Welcome to Hickstead, home to both Seven Oak Stables, and Blue Acre - two rival stables. Both offer opportunities for their clients to reach the highest level of excellence. Each stable differs from the other, so choose wisely and never forget, loyalty is everything... Meanwhile as the stables battle it out, there's trouble brewing at the university. Be careful, if you don't pick a side you may get caught in the cross-fire...
This is an chilled out rpg with a super friendly and relaxed atmosphere! Remember to sign up with your characters full name in all caps and don't forget to do your claims! Thank you and Welcome, we've been established since 10th March 2009 but unfortunately have had to close guest view of our boards due to multiple sites ripping off our hard work, such a shame! Come chat to us in Discord before joining if you like!.
"I prefer you over Dante and Gael." Zahira raised a brow at her cousin, mildly curious as to why, "oh, what a compliment." she mused - Gael she could understand. He was a bit of a dope at times, harmless and generally more of an oaf, but he was frustrating as shit a lot of the time and daddy's biggest fan, so he wasn't really the go to guy if you wanted a secret kept. Dante... he was a little more complicated, and though Zahira trusted him more than Gael, she wasn't always certain of which side he sat. She wasn't sure what to make of Perdita in this moment. There was something a little standoffish about her, but the tail between the legs look was forcing her to behave contrite in a way that Zahira hadn't seen of her before - it didn't suit her, made her seem weak, and their family were not one's to behave in that way.
"Excellent." She grunted a response, somewhat of a male influence in that behaviour, and wondered briefly if it might improve both their moods with the coffee and alcoholic mixture. "No. Not guilty. Just...annoyed I picked the wrong side of family." Zahira gave a snort at that, setting about sorting their drinks, pleased that her mugs were clean at least. She didn't comment, there was no need - Perdita had clearly figured it out all on her own that she'd fucked up, and whilst Zira could be a dick, she also wasn't a complete asshole. She didn't enjoy kicking a dog when it was down - well, not always, anyway. "Ah....pays well?" Zira shot her a look, closing off slightly. "Well enough." Because she was not about to become a bank for the desperate family member. She wasn't a materialistic person and liked to tuck her money away for a rainy day. It might not look like she had much, but she had a tidy enough sum that if she needed to take off in a hurry, she wouldn't struggle.
Taking a sip of her drink, Zahira propped herself up against a cupboard, watching her cousin as she waited on the explanation to follow. "Good thing you handed me this mug," She nodded to the bottle, "You can sip straight from that if it makes you feel better." She suggested, watching Perdita take a large gulp before she started. "Apparently I wasn't my father's daughter - so I lost my hold on the Ortega family. I need a couch to stay on for a bit." A slight frown - news to her on the father front. "So who's daughter are you?" She asked, it was an odd crossroads for Zira. On the one hand, family pride was drummed into her, and on the other hand, she couldn't lie that it wasn't satisfying to have a fallen member paying their dues. Perd had turned her back on them, and now she was hoping for help from those very people. No wonder she'd chosen Zira to come to, her brothers would have thrown her out on her ass. "And that would be my couch, I'm guessing." She mused, her eyes flickering to the age old sofa, frequently unused.
Zahira had been in a shit mood from the get go - in fact, for most of the week really. She'd spent far too long on one bounty and he was still being a right twat to pin down. He'd slipped through her net twice in the last few days and now she was really pissed. She'd taken a break from it for the day, let him think he's getting a head start before their next tête-à-tête. She had plenty of eyes on him even if she wasn't the one looking, and the tracker she'd put on his latest vehicle would also come in handy - not that he would know about that one, he'd thought he'd gotten rid of her tracker by switching cars - hilarious. Zira was far from a novice when it came to this kind of stuff.
She'd come to spend a few hours in the gym, working out her aggression on a punch bag. She'd kept a half eye out for Greg, ignoring the little hopeful spark that he'd be there, but no such luck. She ignored the voice that told her to just text him and he'd come help her get through the anger, and sucked it up on her own instead. By the time she was done, she only felt a little bit better. By-passing the gym showers, she decided she'd rather have one in the comfort of her own home, and at least then she could chase it down with a shot of whiskey too.
Her music was still blasting in her ears when she left the gym, but as she took a swig from her water bottle it didn't pull any focus from the fact she could tell someone was behind her. You didn't live a life of crime and all that without knowing a thing or two about a tail. She continued walking for a few moments, pretending to text whilst instead she turned down her music to hear the footsteps better and when there was a quiet moment, she abruptly spun on her heels, whipping out her switch blade she always kept on her and going to grab the stalker by the arm, knife at their throat. "The fuck do you-.. oh it's you."
"My mistake. I went where I was told, and you were first on my list." Zahira raised an eyebrow. How interesting, that she'd been instructed to come Zira's way first. It wasn't like she was on the naughty list or anything like that, she was still in with the family, but she wasn't exactly top of the class - more like black sheep. "Pretty sure that's a first - being number one." She was more likely somewhere in the middle, if she was being honest. She was a relatively useful member of the family, she had her own contacts and connections, but being at odds with dearest daddy didn't exactly do her any favours. Resulting in the surprise that Perd would have been sent on her way out of all the other options.
Zahira casually studied the woman right back, not bothering to hide it, even quirking a brow as a taunt to show she knew what this little stand-off was. In all honesty, Zira didn't care for the family drama and hierarchy. It was part of the reason she was here and not sitting at mumma's right hand side. Because she'd never get to be her father's, no matter how diabolic her brain might be, and again that was another part of it. Old fashioned misogynistic bullshit. She didn't care for it, she had her own shit to do, her own name to make. She wasn't about to coddle Perdita, you knew the risks when you played the family game, and if you weren't clever or quick enough, a rug would be yanked out from under you from one corner or another.
"I mix whiskey and black coffee, but I am happy to just take the whiskey or whatever else you may have," She nodded, "That, I might just about be able to do." At least that solved the issue of milk. She let the woman in and closed the door behind her, unable to help but give a cursory glance out into the hall to double check. You could never be too careful."Sounds like I'm not the only one who needs a drink...I'm sorry...that I've been out of touch with you." Well wasn't that the line that everyone gave when they suddenly found they needed help from a forgotten family member. Zira shrugged, nonplussed. "Did that make you feel less guilty?" She asked. There was no nastiness to her tone, she just wasn't interested in apologies, especially of that kind. It wasn't like Zira had bothered trying to reach out to Perdita either.
She casually slipped the knife back into it's holder, safe in thinking that her cousin was unlikely to come here to kill her and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard - checking they were clean. She wasn't in all that often and things tended to gather dust - especially being on your own and using the same cutlery all the time. "So, what are you doing in this dinky little town, anyway?" Zira flicked the switch on the kettle and went in search of coffee, managing to dig out a half pot of it at the back of an otherwise empty cabinet. "Bounty hunting," She said simply, finding the whiskey without any need of a search and pulling the top off with a satisfying pop. "Mostly it takes me out of town, however." she added, glancing over her shoulder for a moment. The kettle boiled, and she added a generous amount of whiskey to mix with the hot water, stirring until the coffee grounds vanished and then turning to hand over a mug to Perd. "So, you clearly didn't come for a coffee and catch up, what are you expecting from this social call?" A curious tone, considering she now knew where Zira's social status stood - or sort of, anyway.
She took in her cousin from head to toe; starting with the finely plucked eyebrow and travelling swiftly right down to the undoubtedly well painted toenails. She didn't look particularly thrilled with the point of a well kept knife to her throat but then, Zahira reasoned, most people weren't in that kind of circumstance. Even she found it irritating on the days it didn't faintly amuse her. The scowl at her words set one of Zira's eyebrows raising in turn - not quite as finely plucked but under control well enough. She didn't quite understand how that question could be seen as such an insult, it was perfectly valid. It wasn't that often she had put of town family members rock up on a weekday morning for a coffee and slice of toast. Knowing how bare her fridge was, Perd would be lucky to even get any coffee. Zahira lived off the stuff but with how often she was out of home, she tended to live off Starbucks and fumes, grabbing her food on the go. She wasn't particularly versed in cooking, no matter how hard her mother had attempted that route with her for her marriage days. Yuck.
"Did your parents not tell you?" Zahira snorted and rolled her eyes at that remark. Clearly Perd was somewhat out of the loop if she thought communications were that good right now between her and the family. "You think I'm here because I'm daddy's left ear right now?" She asked, because hell would freeze over before her dad had willingly let her move countries and take up a bounty hunting job. "We're not exactly on speaking terms right now." In fact all lines of communication had mostly come third party through Dante for the moment. Ever the dutiful lieutenant son that he was. "I...I lost my hold on the Ortega Family. One of my brothers is in control...one of my...half brothers." a surprise, but also not. It happened. Things moved fast with families and power. It wasn't unusual for siblings to pull it out from each other.
"I see..." she said carefully, knowing now at least partly the reason Perd was standing awkwardly on her doorstep. She had favours to win back. "Can I come inside? Or are you going to keep me out here like some beaten puppy?" At that she chuckled and stepped back, giving her cousin room to enter. "By all means, but I'm guessing you're in need for something a bit harder than caffeine." Zira surmised, which was handy actually given her uncertain state on the milk in the fridge. Alcohol she could always do, it was the one thing she never failed to bring home.
She made no comment as he wordlessly removed his shirt, no comment at the sight of what he showed her. It wasn't her business, it wasn't her comment to make, and in all honesty with her family and line of work, there was rarely a person she saw that wasn't littered in scars and ugly welts and cuts. How else had she gotten so good at patching people up, the issue was patching up meant you healed looking a bit like you'd come out of a meat grinder. The only way her work had improved was through practice, and it still then depended on the day and the tools she had to work with on weather her job would be any good or just effective. She always said if you wanted pretty then go find a surgeon.
She worked nimbly, surprising with the speed at which she had the kid cleaned up in order to survey the actual damages. In her pause, he moved, and she narrowed her eyes as the action welled a fresh drop of blood. "I don't know, Just another person... I guess. Someone who wasn't having it..." Zahira rolled her eyes. Because that was really informative. She cleaned the wound once more before she began working on piecing it back together. "What trouble were you getting up to?" She asked, it might seem annoying but speaking was the best way to keep someone awake in these kinds of circumstances. If they started to get drowsy it usually meant game over. And if he was talking it meant he was conscious and she didn't have to look at his face to keep checking, instead she could work on the issue at hand. She muttered a few curse words when the sound was uncooperative, but once she was finished she cleaned it up again and stuck some gauze over it, leaning back. "You have to go easy with this, or it'll tear and you'll completely fuck it up. I don't like doing repairs." She warned him then glanced at the remaining alcohol. "Finish it."
Zahira was enjoying a quiet day for a change. It was nice, and somewhat unusual. No criminals to chase, no plan to go to the gym, nobody banging down her door to bitch or whine or come after her. She'd thought at first she might feel a bit lost for it, but actually she was quite enjoying herself. She'd had a lie in, deciding against going for a run for a change and allowing her body a lazy start to the morning - she'd thrown on some sweat pants and a hoodie and gone to Starbucks to get a coffee and something sweet, mooched for a bit but ended up heading home instead, deciding that a slobby day in front of the TV was in order. She was sure that someone would interrupt her at some point, no doubt - either she'll get a call with a new job, or her brother would come to bother her, or need her help, or her dad would try to call and harass her some more, or Seth or Greg would come knocking and try to drag her out or into some shit.
She made it sound like she hated it, and though she grumbled and dragged her heels sometimes, she didn't honestly mind - not most of it anyway. Her dad could get fucked most of the time. Zahira was laying sprawled out on her sofa, some trashy day time TV show she wasn't even interested in blaring from the flat screen in front of her when it happened; as she had anticipated. Someone pounding on her goddamn door. She sighed, a heavy groan, and her head fell back against the sofa, eyes closing temporarily. Never a day's peace in this part of the world, despite how quiet and peaceful Hickstead was classed to be. "I swear to God, whoever that is, if you're using me as a fucking hospital again, I'll give you something real good to run to A&E about," She warned as she heaved herself off the sofa and padded toward the door. On her way, she snagged her favourite knife from the counter top - as she always did when answering the door.
It wasn't as if she had unsavouries regularly visiting her - but it had been known to happen on occasion, and even if it hadn't - she would be a fool not to. She had been raised to be wary, and prepared at all times, and considering her family and the connections there, along with her current occupation and friendships, it made sense to be cautious. She knew exactly the locations of every other weapon in her apartment - concealed or not; and there were many of them. "Zahira! It's Perdita!" Zira blinked, surprise flashing across her face as she peered through the peephole to confirm she wasn't imagining things; and then unlocked the door, the knife still grasped in one hand but relatively relaxed (not entirely; just incase). "Perd?" Her eyebrows were still halfway up her forehead. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Maybe not the most welcoming welcome, but her tone wasn't unfriendly at least.
She glanced at him for a second as he took the bottle and drank, not caring to count his swallows, or to check he could handle the flavour - that was on him whether he would take her advice or suffer through the pain. Alcohol for the next best choice after pain medication for numbing shit. When she glanced a second time, it was to see a healthy amount of the bottle gone, the liquid sloshing now well past the halfway mark on the bottle. That was exactly why she'd also given him the cheap shit - she wasn't wasting the good stuff on the lad and his big wide eyes.
The next battle seemed to be the shirt, and she impatiently twirled the knife in her hand - warning him that her threat was true and real; she would cut it off him and strap him down if she needed to. Clearly, there was some kind of deep seated issue there, under the surface of his pretty body exterior, but she didn't have time to unpick that now or deal with it - she had to deal with his injuries before he bled out all over her kitchen. She gave him a moment though, she didn't rush it too much, even with impatience written all over her face as she watched him debate his options. "Knife or not buddy, the shirt's coming off - which is it?" She reminded, once again flicking the knife in her hand to make her point. Sighing, she let him take another long swig of the alcohol and then suddenly the shirt was gone.
She made no comment or anything of it, as if nothing about it was abnormal - she barely saw the marks on him, though they were clear enough to anyone with working eyesight. She didn't care though, considering where she came from, she had a whole host of scars herself, and she'd seen plenty of people with scars and marks too. These were somewhat unusual in a way, but made no different to her. Finally, she could see the wound, and she reached for the swabs, moping up as much as the blood as she could to start with so she could better see the wound. "This will sting." She warned, amazing herself with her politeness for once, before she grabbed the antiseptic and started swiping over the wound with that to clean it up. She could hear him muttering something, but Zira drowned it out, not caring about it - even if he asked her to stop right then, she'd carry on. She huffed as she got a good look at the wound. "Someone made a real hash fucking mess of this, idiot. What were you fucking about with this time?" and her voice trailed off into Spanish as she grumbled, working on cleaning it and then going to fish out her needle and thread to pull it together.
She didn't hear a damn peep out of him as she dragged him inside - perhaps the pain was worse than she'd first thought. She had a high pain threshold, mostly thanks to how she'd grown up, but it meant she had little patience for others and their lack of ability to handle it. Seth seemed more on her level, so she took stock of his pasty face and lack of response as something being relatively wrong. It was one of the reasons she didn't turn him away to a hospital like she should, or at least that's what she told herself anyway.
A hiss of pain escaped him, well he could still make noise at least, it proved he was with it in the very least. She left him for a moment as she went to get her supplies. Used to patching up both herself and her family, Zahira had a whole host of medical supplies that were of use. Less of the plasters and stuff and more like needle and thread, some morphine, forceps... it sounded ridiculous but she was more accustomed to bullet and knife wounds than splinters and paper cuts. She grabbed a bottle of vodka - the cheap shit - and her bag, and then headed back over to the chair, pleased to see he was still sitting on it at least. "Drink this," She thrust the alcohol bottle at him. He would need it, but she wasn't wasting the morphine on him. Sorry kid.
"Picked a target a few leagues too out of reach, Decided to teach me a lesson for being the scum of the Earth." She gave a tut and rolled her eyes. "Well, how stupid of you. Vives y aprendes." Zahira muttered, frowning when he battered away her hands. "No, the shirt stays on, I'm only cut up top, you don't need to see the rest." She let out a frustrated noise at his protest. "I'm not trying to molest you, or take advantage of you. You're not my type," Well, that was a bit of a lie but she didn't go for Labradors'. "I can't clean shit with your shirt in the way. It comes off or I'll cut it off." So much for not needing the knife, she turned to the counter to grab it again.
"Sweet heart, you in?" As soon as she heard his voice she sighed and deflated - just a little anyway. You could never be too careful, but she removed the chain from the door anyway, the rattle clear that someone was in at least. "I hope you are..." Zira raised a brow as she opened the door, tilting her head and standing in the doorway as she surveyed the wreck of a boy currently trying to bleed out on her ridiculous welcome mat. "Dios Mio. Honey, I am, but why the fuck are you here?" She sighed and shook her head, the raised eyebrow dropping as her brow furrowed instead. He looked like he was barely upright, and she was sure she could see beats of sweat on his forehead - clearly in pain, especially if that splash of bright red across his chest was anything to go by. It was hard to tell in that moment though whether it was his blood or someone else's. She gritted her teeth and shook her head. "For fuck sake, get in here." Bloody pathetic stupid kid.
She reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking him unceremoniously into the flat and shutting the door behind him; not caring that it would likely hurt. She locked the door again and then went to drag him over to the light of the kitchen, lucky for him that her presence of mind remembered the knife in her other hand and she quickly put it back in it's rightful place. God since when did she become the home for stray morons. And yet, she had opened the door and let him in. She would not be feeding him though. "Sit. Over there." She indicated to one of her chairs - that she didn't mind getting a bit of blood on - before he could pick one she liked. "What happened?" She asked, ignoring the fact that her bath was getting cold and that she was still covered in blood and sweat of her own as she went to tug on his shirt, "this needs to come off."
Zira had had a long day. She'd spent some time running around after a twat of a person in order to bring them in. It had been a short and sweet chase compared to others but he had put her in damn dirt, bruised her face and tried to cut her with a pen knife. So kind of him. She didn't need a new smile. It had been tempting to go and work off her frustrations of the day on a punching bag at the gym, or see if Greg was around for another play in the boxing ring. Unfortunately, by the time she'd dragged the ass to the police station, gotten him booked in and then been paid, it had been too late, and she was dirty, sweaty and surprisingly bloody. Home it was. She'd gotten a few looks on the walk back to her flat, but she'd shot every judgemental person the kind of look that would melt the flesh of bones and wisely, all had given her a very wide birth.
She ran a bath. Very girlie of her, she knew, especially as she added a bomb and some salts to it - but she found it helped, and so what if she found that kind of thing relaxing after a stressful day of chasing down crims. Zahira paused in the floor length mirror in her bedroom, her eye caught by the large rip in her t-shirt. She growled low in throat and picked up the material. "This was my favourite, for fuck sake." She complained, dropping the slice material with a shake of her head. Another shirt for the bin. She yanked it off over her head, releasing her hair from it's messy pony tail, and had just tossed the shirt into her rubbish when someone knocked on the door. Zahira paused in her living room, glad in dirty jeans and her sports bra, she narrowed her eyes on the door. Odd time of night to be knocking, it was nearly midnight, and the knock had been more of a weird bang - like something hitting it. She figured she could handle whatever might have come to kill her, but she picked up a knife from the kitchen and went to open the door with the chain still attached.
Glad you enjoyed the lesson in humility - underestimated anyone else recently? Does your ego now fit through the door at least? It would be hard if you protected them better
GENDER: lady AGE: twenty-three D.O.B: 31st october SEXUALITY: bisexual STATUS: taken PLAY-BY: emeraude toubia HEIGHT: 5ft6 HAIR: black EYES: brown
"YOU'RE A LOADED GUN, THERE'S NOWHERE TO"
TATTOOS:sleeve tattoo along with other sleeve, then there's this and also this along with this one and on her left leg and this one SCARS: Z shaped scar on the back of her right hand, the family bike symbol branded on her hip DRINK: frequently SMOKE: yes DRIVE: yes GLASSES: nope HOME: flat 39, woodbain flats BORN AND RAISED: valencia, spain
"RUN, NO ONE CAN SAVE ME THE DAMAGE IS"
says it how it is, quite blunt, standoffish, sometimes downright rude, but she isn't, not into bullshit, if you can't say it to someone's face don't say it, protective - mostly of herself, incredibly private person, has a knack for saying the bare minimum about herself without you realising she's not opened up once during a conversation, more a boys girl than a girls girl, not afraid to get her hands dirty, fights for things she believes in - literally - and has no problem throwing a punch or telling someone to back off anger issues, people patience wears thin quite quickly, somewhat impulsive, daredevil, adrenaline junkee, loves her job and enjoys the challenges it presents, not good with romance, prefers people to be upfront and say what they mean, loves self deprecating humour and banter/flirting.
LIKES: motorbikes - has a Harley , a good chase - be it romantically or occupation related , cheap whiskey , spiked hot chocolate , leather jackets , boxing and martial arts , tattoos , cool, crisp mornings , tinkering with cars , challenges , karaoke , heavy Metal , deprecating humour and banter , licorice DISLIKES: , being lied to , summer , romance - romcom movies included , jokes about her being born on Halloween , judgmental morons , star signs; thinks they're a hoax , wine , dates - finds them awkward , taxes , having to use her savings , slow drivers , people trying to stick their nose in her business , reading, can't get into books STRENGTHS: bass guitar - plays moderately well , good at puzzles , has a talent for figuring people out; excellent at her job , surprisingly responsible , excellent fighter , knowledge of motorbikes - and cars, though bikes are her speciality , martial arts and boxing WEAKNESSES: licorice , not good at opening up about herself , tattoos on guys or girls , can't swim , cheap liquor , terrible at art FEARS: drowning; can't swim , commitment SECRETS: wants to take over her father's biker bar , quite a few secrets related to her families buisness
"DONE, SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU'RE"
STATUS IN SOCIETY: upper class - in a way OCCUPATION: bounty hunter EXPERTISE: hand to hand combat/boxing/mma , finding people , anything motorbike related , bass guitar WEALTH: considerable PROUDEST MOMENT: her first bounty. she rarely got the opportunity to do things without her father at her back, and she completed the bounty all by herself, dragging him into the station and claiming her reward after three weeks of hunting him down with her few resources. MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: quite a few from her brothers over the years, trying to embarrass her in front of potential dates; once whilst zira was still getting ready, they sat her date in between them and started describing how they like to torture zira's boyfriends. he left before she even got down the stairs
"TO BLAME, YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME"
FATHER(S): manuel joaquín delgado - 52 - musician (band member) / bar owner MOTHER(S): daniela amalia delgado - 48 - tattoo artist / bar manager STEP-PARENT(S): none OTHER HALF: sort of crushing on Gregory David Holt - 26 - unemployed SIBLINGS: dante gabriel delgado - 26 - works at the family bar gael mateo delgado - 28 - works at the family bar CHILDREN: none
Zira was born in Spain, the youngest of a family of four. Two brothers, both of whom took their role as older brothers seriously; more serious than Zira needed them to, but their hearts were always in the right place. Her father owned a bar, he was the head of a motorcycle gang that became well known in their home town for running quite a lot of the businesses. It was questionably bordering on a Spanish mob, though the words were never spoken. Zira grew up in not just a family of five, but a family of many - the crew looked out for each other, always had each others backs, and never took shit. If her parents or brother's weren't around, someone else would be - whether it was too get Zira something to eat, or to stand up for her to someone else. Zira didn't care if her father did bad things, he was always there when she needed him, and he always looked out for her. She loved her mother, who taught her how life worked, how to handle herself, how to be a confident and strong woman, and command a room full of men, but she was a daddy's girl through and through.
With two brothers and a family of bikers, her after school hobbies tended to involve tinkering with cars and bikes, and she mixed martial arts - which was coupled with boxing once she decided she enjoyed hitting bags - and people. It was an excellent way of working out her aggression, and she stuck with both sports throughout her life. She was always more of a tom boy than a girlie girl, preferring jeans and leathers over pretty skirts and make up. Romance was another thing she never really understood. She thought it was cringe worthy, and spent much of her life sticking to one night stands, and avoiding anything related to commitment.
At sixteen she dropped out of school to join the family business, working behind the bar for some time, doing the odd jobs for her father - though he didn't like to give her anything that meant putting her in danger, and it frustrated her. She didn't want to be treated differently. She spent time picking up other jobs in between, working in all sorts of places from clubs, to restaurants, and garages working with cars; the issue was, she wasn't qualified, and many of them sent her on her way, unable to promote her.
Nothing really stuck for her until she discovered bounty hunting. A friend of her father's retired from the occupation and several conversations over beers sent Zira interested enough to go and look into it. She had to work hard to gain a couple of qualifications, but once she was done, she was away. Her parents weren't overly happy that the job took her away from them for weeks and then months at a time, and in the end she moved to England to follow the work, promising to keep in touch and let them know she was okay and if she needed anything. For now, she's enjoying her freedom and independence.
