they call me a menace

they say that i'm cursed

he'd almost packed it up and moved somewhere else - anywhere else - after the first girl had found her, but Farrah had procrastinated and now, after weeks of no other visitors, had lulled herself into a sense of comfort knowing she was alone. Or, correction - assuming she was alone. As alone as a person could be when the rest of the earth's population was crammed into what was probably only a speck in the grand scheme of this planet. It was getting downright slummy out there (alright, that was a blind guess - she had no idea). Still, she hadn't seen another soul. That was a little... strange, wasn't it? With all these people milling about, shouldn't someone else have stumbled upon her by now? Sure, she was far enough north of Nemus that even she didn't know if she technically qualified as being in the outskirts of the colony or not, but shouldn't people's curiosity have gotten the better of them by now? As far as Farrah knew, the map hadn't been expanded upon since she got here - and that was months ago. Two, to be precise.

Maybe she was being too harsh. Not everyone could adapt to change as easily as she could; living as a nomad far before Petra Exterior dubbed her as one, Farrah was used to this life. Others were probably shitting themselves just trying to grasp that there weren't showers here.. Or proper toilets.

Currently, she was pushing through the woods in search of food. That gazelle-thing she'd killed had been picked dry a couple of days ago, and she was just getting over the food poisoning she'd given herself by eating the last of the meat despite its smell and slimy texture. Living the way she did, she wasn't one to waste food - but she wouldn't hold onto meat that long ever again. Thinking about it now, she shrugged to herself. It had been gross but edible just a single day prior, how was she supposed to know she'd been down for the count polishing it off?

At any rate, she was now dreadfully hungry and having a hell of a time trying to find anything else to eat. Critters she'd decided to liken to squirrels were usually chittering and running all over these woods, but now Farrah couldn't find a single one. What the hell? Where had they all gone? She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, a little grossed out by how much she was perspiring. She'd even elected for her jean shorts and cami - which was usually an underlayer - and she still felt like she was dying. The squirrels had probably been like "Fuck this, we're out," and gone somewhere cooler... if such a place existed.

Accidentally stepping on a rock, Farrah cursed and grabbed the offended foot. She had shoes, but the thought of wearing socks right now was about as appealing as nails on a chalkboard, and she wasn't going to risk the blisters her tennies would give her otherwise. She was still grimacing when she heard a scuffle coming from her campsite. She'd been here long enough to be very sure of how far she was from "home" at all times, and the sort of noises a creature made by traipsing through her stuff.

Pain forgotten, Farrah started slowly back. She tread carefully in case it was one of those freakish bears that had found her, but quickened her pace when she heard a very human voice call out. Rolling her eyes, she pushed into the little clearing.

Despite her hair being up in a pony tail, strands still stuck to her face as she sized the guy up. He was maybe-attractive, but after running with a biker gang she stopped putting much stock in physical looks. Huffing, she put her hands on her hips - her nine spare hair ties creating a colorful pseudo-bracelet on her left wrist. Her other hand came up to push a few aberrant strands behind her ear. "You're in my living room," she scorned mildly, making no other move. She kept her eyes trained on the man to keep them from flicking to where she'd stashed her other clothes, because they were all she had to her name and she'd be damned if some posh dude was going to steal them just to support his next fashion impulse.