Aurora Claudwell
Rory saw the shift in Luna’s manner through a blur of pain. Luna’s bestial snarl seemed strangely appropriate, even complimentary, when paired with her golden eyes and fangs. She was like a graceful, mythical creature. Perhaps it was the similarity in their mutation, but Rory understood her fierce rage. She did do her best to calm her, though.
“I’m not sure,” she strained the words from her lips. Her dark haired head gave a shake, “No…no, I’ll be fine.” Her words were meant to be reassuring, but she had trouble speaking them without the tension that was indicative of her pain. Her efforts didn’t seem to be entirely fruitful. She watched with wrinkled features as Luna tore the cloth from the fallen soldier. She accepted the torn clothing without question, giving another wince as it pressed to her bloodied wound.
She wanted to speak, to try and sooth her friend, but the pain was blaring through her body and dizzying her thoughts. She was grateful when Luna murmured a hushed, “Sorry…I didn’t mean to…” Her tone had softened, and she sounded more akin to the Luna with whom Rory shared her dorm room. It reminded her of the nights they’d spent whispering into the dark hours, saving her from more than one night’s nightmare. If it hadn’t been for the pain, she might have smiled then. She hoped her eyes shared the sentiment enough as she answered, “I know. It’s okay.”
At Luna’s prompting, Rory gave an unsteady nod of her head in agreement. Words were beginning to escape her. Her breathing had become rather ragged and shallow. The pain seemed to develop a new sharpness as the adrenaline wore off. She was damaged, and exhausted from the round of endless sprinting and phasing that she’d endured. At Luna’s offer for support, she was nothing but grateful.
She leaned into her friend’s side, thankful for her strength. Each step felt as if it took enormous effort and time. She’d never felt so slow before.
“…well you did say you wanted to spend more time in the infirmary.” The comment was unanticipated. “Getting yourself shot just to spend time with Mender is a little over the top though.” For a moment, Rory was quiet. She tilted her head to give a taken-aback, sidelong glance at Luna. In was only at the subtle twitch of her companion’s lip that Rory’s own shapely mouth spread into a weary smile. Her body shuddered with laughter. It came out sounding tight and it was rather short-lived, ending with another grimace of her features. “Hilarious,” she teased in retort as they staggered to the opening in the museum wall.
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This is true. :c Well, it was still precious.
Sweet! *is sneaking in one more post*
I love it!! : D Its awesome! Development, yay!
Do it!!! POST! : D
I did it : D Hooray.
Aurora Claudwell
Rory seemed to disappear into what she had become in those moments. Her dark waves of hair flashed around her shoulders with each twist that brought a heel to a solid temple, and each strike that sent her claws through a piece of fabric that might as well have been paper thin. She was aggressive, as if the fight was purely personal. On some level, it had become so with the threat to the only home she recognized. Was it fear that pushed her forward? That turned her into a predatory creature?
She had been left alone in a grouping of half a dozen soldiers with the disappearance of Mr. Faraday who had gone to rescue Mila. Another mutant had been sentenced to crowd control. This battle had been required of her, and she tore into it with crushing speed. She felt automatically at the advantage with that point alone. What made her even more opposing was the odd intuition she felt. She sensed a hit coming before it landed, jerked out of the way with long moments to spare. She seemed to be natural. However, what her speed and intuition couldn't make up for was her lack of experience. Somewhere in her passionate dance with guns and claws, Rory dissolved into her furious emotion. The footwork and fighting style that she had only recently undertaken increased in sloppiness. It would be hard to tell at how fast she moved, but her kicks became inaccurate, her lunges a little wide. It was a matter of time before one swift foot caught the ankle of a fallen foe.
Ideally, cats always land on their feet. Rory, the exception, tumbled to the ground with a sudden "Oomph!" A soldier was upon her in seconds, and it was at this moment that she noticed the strange ooze replacing what should have been blood seeping from the three straight claw marks on his cheek. He wouldn't be able to overpower her, of course. But from where she sat, it was obvious that she couldn't outrun a bullet. She glared at the male as the cool barrel kissed her forehead, shiny with a thin sheen of sweat. "You're quiet the handful, girlie," he growled.
Her heart raced beneath her heaving breast, breath high and elevated. She scrambled for thought, for solution. The only truth she knew was that would kill her. He would. She had to do something!
Her hand shot up, fast as ever. She wrenched the gun to the side. The discharge of a bullet rang in her ears like thunder, particularly devastating to her heightened senses. She let out a horrid scream as she felt an angry force of pain ignite her shoulder, but her body was still in movement. Propelled forward by some animalistic momentum, she flipped the soldier hard into the solid ground. The gun clattered uselessly to the floor the instant her claws sank into his throat. His body gave a twitch, a last pathetic reach for life. The sounds of wet gurgling tapered off until he laid still amidst the several other corpses of his brothers.
For what felt like a long moment, Rory sat still, claws drenched in the strange fluid of her enemies, her own shoulder dripping with red. Each breath came into her lungs tensely, and left with a painful shudder. It may have been the sight of her own blood that reminded her of her own mortality. That recalled to her the human parts of her being. Somehow, she felt as if the weight of each of their lives were resting on her back. How could she possibly stand when she felt so heavy?
Her ears twitched when she heard the distant calling of a familiar voice, "Rory?"
Her hazel eyes lifted from the mess of bodies and bones, as if looking to the sunrise. "Luna?" she tried calling back, but her voice came out as nothing more than a strangled mumble. She staggered to her feet, wincing as her shoulder shifted uncomfortably. She lifted a hand to steady her arm, keeping it as still as possible. "Luna!" she called louder. Her eyes searched through the mess of the museum, eager or frantic, until they finally landed on the familiar face hovering amidst the fallen displays. She let out a breath of relief and darted to her friend, who seemed as golden and beautiful as ever despite the mess of ooze she was covered in. She only paused when her arm gave another painful shift. Her face twisted in pain as she clutched to her wounded shoulder. "Are you okay?" she questioned in a strained tone.
Rory seemed to disappear into what she had become in those moments. Her dark waves of hair flashed around her shoulders with each twist that brought a heel to a solid temple, and each strike that sent her claws through a piece of fabric that might as well have been paper thin. She was aggressive, as if the fight was purely personal. On some level, it had become so with the threat to the only home she recognized. Was it fear that pushed her forward? That turned her into a predatory creature?
She had been left alone in a grouping of half a dozen soldiers with the disappearance of Mr. Faraday who had gone to rescue Mila. Another mutant had been sentenced to crowd control. This battle had been required of her, and she tore into it with crushing speed. She felt automatically at the advantage with that point alone. What made her even more opposing was the odd intuition she felt. She sensed a hit coming before it landed, jerked out of the way with long moments to spare. She seemed to be natural. However, what her speed and intuition couldn't make up for was her lack of experience. Somewhere in her passionate dance with guns and claws, Rory dissolved into her furious emotion. The footwork and fighting style that she had only recently undertaken increased in sloppiness. It would be hard to tell at how fast she moved, but her kicks became inaccurate, her lunges a little wide. It was a matter of time before one swift foot caught the ankle of a fallen foe.
Ideally, cats always land on their feet. Rory, the exception, tumbled to the ground with a sudden "Oomph!" A soldier was upon her in seconds, and it was at this moment that she noticed the strange ooze replacing what should have been blood seeping from the three straight claw marks on his cheek. He wouldn't be able to overpower her, of course. But from where she sat, it was obvious that she couldn't outrun a bullet. She glared at the male as the cool barrel kissed her forehead, shiny with a thin sheen of sweat. "You're quiet the handful, girlie," he growled.
Her heart raced beneath her heaving breast, breath high and elevated. She scrambled for thought, for solution. The only truth she knew was that would kill her. He would. She had to do something!
Her hand shot up, fast as ever. She wrenched the gun to the side. The discharge of a bullet rang in her ears like thunder, particularly devastating to her heightened senses. She let out a horrid scream as she felt an angry force of pain ignite her shoulder, but her body was still in movement. Propelled forward by some animalistic momentum, she flipped the soldier hard into the solid ground. The gun clattered uselessly to the floor the instant her claws sank into his throat. His body gave a twitch, a last pathetic reach for life. The sounds of wet gurgling tapered off until he laid still amidst the several other corpses of his brothers.
For what felt like a long moment, Rory sat still, claws drenched in the strange fluid of her enemies, her own shoulder dripping with red. Each breath came into her lungs tensely, and left with a painful shudder. It may have been the sight of her own blood that reminded her of her own mortality. That recalled to her the human parts of her being. Somehow, she felt as if the weight of each of their lives were resting on her back. How could she possibly stand when she felt so heavy?
Her ears twitched when she heard the distant calling of a familiar voice, "Rory?"
Her hazel eyes lifted from the mess of bodies and bones, as if looking to the sunrise. "Luna?" she tried calling back, but her voice came out as nothing more than a strangled mumble. She staggered to her feet, wincing as her shoulder shifted uncomfortably. She lifted a hand to steady her arm, keeping it as still as possible. "Luna!" she called louder. Her eyes searched through the mess of the museum, eager or frantic, until they finally landed on the familiar face hovering amidst the fallen displays. She let out a breath of relief and darted to her friend, who seemed as golden and beautiful as ever despite the mess of ooze she was covered in. She only paused when her arm gave another painful shift. Her face twisted in pain as she clutched to her wounded shoulder. "Are you okay?" she questioned in a strained tone.
If you have any room....I might possibly maybe for surely be interested. : 3
I think I'll put up one more post and then wait for the collab between Faraday/Luna/Rory (Morena dropped out, I believe). Is that okay? I hope I'm following all of this accurately. ^^'
FaithsRose said
Erm I don't think we (Art's group) ever left the WWII exhibit xD Chucked the civillians out into the hallway I think though, then Freddie's group broke through into the WWII exhibit. Naka might be just down the hall (?) I made a wall disappear between the dino exhibit and WWII exhibit so Luna is somewhere near dinosaur bones ^^' I thought Marlowe left Rory and Morena to fight off soldiers while he shot off to help Mila and possibly Spencer that are somewhere else?@_@I think that's the gist of it :S I could be wrong though...>.<
That helps so much!
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