Dressed comfortably in a pair of black high rise jeans and a tight forest green shirt, Sauda rearranges her belt and gun holster straps for the eighth time, checking to see if anyone harmed them. She was waiting for everyone else to get dressed and trying to figure out what she could use to clean her gear. Cleanliness was next to godliness, and that included guns.
Sauda stops with her belt in her hands. Angry that they took her things so roughly and ripped her belt a little, and mad that the gun wasn’t even on safety when they casually tossed it at her, barrel first.
She took one deep breath in, one deep breath out. Taking the time to feel the floor underneath her feet. Deep breath in. She feels the air from the wind on her skin. Deep breath out. When she is calm enough, she puts the belt down on the table next to her guns and knives.
“Yay, therapy.” Sauda chuckles.