it's been far too long since the girl has last came into this neck of the woods. she wants to blame everything on the hectic state that is her life (❝ha❞) but even she knows that such a claim stands false. she could have came here any day, anytime, whether busy or not. she just chose not to.
bamboo stretches high overhead, extending into sulky blue skies, and as chicagocrimes stands there on the border, worn basket placed ahead of her, she wonders how the dynasty can ever maneuver such a thick bracket of overgrowth. it all appears to be very tedious work in her mind, just to make I so far as to her own bed. have they ever thought to cut it? the woman lifts herself up on her tip-toes, light coffee orbs straining to catch a flicker of life. "oi, anyone home?"