This place isn't exactly like New Rho -- in some ways, refreshingly; in other ways that put Cam on edge, quietly observing all over again what "normal" looks like in a new city full of technology and people she's not used to. She's quickly perceiving that 'normal' around here has extremely wide margins, and that, even odder a proposition for her, she might not have to be particularly careful about avoiding them.

Shops, though, seem to be more or less the same here as where she came from. Much more diversely stocked here, not that she even has the money to appreciate a slightly less active war zone level of pricing.

That's why she's here in the first place: to find out what she can about getting a job. There are fliers advertising temporary work. And Cam doesn't have a particular ethical problem with theft, when it's necessary. (There are a lot of things she's finding out about her ethics, lately.) But those kinds of things escalate and she has no intention of immediately finding out what being a wanted criminal is like if that's not her default state in a place.

The messy, impatient queue in the main aisle of the store, though, catches her eye, and the smell of food reminds her that she hasn't eaten in Saints know how long.

Wary, she catches the eye of someone nearby, nodding to them. Wearing her knives in a harness over a soft tank top -- the bloody shirt she had on over that seemed a good idea to shed -- and loose pants tucked into boots, the athletic 22 year old may or may not cut a slightly odd figure. "What do they have up there?"

She gets a tip about The Dome on the way out of the market. She's honestly not sure if the advert for a fight pressed into her palm with a scribbled name on its back was a comment on her gear and general bearing, or simply someone working for a bookie and spotting new blood. But it doesn't seem like a bad idea, either way.

Walking toward the blocky -- sort of domelike -- building, Cam feels as comfortable as she has any time since getting here. She has no idea what's inside, who, how this works. But she knows how to fight.

The Warden would hate this. Would hate not being here, at least; would hate, after recently, not being able to react immediately as a shared presence. (Not that he'd ever do something like put himself in danger where she couldn't protect him, Camilla thinks, and it inspires a wry smile even as the memories flutter nauseously through her.)

It's the only thing that makes her hesitate. But he's not here, either specifically or even vaguely; she doesn't even know where here is, yet, or if it matters, and whatever rules this place abides by, she has to get through it long enough to get back. One of them being trading money for goods and services. And services for money, as it happens.

She looks around as she gets inside. It's not that late, and there isn't a fight happening yet, but there are still milling people inside. "Do you know where I can find Juniper Rune?" she asks someone nearby who looks like they could conceivably be waiting to fight.

She's writing a letter, sort of, when the lights go out.

Not hers. Cam's on the west side. She's sitting near the windows, though, and a flicker in her periphery makes her lift her head. It'd started as a tremor of light, an instability, then one or two windows, but then, in a sudden blinds-drop, darkness falls over the whole of the east side of the Blocks.

She glances at the lamp, waiting, unfolds herself to her feet. She's been here almost two weeks now. Though her motel room is fairly ascetic, Cam has still prioritized stocking up basic necessities; one of those (albeit down the list a bit) is a torch.

But it doesn't come. Outside she can hear shouting; a siren or alarm goes off not too far away. Cam locks the door instead as the chaos comes toward the West Side and then leans her forehead against the windowpane, trying to make out anything she can see in the remaining street lights between the blinds.

Wait -- was that a knock on her door?