((Word Count: 1531, 3 solos))
Pythia did not usually decide to indulge in exercise. Mostly because she hated exercise, and hated the idea of anyone seeing her while she did it, and hated the idea of dressing up in those stupid little yoga pants and crop sports bra tops and jogging around like look at me, I'm trying to be so healthy and fit. UGH. Everywhere she went, seriously, it was like someone was trying to pimp out one fitness plan or another, or encourage someone to try their gym, or make a big deal out of all of it. She was poor, or at least middle class, and didn't have time for that crap. It wasn't like she was spending her money on beer and pizza, anyways; she'd be fine. Probably. Whatever. Her only interest in choosing to go exercise came from the discovery that she was slow, sluggish, and probably wouldn't look the best in her skimpy little magical girl uniform if she let herself go completely uninhibited. Plus, the idea of saving people's lives when she was barely able to jog around the block without declaring herself asthmatic and wheezing for a week... yeah. Still, none of this probably necessity bull crap meant that she had to like exercise. Sometimes you did stuff you didn't like. Attending a lecture on the nature and scope of political philosophy for example. She had better things she could be doing, like hanging herself with dental floss. As an example. Or as a start, that had been the worst lecture ever.
The outfit that she had managed to acquire for herself for this new found hell she was voluntarily throwing herself into had been like five bucks at the charity shop down the street, and good god, anyone who looked at her would be able to tell it. There was no way in hell she would be going out in the sunlight like this, and definitely not where anyone who actually knew her might go. She'd take her chances against psycho killers compared to the fashion police- one just made her life short, the other could ruin her reputation for the rest of an excruciatingly long one. The bright neon pink pants that she had bought were a size large- though not if she couldn't keep her face out of the free candy that was being given away tomorrow by some new candy store- and they looked like they belonged to some 80's horror movie, or Denise Austin in the 80's or some s**t. They dubiously MIGHT be terrycloth, and she wasn't at all sure how they would get rid of sweat, or if they would hold it and she would be- ugh, yeah, that train of thought was ending here. Choo choo, last stop. The tank top was only slightly better- at least it wasn't PINK. No; instead it was an awful neon yellow and white, and clung to her unsightly midriff unforgivably, reminding her every time she peered in the mirror that she didn't have a six-pack and that she'd bought a leopard-print sports bra.
She made her way out of the apartment and considered where she was going to jog. There was a path that led near the back, along the line between this neighborhood and near a section of slightly wooded area, like someone was going to try and build up a park there, or a nature preserve, and never got around to it. The woods were a bit of a dead end though, with a circular loop that forced drivers to practically do a three-point turn, or back their way out. Or park. She'd avoid that way, kind of creepy. Up towards the front of the complex, however, there was the main road- busier, but also less likely to actually wind up in her murder. And not so busy that she thought people would see to much of her this late in the evening, unless they just couldn't look away from her a** in these weird pants. She wouldn't blame them- she certainly couldn't, though that was possibly because she was going to cry at what an awful scene she made. The white tennis head band that she put on to keep her hair from falling in her eyes rather completed the look- and good lord, she looked a mess. This might actually be the worst thing. The worst idea. The worst anything and everything known to man. But she was going to do this anyway, because clearly she hated herself, and wanted to see herself succeed or something.
The night was kind of peaceful, and the first three or four minutes were actually working out really well. She wasn't wheezing yet, which was a great sign. All she had to do was manage like... five more of these four minute sessions, and she'd be able to pretend that she had done a healthy. She was actually feeling quite proud of herself, truth be told. This was like... four and a half more minutes than she had exercised in months! That probably counted for something, right? Sure! It was odd, though- she hadn't seen a single car going by for the last few minutes, and not even a neighbor out walking their dog. Usually there was at least one plebeian out walking their little shitter; being dragged to and fro as the little monster demanded the perfect location to dump his burden and mark his territory. Tonight, however, she was alone except for streetlights. Or so she thought- until a flutter of cloth got her attention, and teal eyes turned to take in a solitary young woman, probably not much younger than she herself was, running down a side road that ran between the roads and one of the building. There was nothing but more woods that way, woods and a row of boring apartments. Pythia hadn't ever actually seen any cars coming from that way either, all she knew was back there was woods and dumpster and a few old farts. But it wasn't the location of the woman that got her.
She thought it was the tears. Probably. A long white dress, that looked like a honeymoon nightgown gone out of fashion, and the tears. Pythia couldn't stand seeing another woman crying, and so it gave her pause, even at this hour of the night. The woman was running, not unlike Pythia herself, and-- odd. She couldn't really tell that many more details. Just a crawling sensation going down the redhead's spine as she took the woman in briefly, and then she was moving past Pythia, silent as – lord, she was being ridiculous. It was that time of the year when college kids pulled pranks, but this was the most random hour and location for it, so it was probably actually a woman who was mourning, or afraid, or- something. So Pythia took a detaour, cutting across the grass, knowing she made a ridiculous picture. “Hey!” she called after the other woman, but there was no response, only running, and the creepy-crawling fingers down Pythia's spine. She couldn't hear the woman running, she couldn't tell id she was a blonde or brunette or redhead. She couldn't tell the style of the nightgown, only that it was airy and floated around her legs as she darted ahead of Pythia herself. There might be shoes on her feet, or her hair might be in a ponytail? She could be asian, or black, or white - later, Pythia wouldn't be able to say one way or another. All she knew was that in the now, she needed to go after her.
Though lord knew she didn't want to. There was something disconcerting in the way that the other woamn was moving, in the terror in her eyes, even though Pythia herself couldn't see anything. In the way she couldn't place any identifying features besides that dress, and the tear-streaked cheeks. Even if she wanted to call the police, there was nothing... so instead, she simply had to rush after her, and hope that the woman didn't do anything foolish in her hysteria. “Hey!” she called out after the running woman, hoping to get her attention, to get her to slow down so that Pythia could actually get a good look at her. But there was no response. Pythia followed her, and in between one breath and the next, she came to the end of the cul-de-sac, and the girl was gone from her sight. Had she run into one of the buildings? She paused, starting to inhale, and then the wave of chill poured down her spine, pulsing through her and stealing her breath away. Goosebumps rose on her arms, the hair pricking on the back of her neck, she blood curdling with chill in her veins. She couldn't see anyone, and even the windows of the nearby apartments were dead and cold. And then the streetlamp went out, and the redhead shrieked.
Escaping from the dead end, she had never run so fast, and chances were? She never would again. But even though she ran home and curled up in her blankets, she couldn't outrun the cold fear in her veins.
Pythia did not usually decide to indulge in exercise. Mostly because she hated exercise, and hated the idea of anyone seeing her while she did it, and hated the idea of dressing up in those stupid little yoga pants and crop sports bra tops and jogging around like look at me, I'm trying to be so healthy and fit. UGH. Everywhere she went, seriously, it was like someone was trying to pimp out one fitness plan or another, or encourage someone to try their gym, or make a big deal out of all of it. She was poor, or at least middle class, and didn't have time for that crap. It wasn't like she was spending her money on beer and pizza, anyways; she'd be fine. Probably. Whatever. Her only interest in choosing to go exercise came from the discovery that she was slow, sluggish, and probably wouldn't look the best in her skimpy little magical girl uniform if she let herself go completely uninhibited. Plus, the idea of saving people's lives when she was barely able to jog around the block without declaring herself asthmatic and wheezing for a week... yeah. Still, none of this probably necessity bull crap meant that she had to like exercise. Sometimes you did stuff you didn't like. Attending a lecture on the nature and scope of political philosophy for example. She had better things she could be doing, like hanging herself with dental floss. As an example. Or as a start, that had been the worst lecture ever.
The outfit that she had managed to acquire for herself for this new found hell she was voluntarily throwing herself into had been like five bucks at the charity shop down the street, and good god, anyone who looked at her would be able to tell it. There was no way in hell she would be going out in the sunlight like this, and definitely not where anyone who actually knew her might go. She'd take her chances against psycho killers compared to the fashion police- one just made her life short, the other could ruin her reputation for the rest of an excruciatingly long one. The bright neon pink pants that she had bought were a size large- though not if she couldn't keep her face out of the free candy that was being given away tomorrow by some new candy store- and they looked like they belonged to some 80's horror movie, or Denise Austin in the 80's or some s**t. They dubiously MIGHT be terrycloth, and she wasn't at all sure how they would get rid of sweat, or if they would hold it and she would be- ugh, yeah, that train of thought was ending here. Choo choo, last stop. The tank top was only slightly better- at least it wasn't PINK. No; instead it was an awful neon yellow and white, and clung to her unsightly midriff unforgivably, reminding her every time she peered in the mirror that she didn't have a six-pack and that she'd bought a leopard-print sports bra.
She made her way out of the apartment and considered where she was going to jog. There was a path that led near the back, along the line between this neighborhood and near a section of slightly wooded area, like someone was going to try and build up a park there, or a nature preserve, and never got around to it. The woods were a bit of a dead end though, with a circular loop that forced drivers to practically do a three-point turn, or back their way out. Or park. She'd avoid that way, kind of creepy. Up towards the front of the complex, however, there was the main road- busier, but also less likely to actually wind up in her murder. And not so busy that she thought people would see to much of her this late in the evening, unless they just couldn't look away from her a** in these weird pants. She wouldn't blame them- she certainly couldn't, though that was possibly because she was going to cry at what an awful scene she made. The white tennis head band that she put on to keep her hair from falling in her eyes rather completed the look- and good lord, she looked a mess. This might actually be the worst thing. The worst idea. The worst anything and everything known to man. But she was going to do this anyway, because clearly she hated herself, and wanted to see herself succeed or something.
The night was kind of peaceful, and the first three or four minutes were actually working out really well. She wasn't wheezing yet, which was a great sign. All she had to do was manage like... five more of these four minute sessions, and she'd be able to pretend that she had done a healthy. She was actually feeling quite proud of herself, truth be told. This was like... four and a half more minutes than she had exercised in months! That probably counted for something, right? Sure! It was odd, though- she hadn't seen a single car going by for the last few minutes, and not even a neighbor out walking their dog. Usually there was at least one plebeian out walking their little shitter; being dragged to and fro as the little monster demanded the perfect location to dump his burden and mark his territory. Tonight, however, she was alone except for streetlights. Or so she thought- until a flutter of cloth got her attention, and teal eyes turned to take in a solitary young woman, probably not much younger than she herself was, running down a side road that ran between the roads and one of the building. There was nothing but more woods that way, woods and a row of boring apartments. Pythia hadn't ever actually seen any cars coming from that way either, all she knew was back there was woods and dumpster and a few old farts. But it wasn't the location of the woman that got her.
She thought it was the tears. Probably. A long white dress, that looked like a honeymoon nightgown gone out of fashion, and the tears. Pythia couldn't stand seeing another woman crying, and so it gave her pause, even at this hour of the night. The woman was running, not unlike Pythia herself, and-- odd. She couldn't really tell that many more details. Just a crawling sensation going down the redhead's spine as she took the woman in briefly, and then she was moving past Pythia, silent as – lord, she was being ridiculous. It was that time of the year when college kids pulled pranks, but this was the most random hour and location for it, so it was probably actually a woman who was mourning, or afraid, or- something. So Pythia took a detaour, cutting across the grass, knowing she made a ridiculous picture. “Hey!” she called after the other woman, but there was no response, only running, and the creepy-crawling fingers down Pythia's spine. She couldn't hear the woman running, she couldn't tell id she was a blonde or brunette or redhead. She couldn't tell the style of the nightgown, only that it was airy and floated around her legs as she darted ahead of Pythia herself. There might be shoes on her feet, or her hair might be in a ponytail? She could be asian, or black, or white - later, Pythia wouldn't be able to say one way or another. All she knew was that in the now, she needed to go after her.
Though lord knew she didn't want to. There was something disconcerting in the way that the other woamn was moving, in the terror in her eyes, even though Pythia herself couldn't see anything. In the way she couldn't place any identifying features besides that dress, and the tear-streaked cheeks. Even if she wanted to call the police, there was nothing... so instead, she simply had to rush after her, and hope that the woman didn't do anything foolish in her hysteria. “Hey!” she called out after the running woman, hoping to get her attention, to get her to slow down so that Pythia could actually get a good look at her. But there was no response. Pythia followed her, and in between one breath and the next, she came to the end of the cul-de-sac, and the girl was gone from her sight. Had she run into one of the buildings? She paused, starting to inhale, and then the wave of chill poured down her spine, pulsing through her and stealing her breath away. Goosebumps rose on her arms, the hair pricking on the back of her neck, she blood curdling with chill in her veins. She couldn't see anyone, and even the windows of the nearby apartments were dead and cold. And then the streetlamp went out, and the redhead shrieked.
Escaping from the dead end, she had never run so fast, and chances were? She never would again. But even though she ran home and curled up in her blankets, she couldn't outrun the cold fear in her veins.
