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Feb. 7th, 2026 03:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whenwego posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
thecityneversleepsJade Herrera is rich as shit again.
He’s not a billionaire, he’s not even a millionaire, though he could be again, depending on how well the apps do. But he’s rich enough that he’s already moved out of the shitty Darrow apartment and bought himself a gorgeous fucking penthouse near the park, he’s furnished it, and he’s considered a new wardrobe, but honestly, he’s gotten pretty comfortable with the t-shirt or button down and cardigan combination he’s been rocking since… well, since Tian-Chen gave him his first. The car is flashy, some Darrow model electric in black, with leather interior, and he likes driving it way too fucking fast.
All of this has been done without really telling anyone. The car is a pretty clear indication, but as for the rest of it, he’s just done it.
It’s really nice to be rich. For awhile he’d thought maybe he didn’t miss it that much, he’d been fine in his creepy Bramford apartment, getting places on his stolen bicycle or using ride shares. All he had really wanted was to use his ridiculously big brain to get himself out of Darrow and back… somewhere. He’d never really settled on where he wanted to go. Everything had gotten pretty fucked up, after all, no matter where he went.
But he’s been here for over a year now and so far, nothing. Not the slightest inkling of how he might get out. Over a year and he still can’t figure it out, no matter how many leads he’s followed, how many dark corners of Darrow he’s dug into or how many sleepless nights he’s spent poring over his notes. So instead, he’s built and sold a few apps and now he’s rich again.
Rich enough that he can buy whatever the hell he wants without a thought and now he’s standing in front of a music store, looking through the window, and trying to decide if he’s going to go in. He should. He needs an outlet, a proper one, something other than sex and weed and alcohol, and he hasn’t laid hands on a violin in over a year. Not since Victor’s.
He’s not sure why he feels weird about it.
“It’s just a violin,” he says to himself, but loud enough to be heard. “I want a violin.”
He’s not a billionaire, he’s not even a millionaire, though he could be again, depending on how well the apps do. But he’s rich enough that he’s already moved out of the shitty Darrow apartment and bought himself a gorgeous fucking penthouse near the park, he’s furnished it, and he’s considered a new wardrobe, but honestly, he’s gotten pretty comfortable with the t-shirt or button down and cardigan combination he’s been rocking since… well, since Tian-Chen gave him his first. The car is flashy, some Darrow model electric in black, with leather interior, and he likes driving it way too fucking fast.
All of this has been done without really telling anyone. The car is a pretty clear indication, but as for the rest of it, he’s just done it.
It’s really nice to be rich. For awhile he’d thought maybe he didn’t miss it that much, he’d been fine in his creepy Bramford apartment, getting places on his stolen bicycle or using ride shares. All he had really wanted was to use his ridiculously big brain to get himself out of Darrow and back… somewhere. He’d never really settled on where he wanted to go. Everything had gotten pretty fucked up, after all, no matter where he went.
But he’s been here for over a year now and so far, nothing. Not the slightest inkling of how he might get out. Over a year and he still can’t figure it out, no matter how many leads he’s followed, how many dark corners of Darrow he’s dug into or how many sleepless nights he’s spent poring over his notes. So instead, he’s built and sold a few apps and now he’s rich again.
Rich enough that he can buy whatever the hell he wants without a thought and now he’s standing in front of a music store, looking through the window, and trying to decide if he’s going to go in. He should. He needs an outlet, a proper one, something other than sex and weed and alcohol, and he hasn’t laid hands on a violin in over a year. Not since Victor’s.
He’s not sure why he feels weird about it.
“It’s just a violin,” he says to himself, but loud enough to be heard. “I want a violin.”
