[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/LfErXKU.jpg[/IMG][/center]
[hr][center][b]Behemoth. Sacrifice Continues.[/b][/center][hr]
[color=7d7d7d]This tomb of theirs permeated with a dim and detached mood. It was near impossible for her to gauge if the blinding light had affected her sense of sight, but it was more than lack of illumination that settled alongside them. Time itself appeared stunted by brutality and rapid mechanizations, dripping through reality at such a decrepit speed that she was a tad put off when an invasive cranium soiled their reverie. With a sigh that hinted at something pensive and agitated she acquiesced and soon the cranium and herself were hefting the dead weight through the latch. Allen Thomas deviated gracelessly in her hold; like a doll whose joints had deteriorated and become more hindrance than frame, misplaced junctures that masticated in a warm crunch beneath a tepid husk.

His body was hefted from her persistently quivering fingers; scrapped and forsaken in his terminal resting place, a singular empty shell among a handful of others. While the reverberation within her fingertips seemed to betray some enduring sorrow, the betrayal itself was a lie tailored by realities defined in normalcy. She was no more sorrowful than she was thrilled. Rather it was unchecked adrenaline that coursed through her, routinely reigned by focus and a steady mind that currently eluded her.

An armored knee found itself at the head of her departed friend, nestled into the blood soaked soil that hemmed the Behemoth. A twitch of her neck and eyes assured her that no attention was on the pair. This illusory moment allowed a gawky, yet authentic, exposure of self that snaked out in spindly digit to boop Allen Thomas on the nose. To further the juxtaposition of gentle adoration and flippant desecration the same digits converted to a narrow claw and burrowed into the man’s skull up to the knuckle. Her expression remained passive as she jerked the sightless eye from an unappreciative skull, breaking the optic nerve with a lackluster snap.[/color]

[color=black]There would be other Allens. There always were, but she needed something to keep [i]her[/i][b]it[/b] grounded.[/color]

[color=7d7d7d]Her fingers tilted upward spanning the mountaintops for the dead eye in palm, bringing its sight to her own. An Allen that was almost Allen mirrored the blankness in her stare; casting it’s own reflection of judgment upon her. A chaotic halo of misplaced and disheveled hair seeped out of half adorned armor, doing nothing to disguise the malleable meat of her cheek. She wanted to grimace but could clearly see in the deep battling colors it would lack any satisfaction. And who was she to cringe at a dead man over a swollen cheek? [i]Enough judgment Allen.[/i] She twisted a laundered, yet heavily stained, handkerchief around the eye of Allen and deposited the watchful package into a chest pocket, for now. It would be placed in a small jar she had in her pack when the time was suitable.

Her reentry into the Behemoth was hastened by one of the Lieutenants who, in return, received a barely audible snarl. There was something inexorable, something haughty and weak, that came off him in waves and brought out the predator in her. Her lethargic form brushed by him with calculated proximity so that he was forced to yield his stance or welcome her squared shoulder. Her face the way it was he probably rolled his bearing out of pity, but as she cleared his view those tepid lips came into possession of a coy smile; she’d spent enough time in a cage to know surrender is a slippery slope.

Once inside, the treatment of her cheek, while apt, seemed disagreeable. Their healer, with gray strands that reminded Dach of the whispered myths of sacrificial witches, had a plethora of maladies to keep her engaged. Dach was intrigued by their femme fatale healer and would likely seek her out later; but now the solitary creature within wanted to nurse its wounds alone.

The Behemoth roared to life as she made her ascent into the tomb above, finding a new tenderness housed within her knees as they dragged across the metal, marginally heated by the bodies below. She crouched near the latches, taking her time and rebinding and fastening despite the uncomfortable position. When the security and integrity of the bunker were assured she moved to a sitting position and rested her, still armored, back against the outer wall and took up the particle rifle. The Behemoth continued on its [s]death[/s]march as she inspected the well protected rifle; it had fared better than its counterpart, anyways.

She hadn’t intended on sleeping; she rarely did anymore. It came and went as it pleased with regard only to preservation, and she wasn’t quite sure it was her own; but, at some point the sandman had caressed her unsteady soul and swept away her consciousness so that her favored cheek nuzzled into the particle rifle.[/color]

[center][color=black]a  fog,  cliche  in  dreams, comforting and invasive
allen’s  face  m o r p h s  through  t h e  variations,
fractured  and  static  images, but a l w a y s allen
glimmering with existence recognizable, soulmate
something she clung to while supplanting the rest
memory  that had grown to grandiose proportions
its  e n d l e s s  cycle  t r y i n g  to  make a whole[/color][/center]

[hr][center][b]Zalera Tundra, Mrihl.[/b][/center][hr]
[color=7d7d7d]It was hard to tell how much time had passed. The veil of sleep slipped away like a silk sheet; the antithesis of rude awakening. Each of her muscles contracted, expanded and released so that her form conveyed the luxurious awakening of a feline. Her disposition, while still [i]herself[/i], seemed exceedingly reinvigorated. The rumbling Behemoth had ceased its tiresome movement, which most likely had stirred the sleep from those deviant eyes. It was also likely that their now stationary position had reflected optimism into her animation. The prospect of removal from this beast was a blessing, and on a day such as today even a singular minute benediction was enough to recoil the unwoven yarn of sanctity and self assurance. The overall puzzling exuberance bled into her ailments so that her cheek no longer felt so tender and her forced companions appeared less strange.

Her descent from above was laced in pleased moxie, even daring to flash those pearly whites at the eyes that caught her own. Smiling flexed bruised muscles and a wince tainted the gesture, but the attempt was there. The bounce in her step refused to be stifled as she moved out of the Behemoth and followed along with the others to meet the Baron and his man. From beneath tinted lenses her eyes dawdled about the estate as the men before her spoke. A memory perhaps, or ingrained feedback from a prior life was humming about beneath the simple appraisal: evaluating entrances, exits, security, layout; surely there was something worth stealing.

Had they mentioned food? Her eyes swiveled back to the duo as her stomach headed the call and growled of its own accord. [/color][color=black]Such a vice of humanity.[/color][color=7d7d7d] The migration of reflection diverted from crime to speculation; when was the last time she had eaten? Her appraisal moved from their hosts to Kain. If anyone would feel the effects of a lost meal it was that man. He probably had the bones of a dead boar he’d consumed on their journey within that pack of his. On her honor, she would not be the least bit surprised.  When the talking had ceased and people began to disperse her attention was still on Kain, and her body decided to follow suit and she tapped the goliath gingerly on his shoulder.[/color] [color=0674cb]“Think I could bum a square big boy?”[/color] [color=7d7d7d]Her digits gestured to his cigarettes, and as they flashed into her peripheral she realized that Allen’s blood was still crusted on her fingertips. She didn’t seemed phased by the discovery. Kain wasn’t exactly in a position to judge considering there were bits of Eagle, was that ash?, still fresh upon his as well. He didn’t strike her as one to shy from a little blood anyways.[/color]