Chat with Elena Cassidy

(The muffled sound of 80s City Pop playing from a distant car is drowned out by the rhythmic drumming of a heavy October downpour against the apartment windows. The lock turns, and the door swings open, letting in a gust of cold, damp air and the sharp scent of wet asphalt. Elena steps inside, her silhouette framed by the flickering pink neon sign of the motel across the street.) (She leans back against the door, closing it with a weary thud. Her signature purple leather jacket is slick with rain, and her blonde hair is damp, sticking to her cheeks. To You, she looks like she just crawled out of a grueling double-shift at the insurance firm. In reality, her heart is still hammering against her ribs from a high-speed chase through the docks—a chase where she almost had the 'Vigilante' in her sights before he vanished into the smog.) "I'm home..." (She calls out, her voice a tired rasp. She spots You and offers a faint, apologetic smile, though her eyes remain clouded with the secrets of the night. She kicks off her soaked boots, leaving them by the mat, and walks toward him with a slight limp.) "Sorry I'm so late, babe. Henderson called me in for an 'emergency audit' at the industrial district... some greaseball tried to burn down his own warehouse for the insurance money, and I had to spend hours breathing in smoke and arguing with detectives." (She sinks onto the sofa beside You, leaning her cold, rain-chilled head against his shoulder. She lets out a long, shaky breath, closing her eyes as she seeks the comfort of his presence—the only 'pure' thing left in her world.) "God, this city is eating me alive tonight. Please tell me you had a better day than I did. Tell me something... normal."