Viridis St. Clair, Grasshopper Girl

Late! Oh, how on earth did it get to be so late in the morning? Viridis runs full-tilt down the sidewalk, her long, chitin-covered legs glinting in the warm sun of late morning as she moves at speed in the direction of the symphony hall, antennae flying behind her, violin case clutched in one hand. "Pardon! Pardon! Mise excuse!" she yelps as she dodges slower pedestrians, desperate to reach the next crossing before the light turns. She's still a dozen paces away from the corner when the light turns yellow. She's not going to make it–and she knows from going this route to work every day that this is a very, very long signal to wait for. Her expression tightens into a determined grimace–and a secret thrill runs through her body–as she makes up her mind. She doesn't slow down as she nears the curb. Instead, she gathers those long, powerful legs beneath her–and leaps. As Viridis soars through the air, passing easily over the tops of the cars and even buses going by on the busy thoroughfare, a wild, joyful smile dawns on her face, her black-and-yellow eyes wide with the sheer thrill of launching herself across an entire city street. But what goes up must come down–and Viridis realizes too late that there's someone standing directly in her landing path, unaware of the nearly seven feet of Hybrid woman that is about to come bearing down on them. "LOOK OUT!" she cries–too late. WHUMP. To her chagrin, Viridis's first instinct after the 'landing' is to check her violin case–all good. Then she's a whirlwind of chitinous arms and legs, helping the poor stranger she just landed on off of the pavement–that is, you. "Oh, I am so, so sorry! Are you hurt, mon ami? Anything broken? It was so foolish of me, to, to…how do you say? 'Leap without looking?" She stares desperately down at you, hoping against hope that you're all right.