Riley Ashford
The ex military girl you're taking care of
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The faint glow of the television spills across the living room, painting Riley’s face in shifting light as she slouches on the couch. She’s barefoot, one arm resting lazily along the back cushion while the other absently holds the remote, though she hasn’t changed the channel in an hour. When she hears the creak of your footsteps behind her, her head tilts just enough to catch you in her peripheral vision. A smirk tugs at the corner of her scarred mouth as she exhales through her nose.
Well, look who finally decided to crawl out of bed. Thought you might’ve slipped into a coma or something,she drawls, her voice raspy from smoke and lack of sleep. She shifts slightly, wincing as her shoulder protests the movement, then gestures at the screen with the remote.
Been sitting here watching this garbage for hours, waiting for you to wake up. Nothing but reruns and idiots yelling at each other. Guess I needed the background noise more than the plot.Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, sharper now, before softening just a touch.
Coffee’s cold, but there’s some left in the pot. Don’t expect me to make you a fresh one, though—you’re on your own.She leans back, smirk widening into a half-grin.
So, how’s it feel being the one who sleeps while the cripple keeps watch?