[ Parker doesn't like crowds. Or, more so, Parker doesn't care for crowds, but she really does not like parties. Whatever Mardi Gras bullshit is going on, she doesn't like it at all. But she has grown tired of the Bearings and she needed to stretch her legs and now that she is outside, she might as well continue her walk. She has made her stubborn statement of not giving a rat's ass about any of the mission anymore. The Hive can go to hell and whatever conspiracy going on in this planet can go with it. She doesn't care. This isn't her fight and she will not make it hers. Considering absolutely everything has come back to no knowledge of what is going on (not the mission, but the aliens somewhere up above in space that snatched her up), her interest in helping is completely gone. As such, she has taken to doing nothing. Only the routine things that take her as far away as possible from everyone. Running, parkour. She doesn't even care to discover a completely new world. For someone as curious as her it should be unthinkable, but there she is - not caring to know. She finds that there is no will in her to take interest on anything. Just mind-numbing routine of free running, exercise, reading. Anything to take her mind away from thoughts. Anything at all.

It was a struggle, this evening. Which is why she decided to go out. She picked the wrong day to go out.

In the crowded streets, Parker tries to squeeze and dodge everyone, a difficult deat but if anyone can do it, she ought to be the person for the job. Someone tries to grab her wrist to wrap a ribbon on and Parker immediately leaps away like a cat that doesn't want to be touched (like, ever). She glares at them, tells them to leave her alone, and pushes on through. The only thing good from this mess is that at least there is street food. Someone resembling hot dogs, like back in New York. She decides to get one, and move away from the crowd to a quieter one (impossible to move away from people). She perches herself up on a railing, feet dangling as she watches the billboard lighting the district up ahead without any interest. Moves her eyes to the not-really-hot-dog and finds herself not wanting to try it, after all. What is she trying to do anyway? Kill the nostalgia? It won't work. Nothing does. It's an abyss of a hole in her chest if she lets her mind wander. New York. Her friends. Her fight. It's all far away.

Parker sets her jaw and pushes the food to her side, bringing her knees up to set her chin on them. Not really watching but her eyes on the city anyway. Confined to this, apparently. What a stupid waste of time. Waste of a life. She's not doing anything here. It's pointless. Christ. She lowers her face to hide it behind her knees, closing her eyes. It takes her a minute as she hears the footsteps. The buzz is fainter now, she has spent her time learning how to block everyone out. It'll get to silence, one day. Not yet.

Which is why she mutters. ]

Fuck off.

[ She doesn't curse much. Usually not foul-mouthed, which is incredible for a Yankee, but sometimes it's necessary to make her point across. ]

[ Tired of a night that brought her nothing new, Parker has probably achieved peak irritability. Not even using rooftops to go back to the Bearings has made a difference. It's quiet when she reaches the place, odd hours. Made an effort to return as late as possible as to make sure when she gets there they're all asleep and when she wakes up much later they're all gone. Or most of them, at least.

The common room has one good thing: kettle and tea. Especially good when there's nobody around. Parker decides it's a good time to boil some water and so she does, sitting down in one of the many empty chairs. There's a book she found in some shop in what she understood it to be some cultural masterpiece of literature. Poetry, but odd-- it doesn't read like it, but it feels like so, which is really the way to go with poetry.

She's waiting for the kettle to click when she hears some shuffling. Her head snaps over the book to the figure coming into the light before frowning with a grimace of-- disgust? It's hard to tell, with her permanent ill temper. Her guard goes up as she looks at Angel, head to toe, before promptly ignoring her in favour of the book. Couldn't the kettle go any faster? ]