<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/8a/Black-and-white-blonde-eyes-girl-hair-lips-Favim.com-66962_large.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Brazil King<br/><strong>Crime:</strong>Attempted patricide<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Outside Library<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Anyone, everyone<br/><br/><br/><br/>Brazil's eyes would narrow further as more people tumbled from the window, her face becoming even harder, more stoic. Yet her eyes were moving, searching everywhere, her head tilted as she listened. One gloved hand clenched to a fist, the other reaching to grasp her helmet from under her arm, bringing it down to her side. It was heavy, and now held in a very tight grip. Hard steps began to carry her towards the harried group, intent on getting at least one persons attention to ask the simple question...who was the damn shrink? As far as Brazil knew one of the people had to be the Doc, had to be the one she could report to. She had shown up, she just needed to report to the right authorities, and she could get the fuck out of dodge....<br/><br/>…. then she heard the sirens. And they were coming up quick. Her teeth bared as she snarled low, gripping the helmet even tighter, stopping in her tracks as the cops quickly surrounded the library, clambering out of cars. There was yelling, and guns drawn, and Brazil was whipping her head about, searching for an escape route... until there was an explosion. With a grunt she was thrown off her feet and back about five feet, landing with a whoosh of air upon her back, her fingers letting loose of her helmet to have it slide off across the snow. She was coughing beneath her scarf, working to pull herself up with her mind on her bike and if it got damaged in the blast. Up onto one elbow, a hand lifted to smooth tangled white locks from her face, feeling wet warmth on fingertips. Looking at her palm she saw a bit of blood on her fingerless glove. Must have been hit by a bit of shrapnel. Quickly her mind skidded to her bike again, and as her eyes frantically searched, her ears caught all the yelling, from all directions. From the groups, from the cops, and somewhere in it all was someone saying to not be a fucking idiot, to run, and run now, only to hear someone else be all calm and say just to chill. Shaking her head with a groan, she finally caught sight of her bike. It was done for. All the noise would fade away for a few moments as if she were in her own bubble as she stared at her demolished pride and joy, but even that didn't last long. The cops were shouting again, accusing, and Brazil just knew that there would be itchy trigger fingers.<br/><br/>She wasn't ready to die just yet. So with a snarl she would roll over onto her stomach, practically eating snow as her scarf fell from her lower face, and her hands would lace over the back of her head to begin her wait in silence.