Table code, image, and Filler © Jacoby!
OOC// Oh no, poor darling pup! And ha, Miyu, it seems we shall have our RP after all xD
BTW, love the sexy roll-over translation thing. Sorry, Frost, that I could not give you much to work with!
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She almost tripped on the way into the hall, large footpaws dragging with exhaustion across the worn planks of wood. Nobody returned her call, and for a moment, Alaine felt the overwhelming crush of despair thicken her throat. The little bundle in her arms began to murmur fitfully, her thrashing weak enough that they did not deter the young woman's determination-driven hold, but her delirious calls seemed to draw some attention.
The footfalls were heavy, but the lady drew herself up anyway, emerald eyes pleading and hollow.
The man that appeared from around the hallway seemed, initially, to be surprised. Not the kind of alarmed shock that would usually permit one to respond to her frantic calls, nor even the irritated demeanor of a fellow whom had just been awoken. Mild surprise, then a sort of resigned amusement, like the whole situation had no bearing on him. Should Alaine have been in her own comfort zones, perhaps she would have been irritated. But as it was, the exotic beauty was too alarmed to be frightened, even. With a soft moan of relief, she staggered forward, the handsome stranger's throaty rumble ignored in her hastiness for help.
" Thank you! Oh, thank the heavens... She needs help! Please, sir, the little one is running a fever..."
Unaware that her melodic voice sung strong in the relative silence, Alaine gestured elegantly and vaguely, her disheveled appearance doing nothing to detract from the young woman's vibrancy. With renewed energy (for nothing is better motivation than hope), the auburn-haired beauty swept past the black-eyed devil, curls bouncing about her flushed and worried features. She'd no worry for his rank - What high-ranking member would choose to stay in a place with herself, a felon, filth? Doubtless, he was one like herself. The beauty smelt alcohol, and the musky scent of masculinity. She would be mortified and afraid later, but for now, there was a young life to save.
" The girl, she has a fever. You have, err... Whiskey? Rum? Antisceptic. She has a few minor cuts. I will need water, and damp cloths- Hurry, sir, if you wouldst! The young miss has not much time!"
One hand lifted briefly, as if to rest on the stranger's single arm, but old habits died hard and she did not, could not, make the contact. Instead the young mother held black gaze for a moment, her own brilliant emerald desperate for some sign of help, of acceptance to her hurried words. Then, as the child began to once more thrash, the lady made a soft crooning sound deep of her throat and turned to hurry into the nearest room.
Speak think walk!
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