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I turn to face the second person to enter the room just before the signal tells us it’s time to go. In that moment, I notice that behind her shades, she keeps her eyes closed as she walks with the dynamo rolling over the floor. A synapse fires and the thought clicks.
Shit, she’s blind. A small, blind girl. Well, that’s just fucking novel.
I resign myself to carrying team. As I hear the announcer giving final instructions. This was not how I wanted to spend my first turf war of the day.
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Two writers end up shipping their characters after intending to just practice writing using a turf war.