cutting through the airwaves
#6
[html]




Both my characters do. I just suck at, you know, mentioning it. And Lubomir speaks ye olde English. I make assumptions, yell at me if they suck

[Image: header.jpg]


He bought it. Hel smirked to herself. He had bought her little merchant idea. Slowly, she came closer, trying all the while to shake the mannerisms of the warrior, the too-cocky walk, the assurance around weapons, the flexing of muscles. He was certainly among the strangest shifters she'd seen and for a moment she couldn't quite place him. But then a flash of recognition crossed her features. While she might not have met him personally (though it certainly wouldn't be impossible), but she had met his kind. You're a coyote, right? She smiled again. The question was merely for her own curiosity, it made no difference what he was. A leader. Okay. And they were a pack of gypsies. This certainly seemed interesting. So Phoenix Valley preached family values, while this one accepted any and all. Or so she could gather. Do you call yourselves a band of gypsies, then? Her tone was light and playful.


With his attention diverted for a second, she took the chance to glance further into the packlands. Sadly, the fog obscured everything and for a moment she cursed the weather. But when he offered a tour, she simply flashed him another smile and walked closer. This was better than she had ever imagined. Thank you. I would love to. And if you like, we can sit down somewhere, I can show you my wares. Hel mentally listed the things in her pack. A few more pieces of cloth, beads and some odd pins and brooches she had traded for in Europe. An eclectic mix, but then, she wasn't a walking shop, she was just an innocent trader. She wondered if Connor resided here. She could see him here, in a band of gypsies. They wouldn't ask too many questions, would they?

[/html]


Messages In This Thread

Forum Jump: