Goes with this: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1166887.html
and then this: http://inventrix.dreamwidth.org/29367.html
Cynara had been on the move for a week. She’d woken up every morning and tried to figure out where she should go, and for some reason, answers had kept coming to her.
She’d found unattended food and a surprise stop at a sidewalk sale (the clerk was in the alley, making out with her boyfriend), toiletries and even and unlocked motel room. She’d found bus after bus that had a spot open for cheap or a soft spot for the sad look, and money seemed to appear when she really needed some.
She’d also nearly been found by police three times, police who were clearly looking for her. She had run away, she supposed, but neither her foster parents nor her father should’ve expected her to stay put for too long.
She hopped off the latest bus and looked around. The feeling in her gut, the empty hole, tugged, and she looked around.
There. He looked tired and resigned. He looked lost.
She had no idea who he was, but she needed to talk to him.
She crossed against traffic in a bee-line straight for him, not caring how it must look.
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