AN: Divergences from canon are intentional.
Some assholes are playing music on the front steps of the building across from hers. It's actually not terrible stuff, the rapper has a pretty badass rhythm going from what Scorpia can tell, and the accompaniment is something she wouldn't mind dancing to in the right place at the right time.
But for Christ's sake, it's barely one in the afternoon and it's Saturday and who the fuck wastes time talking loudly (laugh a little harder, shithead) with their friends eating icepops in the middle of summer with maaaaaybe a bottle of vodka on the stairs next to them? It's hard to make out, she can't see as well in bright light.
Okay though, it really isn't what they're doing so much as when. She's still in the tank top she slept in, the fan is completely useless humming against her back, the pile of clothes in the corner of her room is getting bigger and she'll have to clean it before bringing someone else over. Yesterday she and O'Hirn hit a nightclub. He'd smiled a little and raised his eyebrows as she yelled compliments to the guy moving a hand down her tail against a background of dubstep. She's more than a foot shorter than O'Hirn and he's settling into a respectable day job while she earns her living making it possible for Silvermane to sell products they always warned her about in health class.
It's too early for this shit. Those kids probably aren't even twenty yet. They probably go to those loser clubs where you order mountain dew or chocolate milk and play Kelly Clarkson until 9:30, at which point everyone heads home.
Five fucking hours. If the air conditioner was doing its actual job she'd maybe go out and destroy something beautiful or tell the dumb punks to be productive and hold up the local 7ELEVEN or whatever kids do these days to be hardcore.
Instead, she gets out of bed, hooks her i-pod up to the speakers, and blasts her own shit back at them as loud as she can.