cleaning things up. It's like everyones got their own personal hero now." You grunted, pinching the spoon between your fingers, if it were a plastic spoon it would have broke.

You readjusted yourself in the soft chair, the grey cardigan that hung loosely over your shoulders gave you warmth. The olive colored tank top just thin enough for you not to overheat in the cardigan. And black sweats long enough to cover your toes on your bare feet anyways.

The room you sat in was small, maybe only a couple things were in it. A pretty good sized Tv, a laptop,  a small couch, the bean bag chair you sat in, a large book shelf filled with lots, and lots of books. A persian rug that you knew from personal expierance not to step on with your shoes. And some family heirlooms. There was a fairly large green and grey tapestry that covered half the wal and then some, the fabric was pretty soft and worn. It felt like it was hundreds of years old at least, some of the heirlooms in here looked pretty dangerous if they weren't pretty and old. Like one of the grey Katanas with the complex engraving on the handle that sat in its case on a wooden table. The table itself looked pretty old too. You always wondered what her family was like if this was the stuff she got from them, even though she mentioned it's not much at all and only sees it as a reminder to stay away from her Father if anything else.

She didn't tell you much, but it was enough.

"Yes. Not as good as anyone would imagine it so." She said, there was a look on her face you couldn't really piece together. It was blank and expressionless, no emotion was held in her eyes and they stared dully on ahead of you. But at the same time it was like the words hurt enough for her to speak it was all she said on the subject.