[ This door opens into a small apartment, complete with cheap incandescent lighting, the muffled noises of neighbors next door and traffic outside, and the smell of coffee, freshly brewed but beginning to head toward burnt. It's kind of sparse, like whoever lives here hasn't really gotten around to moving in. There are still cardboard boxes in the corners, the furniture is mismatched and has seen better days, and the color scheme is -- well, there isn't one. Archery targets and literally piles of arrows are as close to decoration as you're getting. Just inside the door is a set of metal dog bowls with the name Lucky on them, perfectly placed to be tripped over or stepped in.
Kate is on the couch, legs folded up, arms hooked around one knee. The tv is playing some show that appears to involve dogs who are police officers and it looks like she's watching it but she doesn't move or even blink when they enter and her stare is glassy in a way that doesn't seem right. Next to her is a girl in her mid teens, tall and gangly with long blonde hair, leaning into Kate's side, head almost on her shoulder. She turns sharply when the door opens. Her tone isn't entirely friendly. ]
Kate Bishop | Closed
Kate is on the couch, legs folded up, arms hooked around one knee. The tv is playing some show that appears to involve dogs who are police officers and it looks like she's watching it but she doesn't move or even blink when they enter and her stare is glassy in a way that doesn't seem right. Next to her is a girl in her mid teens, tall and gangly with long blonde hair, leaning into Kate's side, head almost on her shoulder. She turns sharply when the door opens. Her tone isn't entirely friendly. ]
Who are you?