Prudence nearly jumped out of her skin as her phone beeped and vibrated in her hip pocket, alerting her to the incoming text. Setting down her wrench, she pulled the phone out and read the message. "...Nick?" she muttered softly, low enough that she wasn't heard over the music blaring in the custom motorcycle shop and the din of the other mechanics working on bikes. Quickly she turned and headed for the break room. She didn't expect a text from him so soon -- they had just met last night at the range, after all…
...Last night. When she'd nearly gotten run over and was rescued by a man in a strange outfit calling himself Saguenay. Why was Nick asking about bruises? Had he seen what had happened?
She typed a reply, thumbs flying over the synaptic keyboard on her phone.
Hey Nick! I got home just fine, no bruises. Which was a slight lie; her arm and wrist hurt and her knees were a bit sore, and she expected them to bruise up quite nicely.
How about you?