02-26-2010, 07:31 PM
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WC 690
Great post! :] I wasn't sure which form your character was in so I left the face-to-face meeting up to you. I hope that's ok?
I apologise. I'm a little out of practise...
The day was brisk; a grey sky reflecting onto the snow-bitten landscape, causing an almost monochromatic effect to the average eye. Colour in this terrain seemed little, if not drained; perhaps trickling away in some faraway stream, giving light and rainbows to some other undiscovered territory. A sharp chill curved in and out of bare-naked trees, whipping thin branches and bending them to its will. From a glance, this almost picturesque location seemed deserted, yet with closer inspection, a figure lay in the snow, back leant against one of the many snow-tipped oaks and a book in hand.
Lucia's fur contrasted greatly with her surroundings; a deep shade of midnight, groomed well yet matted slightly on the parts of her which brushed against the bark. The snow had once sent a sharp shiver down her spine, but as time had passed, the feeling had faded; numbness had taken its place. Her malachite orbs danced wildly as they absorbed the knowledge from the small black book she had clasped in her feminine fingers, though if one were to stare for long enough, they might notice a mysterious wisp or two of untold madness; a secret that even Lucia would release as common knowledge.
As she sat in the peaceful hideaway, the female's ears twinged; it had been relatively quiet for the passing hour or two, the occasional howl of the wind and twitter of birds, yet as a twig snapped not too far from where she rested, her body became rigid. Lucia was new to these lands and not yet adjusted to their customs and territories, thus paranoia was never too far from her mind. Placing the tattered book into a rucksack which also looked as though it would soon fall apart, Lucia rose to a stand and scanned the horizon slowly. Her fingers curled, as though imaging the cold handle of her daggers in her palms, yet unsure of whether this was friend or foe, they remained tucked away in her pack; easy to access if trouble were to occur. Unbeknown to Lucia, a war was currently swallowing this land, and though rumours had circulated on her travels, there was little on the matter that Lucia knew. In her mind it was irrelevant knowledge, as she doubted her chances of crossing paths with any of the members, or even their territories, thus had kept herself to herself and carried on her journey.
As the steps came closer, a shiver of anticipation trickled down her spine, tickling her knees into momentary weakness. Collecting herself, she growled under her breath. The waiting made her uncomfortable, yet with such uncertainties, she was not prepared to hunt for this stranger herself. With a last glance at the horizon, Lucia's attention turned back to her rucksack. Fumbling with the myriad of things that littered the innards of her bag, she finally pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Pursing it between her lips, she lit the cancer-ridden stick and inhaled slowly. The smoke wafted in and out of her nostrils, belittling any scent of her soon to be companion. As such, her muscles rippled and relaxed, and her pulse slowed to an almost normal rate. With eyes half shut, she smiled to herself, and spoke gently to the wind, hoping perhaps that her words would travel the distance to the stranger and break the ice in a more unconventional manner.
“Hello...”Her voice was rough, tainted from the smoke and cold. Yet her feminine tone still lingered as a backdrop, giving reference to her gender if such was heard. “Friend or foe?” A simple question, yet so much was lingering on the answer. If a friend, all would be fine, yet if the answer became foe, Lucia's mind would be made, and she would most definitely try to cause a fight. Her schizophrenic nature would push at such an outcome. She waited, her joints aching from impatience and curiosity; she was yet to come across a single soul in this terrain, and as the anticipation grew, the puffs of her cigarette became fewer and fewer, burning almost as slowly as time seemed to fly.
WC 690
Great post! :] I wasn't sure which form your character was in so I left the face-to-face meeting up to you. I hope that's ok?
I apologise. I'm a little out of practise...
The day was brisk; a grey sky reflecting onto the snow-bitten landscape, causing an almost monochromatic effect to the average eye. Colour in this terrain seemed little, if not drained; perhaps trickling away in some faraway stream, giving light and rainbows to some other undiscovered territory. A sharp chill curved in and out of bare-naked trees, whipping thin branches and bending them to its will. From a glance, this almost picturesque location seemed deserted, yet with closer inspection, a figure lay in the snow, back leant against one of the many snow-tipped oaks and a book in hand.
Lucia's fur contrasted greatly with her surroundings; a deep shade of midnight, groomed well yet matted slightly on the parts of her which brushed against the bark. The snow had once sent a sharp shiver down her spine, but as time had passed, the feeling had faded; numbness had taken its place. Her malachite orbs danced wildly as they absorbed the knowledge from the small black book she had clasped in her feminine fingers, though if one were to stare for long enough, they might notice a mysterious wisp or two of untold madness; a secret that even Lucia would release as common knowledge.
As she sat in the peaceful hideaway, the female's ears twinged; it had been relatively quiet for the passing hour or two, the occasional howl of the wind and twitter of birds, yet as a twig snapped not too far from where she rested, her body became rigid. Lucia was new to these lands and not yet adjusted to their customs and territories, thus paranoia was never too far from her mind. Placing the tattered book into a rucksack which also looked as though it would soon fall apart, Lucia rose to a stand and scanned the horizon slowly. Her fingers curled, as though imaging the cold handle of her daggers in her palms, yet unsure of whether this was friend or foe, they remained tucked away in her pack; easy to access if trouble were to occur. Unbeknown to Lucia, a war was currently swallowing this land, and though rumours had circulated on her travels, there was little on the matter that Lucia knew. In her mind it was irrelevant knowledge, as she doubted her chances of crossing paths with any of the members, or even their territories, thus had kept herself to herself and carried on her journey.
As the steps came closer, a shiver of anticipation trickled down her spine, tickling her knees into momentary weakness. Collecting herself, she growled under her breath. The waiting made her uncomfortable, yet with such uncertainties, she was not prepared to hunt for this stranger herself. With a last glance at the horizon, Lucia's attention turned back to her rucksack. Fumbling with the myriad of things that littered the innards of her bag, she finally pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Pursing it between her lips, she lit the cancer-ridden stick and inhaled slowly. The smoke wafted in and out of her nostrils, belittling any scent of her soon to be companion. As such, her muscles rippled and relaxed, and her pulse slowed to an almost normal rate. With eyes half shut, she smiled to herself, and spoke gently to the wind, hoping perhaps that her words would travel the distance to the stranger and break the ice in a more unconventional manner.
“Hello...”Her voice was rough, tainted from the smoke and cold. Yet her feminine tone still lingered as a backdrop, giving reference to her gender if such was heard. “Friend or foe?” A simple question, yet so much was lingering on the answer. If a friend, all would be fine, yet if the answer became foe, Lucia's mind would be made, and she would most definitely try to cause a fight. Her schizophrenic nature would push at such an outcome. She waited, her joints aching from impatience and curiosity; she was yet to come across a single soul in this terrain, and as the anticipation grew, the puffs of her cigarette became fewer and fewer, burning almost as slowly as time seemed to fly.