Quoted By:
ರೃ <span class="mu-i">Lucinda Newhorn</span> ರೃ
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Random Event Rolls :75, 1, 36, 3, 42, 55, 49, 40, 4
Happens?: 75 (No)</span>
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----------------------Retiro--------------------
—Mitre Railway Station (Rooftop)---
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<span class="mu-s">T</span>hen again, maybe not. Sadness is such a hard thing to explain. Or maybe it’s something extremely simple. Abusing her powers to be free of her feelings for too long may have left her a stranger to her owowow…!!!
The tinnitus blasted off as if someone had kicked a car inside of her ear. Instantly, Lucinda puts up her guard, not yet transforming. A Magical Girl’s body is far stronger than that of a normal human being, so to put such hurt from such a distance without magic…
>Lucinda is FUCKING PISSED at being hit in the head with a football. She goes in to interrogate/kick the persons ass. (Wisdom Roll: 16, Magnitude 2 = Failure)
Experience is what makes Lucinda move even with that sound bouncing in her head. She wonders how goalkeepers in football can take hits such as these constantly and from such range. Perhaps, were she not a Magical Girl, Lucinda considers, she would have died ten seconds ago. Then again, she also wouldn’t be standing on a railway station’s roof on a rainy day.
Tracing the trajectory of the ball through the pain from her head, Lucinda rushes to the end of the roof and jumps down in almost one single fluid motion, her knees not even touching the street as she lands. Anger is an old friend she greets in her mind as Lucinda, now fully visible, clothes damper by the second, decides to support the wheelchair industry. She crosses the avenue without even minding the buses, drawing eyes from every angle, then walks up into Plaza Aerial Forces, a wide open green field with roads made of pebbles. Now looming over her, Lucinda feels mocked by the Monumental Tower. But what she finds is not one, not two, but several groups of shirtless teenagers kicking balls all around the place, despite the rain, the mud, the cold, and being less than twenty meters away from one of the largest avenues in the country. Football in Argentina, as usual. Despite their minds being one with the ball, they still don’t fail to notice her. Whistling, name-calling, shrill little screams, someone grabbing his balls: the whole package. Lucinda knows. She bought this on herself. She still doesn’t care one bit, though.
