03-03-2010, 05:57 AM
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WC 969
Not entirely sure where I was heading with this post, but oh well. Hope you like it, xD.
A moment of gray filtered over the landscape; a single, relatively large cloud buried the sun, causing a small chill to swell across the ocean, whipping lightly at Lucia's thighs, her hackles rising as though goosebumps on a child's skin. As she waited patiently for the male to respond, she wondered if he had already figured out that she did in fact possess a lighter, yet merely used her plea for fire to break the ice. It was a curious thing, conversation, for she had read no books on the arts of it, yet somehow managed to start them up with anyone who happened to cross her path. As such, her emerald eyes traveled slyly over the body of this male, as though trying to penetrate his thoughts, see into his history; get a feel for his personality, to make things a little easier for the both of them. It appeared that he seemed a little tense, and being a traveler, Lucia put it down to species; coyotes and wolves rarely conversed, even on the highways and camps she had been to in the past, and once upon a time, she too would have followed such a code, yet nowadays, loneliness was a cruel thing, and wolf or not, he had an interesting glow around him. There was something that drew her to him, and as she studied his form, she began to sketch a picture in her mind.
The first spark of interest was the knife; it gleamed in the light like crystals forming in a cave. The ocean breeze seemed to polish the blade, making it stand out in the relatively harmless surroudings. A smile tugged at her ebony lips, but with the uncomfortable silence, she refrained from allowing her emotions to show too much. “Nice blade,” she nodded her head in the direction of his back, “I have two myself, though not as nice as that.” The compliment was genuine, for she had scavenged her daggers from a dumping ground (perhaps once a city as rumors had stated). “Mine are old and rusting,” she admitted, “I found them a while back, during my travels. Know how to use it?” She couldn't help but smile now, for Lucia's combat was specifically with knives and claw, and though she had no intention of fighting with this male, it appeared that he had been in his own fair share of battles; the scars on his chest reading like an open book.
With her cigarette now lit, her slender digits slid around it, pulling it from her lips as she inhaled the smoke thankfully. Her eyes glimmered with appreciation, though smoke filtered from her nostrils like a dragon readying a mouthful of flames, a glossy halo of white fog wrapped around her skull. “Thank you for the flame,” she whispered softly, her tone changing momentary. Kindness was a rare thing indeed, and for all intensive purposes, she had expected her question to go unanswered. “The name's Lucia,” she continued, now aware that all the conversation was on her part. It made her a little uneasy, but she hoped her forward nature would break the ice, perhaps make the stranger less tense.
Lifting the cancerous stick to her lips once more, the tip glowed a fresh shade of orange, the thick taste of tobacco on her tongue. Most of the time, Lucia smoked more out of habit than enjoyment, but today seemed a little different. For once her body welcomed the poisonous smoke and the strange taste, her muscles relaxing and her eyes fixated on the male who had given her this small piece of heaven. At first she had failed to notice, but as her eyes fell over his frame once more, the silence slowly drilling into her head like a bad dream, she noticed the uniqueness of his eyes. They danced in a smooth shade of olive, almost as hypnotizing as a moth to fire. His emotionless stance reflected almost beautifully in these viridian orbs; it was like looking in a mirror, though her own eyes were a shade or two darker, resembling more the color of absinthe than spring grass, and his did not give shelter to scars. Her left eye, though beautifully shaped and unique in color, was the resting place to a single scar. A mangled line, for were claw had connected with flesh when she was a lot younger, a constant reminder of her past, and for some reason, a good conversation starter. Unsurprisingly, Lucia much preferred the lighting of cigarettes than discussing the nature of her deformity.
“Nice eyes,” the words fell off her tongue without a second thought, and as her own ears listened to herself, embarrassment tore at her fragile frame. Her skin burned underneath its blanket of black fur, and her eyes dropped to the ground. Dragging heavily on her cigarette, Lucia waited in silence, her spare hand fiddling anxiously with the strap of her bag, twisting a thread between her fingers as though trying to distract herself from the feelings of idiocy and shyness that had now set in. Through it all, confidence was not often her strong point and though she had done well to start off with, one remark shifted her entire persona. “Err,” she stuttered quietly, trying not to look at the male, her breath sharpening in her lungs, it almost hurt to breath. If there were ever a time for the ground to swallow her whole, she would gladly take the offer now. A single word rolled off her tongue, as though summing up her general feelings on the subject at hand, as she waited eagerly for some sort of response, half expecting laughter or taunting, for she had never been too good at making friends. “...Bugger...”
WC 969
Not entirely sure where I was heading with this post, but oh well. Hope you like it, xD.
A moment of gray filtered over the landscape; a single, relatively large cloud buried the sun, causing a small chill to swell across the ocean, whipping lightly at Lucia's thighs, her hackles rising as though goosebumps on a child's skin. As she waited patiently for the male to respond, she wondered if he had already figured out that she did in fact possess a lighter, yet merely used her plea for fire to break the ice. It was a curious thing, conversation, for she had read no books on the arts of it, yet somehow managed to start them up with anyone who happened to cross her path. As such, her emerald eyes traveled slyly over the body of this male, as though trying to penetrate his thoughts, see into his history; get a feel for his personality, to make things a little easier for the both of them. It appeared that he seemed a little tense, and being a traveler, Lucia put it down to species; coyotes and wolves rarely conversed, even on the highways and camps she had been to in the past, and once upon a time, she too would have followed such a code, yet nowadays, loneliness was a cruel thing, and wolf or not, he had an interesting glow around him. There was something that drew her to him, and as she studied his form, she began to sketch a picture in her mind.
The first spark of interest was the knife; it gleamed in the light like crystals forming in a cave. The ocean breeze seemed to polish the blade, making it stand out in the relatively harmless surroudings. A smile tugged at her ebony lips, but with the uncomfortable silence, she refrained from allowing her emotions to show too much. “Nice blade,” she nodded her head in the direction of his back, “I have two myself, though not as nice as that.” The compliment was genuine, for she had scavenged her daggers from a dumping ground (perhaps once a city as rumors had stated). “Mine are old and rusting,” she admitted, “I found them a while back, during my travels. Know how to use it?” She couldn't help but smile now, for Lucia's combat was specifically with knives and claw, and though she had no intention of fighting with this male, it appeared that he had been in his own fair share of battles; the scars on his chest reading like an open book.
With her cigarette now lit, her slender digits slid around it, pulling it from her lips as she inhaled the smoke thankfully. Her eyes glimmered with appreciation, though smoke filtered from her nostrils like a dragon readying a mouthful of flames, a glossy halo of white fog wrapped around her skull. “Thank you for the flame,” she whispered softly, her tone changing momentary. Kindness was a rare thing indeed, and for all intensive purposes, she had expected her question to go unanswered. “The name's Lucia,” she continued, now aware that all the conversation was on her part. It made her a little uneasy, but she hoped her forward nature would break the ice, perhaps make the stranger less tense.
Lifting the cancerous stick to her lips once more, the tip glowed a fresh shade of orange, the thick taste of tobacco on her tongue. Most of the time, Lucia smoked more out of habit than enjoyment, but today seemed a little different. For once her body welcomed the poisonous smoke and the strange taste, her muscles relaxing and her eyes fixated on the male who had given her this small piece of heaven. At first she had failed to notice, but as her eyes fell over his frame once more, the silence slowly drilling into her head like a bad dream, she noticed the uniqueness of his eyes. They danced in a smooth shade of olive, almost as hypnotizing as a moth to fire. His emotionless stance reflected almost beautifully in these viridian orbs; it was like looking in a mirror, though her own eyes were a shade or two darker, resembling more the color of absinthe than spring grass, and his did not give shelter to scars. Her left eye, though beautifully shaped and unique in color, was the resting place to a single scar. A mangled line, for were claw had connected with flesh when she was a lot younger, a constant reminder of her past, and for some reason, a good conversation starter. Unsurprisingly, Lucia much preferred the lighting of cigarettes than discussing the nature of her deformity.
“Nice eyes,” the words fell off her tongue without a second thought, and as her own ears listened to herself, embarrassment tore at her fragile frame. Her skin burned underneath its blanket of black fur, and her eyes dropped to the ground. Dragging heavily on her cigarette, Lucia waited in silence, her spare hand fiddling anxiously with the strap of her bag, twisting a thread between her fingers as though trying to distract herself from the feelings of idiocy and shyness that had now set in. Through it all, confidence was not often her strong point and though she had done well to start off with, one remark shifted her entire persona. “Err,” she stuttered quietly, trying not to look at the male, her breath sharpening in her lungs, it almost hurt to breath. If there were ever a time for the ground to swallow her whole, she would gladly take the offer now. A single word rolled off her tongue, as though summing up her general feelings on the subject at hand, as she waited eagerly for some sort of response, half expecting laughter or taunting, for she had never been too good at making friends. “...Bugger...”