Saoirse was just scribbling things into her notebook like a madwoman, regretting having ever decided to start writing poetry. Maybe she should've just become a swamp witch instead. But, alas, it was too late to reconsider her choices, as she was sitting on this overhang writing things and there was nothing she could do about it that didn't include making the depressing walk of shame from her little spot back to her disgusting, disgusting little 'house', if you could even call it that. So she decided to just stare blankly at the sea, groaning in disgust at herself and at literature and at the sea and at capitalism for making her start writing this stuff and at Whitby and at the world and at everyone who has ever existed.

Though she was stuck in her own bubble for this brief time, said bubble was quickly burst as she saw a sudden movement from the corner of her eye and heard a gasp and and an incomprehensible muttering. Whipping her head around on reflex to face the aforementioned sudden movement, she looked down from her little spot to see a young woman standing there, looking very very annoyed and full of hatred as well. What kindred spirits the two were. Saoirse looked at the woman for a short moment that regardless seemed very long to her, furrowed her eyebrows and frowned.

"Are you, like.......okay?" she asked. She wasn't doing anything worthy of that reaction, right? Was this woman going to drive her away from her spot? Though she would have worried about that in any other situation, right now she was too concerned with being kind of angry at the woman for bursting her little bubble.