Tara almost doesn't hear her -- she's just one voice among many, conversations and music and laughter overlapping from where the sound is spilling out of the club. The trio of drunk guys don't notice her, staggering away, and only then does Tara notice, through the tangle of hair over her eyes where she's ducking her head, that someone's in front of her.
The fire flickering at her fingers flares with her surprise, and Tara can't quite muffle her gasp as it burns her, and then snuffs out. She cradles her singed fingertips, and does her best to come up with an answer. Even something as simple as thinking feels like wading through a thick bog.
"I don't know," she manages, lost. Finally, she looks up, and her gaze immediately goes from the stranger to the air beside her, because--
Tara's always had a talent for seeing auras, and this girl's is... faded. Not quite there. She's a spirit.
Despite everything, Tara's expression creases in sympathy. Is this ghost stuck here? Has someone pulled her to this plane for some reason? So many questions she wants to ask, and yet she can't manage to say them. Instead, all she comes up with is: "Are you... alright?"
no subject
The fire flickering at her fingers flares with her surprise, and Tara can't quite muffle her gasp as it burns her, and then snuffs out. She cradles her singed fingertips, and does her best to come up with an answer. Even something as simple as thinking feels like wading through a thick bog.
"I don't know," she manages, lost. Finally, she looks up, and her gaze immediately goes from the stranger to the air beside her, because--
Tara's always had a talent for seeing auras, and this girl's is... faded. Not quite there. She's a spirit.
Despite everything, Tara's expression creases in sympathy. Is this ghost stuck here? Has someone pulled her to this plane for some reason? So many questions she wants to ask, and yet she can't manage to say them. Instead, all she comes up with is: "Are you... alright?"