e wasn’t fast enough for Blair, as just as he was about to run Blair pointed her foot in front of him and tripped him over as he landed face-first on one of the chairs in front of her desk with a loud thud. 

Blair could have sworn she heard Alberto chuckle from next door. 

Heels click-clacked from behind her, and Blair turned to find a wide-eyed and tear-stained Debby looking from the bedroom doorway. She turned back to find Walter bleeding from the nose as he pushed himself off the chair and snarled, “Fuck you.” 

Blair rolled her eyes, “I’ll send you the bill for the door tomorrow.” 

Walter furrowed his brows but had no time to react before she grabbed him by his shirt and threw him out the door. 

“OH MY GOSH!” Debby screamed as she ran out of the bedroom to find him flying at the door. He struck it causing it to crash down with wood flying around everywhere. 

Blair dusted off her hands and then walked to the now crashed door, Debby following suit, to find Walter knocked out and Alberto already calling the paramedics, grinning. Her other neighbours didn't even bother, as they had begun to accept these incidents as normal occurrences. She walked back to her desk and stopped the record button, sending it to Debby’s lawyer and saying, “Your ex-husband is now charged for an unregistered gun, domestic violence, and attempted murder.” 

Debby sighed shakingly and rubbed her head.

“I’ll add this all to the bill,” Blair said grinning, “As well as the door repair since he’s obviously not going to pay for it.” 

Debby rolled her eyes exasperated, sat down on the ugly orange sofa, and covered her face with her hands. 

Blair walked up to her and offered her a cigarette, to which she refused. 

“Why didn’t you state domestic violence?” Blair asked, lighting her own. 

Debby shook her head gently, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

Blair narrowed her eyes. But she did not push her any further and leaned against her office.

  By the time Debby calmed down, Blair finished her cigarette and put it out on the ashtray on her desk. She sent the recording to her and wrote up a new bill to which Debby rolled her eyes exasperatingly. 

“I’ll just write you a cheque then,” she grumbled, taking out a chequebook. 

Once the paramedics arrived, Debby stood up to leave and avoided Blair’s gaze completely as she walked to the front busted door. Her black heels stepped around the debris of dust, wood, and blood. Blair waited until she turned to face her with her eyes watery and tears flowing down her face. 

She took a deep breath and said, “You have a really shitty job,” she then quickly glanced at the orange sofa before sneering, “and what a horrendous sofa,” and walked out to the hallway. 

*****

Three days following the incident, Blair already wasted almost half of her pay on all the whiskey and bourbon she could find. 

It was an exceptionally bad week, worse than Blair’s usual. 

She told herself that it was worth it but knew deep down it wasn’t. 

Waking up to a thumping bed above her, she groggily reached for her phone and cursed under her breath to find it unplugged to the charger, and instead of blaming her forgetfulness, she blamed Topher. She put it on the charger hoping for it to get enough to last her through the day before getting up from her bed only to have her bare footstep on a broken glass bottle. 

“Shit!” she cursed inwardly as she sat back down to inspect the injury. 

The shard was half into her foot but Blair only felt a slight pinch. She pulled the piece of glass from her foot and threw it at the corner. Wiping the blood off her foot on her bedsheets, she could already see the scar healing and tore skin stitch together. 

Wrinkling her nose, Blair looked away from the scene trying her best not to gag. As much as Blair appreciated her body for doing that, it never failed to creep her out. 

If only it could do that with hangovers. 

Once again pushing herself out of bed-- taking caution this time not to step on any other discarded glass bottles-- Blair walked to her bathroom to wash the grogginess from her face but not before she puked her guts out into her green coloured toilet. She covered her eyes before flushing the vomit to prevent another regurgitation and grabbed the sink to pull herself up. Feeling a lot less dizzy and befuddled, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Looking at the cabinet mirror Blair winced at her dishevelled appearance, before opening the cabinet and grabbing an aspirin. Noticing a small bottle of gin lying against the top of her toilet, she took the bottle and found a few sips left in it. Popping the aspirin into her mouth, Blair downed the rest of the gin and swallowed the painkiller. 

She could already feel the throbbing in her head decrease.  

Walking to her office, Blair noticed two paper bags placed on her kitchen counter. One had a pink sticky note labelled Topher’s dinner and the other labelled your breakfast, indicating Acacia’s checking in; she must have missed her these past few days as they were a blur to Blair. 

Blair shooed Topher away from her laptop and threw away discarded paper bags on her chair. She powered her laptop on, which miraculously was fully charged most likely thanks to Acacia, and checked her emails to see any sort of new cases she could take from Detective Evans or the Ilken law firms. She was quite the favourite to hire due to her abilities, but she preferred only specific people to know of them. 

 To Blair’s dismay, she saw there was none, meaning she had to physically meet them and ask for a case. She never got any clients being referred to her or coming off their own will, either, despite having her ad posted on spaces on the internet and newspapers. 

Sighing heavily, she went back to her room to put on her ripped black jeans and leather jacket before slipping into her combat boots and grabbing her phone that was only half charged. As she went back out, she grabbed the paper bag that had her breakfast inside and stuffed them into her duffel bag, along with a newly filled flask of whiskey and her camera. 

Topher, perched on the window beside his bowl of water, meowed lightly, but Blair only narrowed her eyes and said, “Don’t fuck anything over,” before stepping out of her apartment and locking her newly repaired door. 

Blair walked out of her apartment complex as the biting wind hit her lethargic face, causing her to groan lightly. She put on the arm warmers that she had in her duffel bag before stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. 

The neighbourhood was bustling with vendors calling out with special offers and construction workers cautioning passersby to watch out on the street while barking orders and alerts upwards to workers stationed on roofs. Neighbours argued with each over on stone railed balconies about the latest game or political debates over the leaders of supernatural races-- both topics Blair had absolutely no interest in. Some more pleasant people above were soliciting good mornings and inviting each other over for lunch and dinners. The air around was thick with smoke from the drills of construction along with the numerous smokers leaning against brick walls that had decorated the edges of the pavement with cigarettes. Homeless people set their positions on the street as they placed their cups, tins, or plastic for change--preparing themselves for ignorance, loneliness, and acts of kindness. 

Blair frowned as she pulled her jacket tighter around her. 

People of all colours and races--except for the fae, who preferred more high-end locations-- dressed in different types of clothing passed each other to get to where they needed to be. She walked on the pavement through the brick walls and quickened her pace as she tried to block out the din and rumbles of everyone and everything around her. 

What Blair gained from her super-strength and psychometry, she lacked in long legs and agility. The contrast between her petite frame and super-strength was quite funny but it always came in handy. Blair always thought that being taken for granted could be an advantage and it always ended up being that way.

It also made things a whole lot more entertaining when she managed to throw full-grown men across alleyways. 

The supernatural beings that were commonly found in this neighbourhood were werewolves and, as little as they were here, orcs. Specific gangs of orcs seemed to be stationed around here, and Blair made notes where they usually hovered and hung around to make sure she never passed them-- just like many around her, she avoided them and walked around them. Although the orc gangs always seemed to be nonchalant and commencing in normal day-to-day activities, looking like any other street gang with their cigars and baggy outfits, no one ever treads too close. 

Blair also memorised where symbols of roses, silver maples, or moons were graffitied on the walls. Those three symbols indicated the three werewolf packs known to inhabit New York. The werewolves, just like the gangs and orcs, claimed specific territories and warned people off with those symbols-- whether it be a building, bar, nightclub, abandoned dumps, or even alleyways. Of course, it was also to welcome any recruits and give them indications to where they were stationed. It was just her luck, however, that her neighbourhood was mostly filled with rose graffiti indicating Moonshade territory-- the most dangerous of the three packs. The other two were the Yellow Stones and Silverbacks, both equally terrifying, but not quite as deadly as the Moonshades. 

She thought all three names were the dumbest, though. 

After a few minutes of trudging, Blair finally reached the local supermarket, Frescos, that she regularly goes to. As she entered a bell rang and Ramy, the store owner, looked up from scanning an item at the counter. 

“Hey Blair,” he called out smiling. 

Blair nodded before his hazel eyes returned back down to scan the last of the products. 

He was currently dealing with an orc customer causing many to abandon their spots in line or keep at least ten feet of distance between them. One woman pulled her child behind her as she held her spot in line. The orc noticed this and merely rolled his eyes, before taking out his wallet from his large baggy sweats. 

“Would you like a bag?” Ramy asked, leaning in behind the counter to grab one. 

The orc grunted, “Yes,” as he took out the amount of money displaced on the cashier screen with his large stubby fingers and slammed it on the counter causing people to stumble and take even more steps back. 

Ramy rolled his eyes at them as he gave the orc his change and bag, “Come back next time,” he smiled and nodded. 

The orc just grunted before stepping out. 

Avoiding eye contact with the orc and everyone around her, Blair sped to the end of the store where the freezers were placed. Placed on top of the various freezers was a large sign labelled Ilken Beverages, in an ugly red colour with its edges torn and rusted. Passing all the people, aisles, and shelves beside her, she walked towards the freezers. Sliding one of them open, she grabbed four energy drinks and two iced coffees. 

Blair’s caffeine tolerance had already been high before, but super-strength needed a massive dosage of it. 

Massive. 

As she slid the freezer close with a handful of tin cans grasped in her arms, she caught a glance of a woman staring wide-eyed at the load in Blair’s arms with her nose crinkled slightly. Blair rolled her eyes before she walked back to the counter that now had a short line of people waiting. Catching a can about to drop, she stood in line and looked outside to see the orc customer standing across the street next to a car parked near the pavement with a bunch of other orcs. The radio was blasting music loudly, and Blair could tell from the language of the music that it was by an orc rapper.

Many people assume that all orcs look the same. 

Female orcs were a lot smaller than male orcs, but that never excluded them from the racist statements. Blair knew, however, that there were key features that distinguished them from each other-- besides the obvious hair, clothes, or tattoos. Their skins were patterned differently, and they even had different skin colours- grey, brown, or dark beige. Many of them were a mix of those three colours altogether, but the one thing that Blair always noticed was their different birthmarks. No matter how similar two different ones maybe, there was always a giveaway.                                                  

As she stood in line and watched the orcs, images of a large tear-shaped brown birthmark with a hole inside suddenly came crashing down on her as sounds of footsteps rang across her ears. 

Shit, not again. Not now.