This is me being silly and wanting to post Rye before 141 and the cartels. You are more then welcome to interact :D))
A crash can be heard from the barracks before a lould aduible groan.
“Fuck’n hell that hurt”
There is a slight twinge to the voice, like someone who spent too much time in the south. And then there is Rye, standing near the wall, her forehead slightly ready from running into ….something? . Expect its not really Rye. The woman is slightly leaner but still that strong 5’8. Her arms seem more defined but not as bulky as they should. Her tattoo sleeve not completely finished , reaching her elbow before going into the line work of metal sheeting with no shading.
But most jarring is her face. It’s fine. She has no scaring, no enter or exit wounds. Little nicks and scapes, sure. But nothing deep,lasting. Instead of gashes, there is sun kissed skin covering her sharp cheek bones. No skin graphs, nothing.
Yet her sense are still just as sharp at her 38 self. Her her head shooting up and eyes locking on the door the minute the handle turns. Where she was, she knew was safe. Call it a gut feeling. .
“Sorry ‘bout the ruckus.” There’s a lazy grin on her face as she stands to her full height.
“Mind telling me where the hell I’ve landed? Cause this sure as hell ain’t Kansas.”
Think of this as one of those au where characters become little kids, expect Rye is a twenty something. Characters would recognize her, even if they are like ‘uhh wtf’ she has that same face shape, tone, and shit eating grin ))
