ooc: she'll fit right in, like pickles in a jar c:
wc: 3+
SoSuWriMo: 392
For a long while now, China had been seeking a place of refuge. Not necessarily to lick mental or physical wounds, no - A place which to finally, finally, call home. The winter was coming, heralded by waves of bitter blood-snapping weather. This morning was such a temperate, and as the lithe willow-waisted girl clambered over stone and outcrop, she could see each precious swell of breath as it left pixie maw.
It was towards the caves she went. Having emerged from the lush depths of the forest moments before the break of dawn, when the cold finally forced sleep from her hollow bird-like bones and forced the slender girl into action, she had moved instinctively southwest. China had stuck to her Optime form - She had no need for the speed that her fourlegged shape provided, and would rather have her slender-fingered hands with which to warm herself than none at all.
Miserably, her short denim skirt provided no comfort against the bitter wind. The Hippiechild apprehensively considered what she had to trade for clothing - Unlike her sisters, China had little skills in the growing of Cannabis, and nor was she any good with needle and thread. All she had was her reed pipe, her flexible body, and her surprisingly sharp mind. For, in spite of the numbing gauze that Juniper Peace had provided the girl, she was a Lykoi princess through and through.
A particular scent caught dainty charcoal nose, and it twitched. Excitement flared in deviant eyes of purest Lapis Lazuli. She knew that smell! Grandmama! Checking that her pipe was tucked firmly into the bandaging on her upper right arm, and that the neat bundle of MJ splifs her sister had provided was tightly wedged into a back pocket of her denim skirt, China proceeded to bound after the meandering scent. She was light on her feet - An acrobat, with the elegant grace of a ballerina and the energetic bounds of a small child. Overcome with delight at the prospect of reuniting with her Omi, the girl executed a neat cartwheel, her laughter tinkling on the cool breeze. "Grandmama? Where are you?" Called out sing-song voice in delight, the short crop of her hair dancing wildly about silvery features. Of all her sisters, China most closely resembled the woman she sought. "Omi? It's me, China Rose!"
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