littlefoot Member
- Last Seen: MIA
- Old Guild Username: coffeemafia
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 16 (0.00 / day)
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- littlefoot 11 yrs ago
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Dang, don't it it die out... :'(
"I'll go with you," Eliza volunteered, adressing Gavril and Bill. "From what you've said, it might be good to have a woman with you. Anyways, half the town already thinks I'm a witch." Giving a lopsided grin, she started toward the door, but hesitated and darted back to the table. She snatched the bottle of wine that Cyrus had left unfinished and tucked it into her generously-sized hip pouch. Armed with alcohol, a shotgun and a hell of an attitude, Eliza moseyed out the door.
Outside, Bill was smoking and appeared to be lost in thought. Eliza nudged him. "Can I have one of those? I'll trade ya." She showed him the wine, playfully stealthy. The poor man seemed like he needed a drink.
Outside, Bill was smoking and appeared to be lost in thought. Eliza nudged him. "Can I have one of those? I'll trade ya." She showed him the wine, playfully stealthy. The poor man seemed like he needed a drink.
She had been in this room for five minutes and was already beaing called "unruly"? Fucking Catholics.
Eliza looked from person to person, catching each pair of eyes and holding its gaze until it turned away uncomfortably. She didn't get a good feeling from the man with the red eyes. Eliza wasn't one to judge, but this guy was a real piece of work.
And the man that had just walked in, Bill; he seemed about ready to crack. Eliza put on her best comforting voice, a honey-sweet tone she often used with children. "Bill honey, the goddamn army don't care about a little southern town. We take care of our own here, but 'our own' don't mean much. This is all we got."
Tying her long hair back with a red ribbon, Eliza wandered lazily over to sit on the floor by Bill, looking across the room at Cyrus. "So, preacher," she chided, "We going to do anything about these dead guys or just talk about 'em? We all got guns, I think. Let's go get 'em."
Eliza looked from person to person, catching each pair of eyes and holding its gaze until it turned away uncomfortably. She didn't get a good feeling from the man with the red eyes. Eliza wasn't one to judge, but this guy was a real piece of work.
And the man that had just walked in, Bill; he seemed about ready to crack. Eliza put on her best comforting voice, a honey-sweet tone she often used with children. "Bill honey, the goddamn army don't care about a little southern town. We take care of our own here, but 'our own' don't mean much. This is all we got."
Tying her long hair back with a red ribbon, Eliza wandered lazily over to sit on the floor by Bill, looking across the room at Cyrus. "So, preacher," she chided, "We going to do anything about these dead guys or just talk about 'em? We all got guns, I think. Let's go get 'em."
Eliza opened her eyes to find that she could see nothing more than when they were closed.
Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach. She was startled to feel a limp hand under her shoulder, and when her eyes had adjusted to the dark she discovered a grizzled man drooling on the ground. His name was Silas, and she had been drinking in the church attic with him all afternoon. Shit.
Stumbling to her feet, Eliza pulled on her boots and adjusted her skirt. Her white tlouse was stained with hooch and sticky with sweat, but it would have to do for now. Silas was snoring, and she looked away from him in disgust. He was a loathsome sonofabitch, but he always had alcohol on his person. To Eliza, this was a plus. If the oaf ever touched her she'd tear his fucking throat out, but for now it was good to have a friend.
Eliza kelt down to rifle through Silas's pockets. 25 cents and a pocket watch. Poor bastard. She pocketed the money and left the watch, which read 9:07, on the ground next to him. People would be arriving at the chapel right about now to help guard the town from the evil that threatened it at night. Eliza's Yellow Boy was leaning against the wall, and she grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder.
Taking a last swig from the bottle by Silas's feet, she opened the trap door in the floor of the attic and creaked down the ladder to the wooden floor of the church. Cyrus was talking to someone around the corner, so she closed the door quietly and took a deep breath. Her hair was in her face. She pushed it aside.
Peering around the corner, she addressed the back of Cyrus's head. "Evening, old man. We gonna have company tonight?"
Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach. She was startled to feel a limp hand under her shoulder, and when her eyes had adjusted to the dark she discovered a grizzled man drooling on the ground. His name was Silas, and she had been drinking in the church attic with him all afternoon. Shit.
Stumbling to her feet, Eliza pulled on her boots and adjusted her skirt. Her white tlouse was stained with hooch and sticky with sweat, but it would have to do for now. Silas was snoring, and she looked away from him in disgust. He was a loathsome sonofabitch, but he always had alcohol on his person. To Eliza, this was a plus. If the oaf ever touched her she'd tear his fucking throat out, but for now it was good to have a friend.
Eliza kelt down to rifle through Silas's pockets. 25 cents and a pocket watch. Poor bastard. She pocketed the money and left the watch, which read 9:07, on the ground next to him. People would be arriving at the chapel right about now to help guard the town from the evil that threatened it at night. Eliza's Yellow Boy was leaning against the wall, and she grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder.
Taking a last swig from the bottle by Silas's feet, she opened the trap door in the floor of the attic and creaked down the ladder to the wooden floor of the church. Cyrus was talking to someone around the corner, so she closed the door quietly and took a deep breath. Her hair was in her face. She pushed it aside.
Peering around the corner, she addressed the back of Cyrus's head. "Evening, old man. We gonna have company tonight?"
Dang guys, let's get this show on the road. I'm excited :D
Name: Eliza Hays
Age: 23
Race: Caucasian (Human?)
Appearance:
Gender: female
Personality: Eliza is a trouble maker. Always looking for a fight, she can be just as crass and mean and downright dirty as the boys, but around Cyrus (and plenty of other members of the small town) she's sweet as a pie. She likes to get her way; try to boss her around and you'll regret it. Always has a nasty trick up her sleeve.
Biography: One morning when Eliza was 7, she woke up with a black eye and a few bruised ribs. It wasn't the first time this had happened; she liked to talk back, and her daddy liked her to shut up and do what he said. Eliza didn't think he was very smart, and she was right. That morning, she rolled put of bed, marched into the kitchen, kicked her abusive father (who was passed out drunk on the floor) in the shins and skipped out the door. She hopped onto a passing caravan, scraped her knee and hopped off in Paradise, where Cyrus took her in and raised her in his church.
At the age of 23, Eliza is now a fiesty little marksman who likes to wear trousers under her skirts, and pistols under her trousers. Raised in a house of God, she can recite every hymn and proverb you throw at her, but the ten commandments are not her forte. She's rumoured to have shot a man's private bits clean off, and the spinsters swear they saw her kissing Charlotte Newman last summer. Cyrus taught her everything she knows about guns and what to shoot them at, and she's become quite the monster hunter in the past few years.
Equipment:
Winchester 1866 Yellow Boy
2x M1873 calvary pistol
Remington 1888 Double Derringer
Abilities/Disadvantages: Surpassing Cyrus in marksmanship (most likely due to her superior eyesight), she is most adept at long-range fighting, but she's not all that bad at shooting anything that moves, no matter how far away. She is fast and her reflexes are quick, but she's weak and light as a feather. This can be an advantage in some situations, but she's absolutely useless at any type of melee or hand-to-hand combat.
Age: 23
Race: Caucasian (Human?)
Appearance:
Gender: female
Personality: Eliza is a trouble maker. Always looking for a fight, she can be just as crass and mean and downright dirty as the boys, but around Cyrus (and plenty of other members of the small town) she's sweet as a pie. She likes to get her way; try to boss her around and you'll regret it. Always has a nasty trick up her sleeve.
Biography: One morning when Eliza was 7, she woke up with a black eye and a few bruised ribs. It wasn't the first time this had happened; she liked to talk back, and her daddy liked her to shut up and do what he said. Eliza didn't think he was very smart, and she was right. That morning, she rolled put of bed, marched into the kitchen, kicked her abusive father (who was passed out drunk on the floor) in the shins and skipped out the door. She hopped onto a passing caravan, scraped her knee and hopped off in Paradise, where Cyrus took her in and raised her in his church.
At the age of 23, Eliza is now a fiesty little marksman who likes to wear trousers under her skirts, and pistols under her trousers. Raised in a house of God, she can recite every hymn and proverb you throw at her, but the ten commandments are not her forte. She's rumoured to have shot a man's private bits clean off, and the spinsters swear they saw her kissing Charlotte Newman last summer. Cyrus taught her everything she knows about guns and what to shoot them at, and she's become quite the monster hunter in the past few years.
Equipment:
Winchester 1866 Yellow Boy
2x M1873 calvary pistol
Remington 1888 Double Derringer
Abilities/Disadvantages: Surpassing Cyrus in marksmanship (most likely due to her superior eyesight), she is most adept at long-range fighting, but she's not all that bad at shooting anything that moves, no matter how far away. She is fast and her reflexes are quick, but she's weak and light as a feather. This can be an advantage in some situations, but she's absolutely useless at any type of melee or hand-to-hand combat.
*Displays interest*
Sylvia - Witch
Sylvia's hands trembled as she tended the fire in the small hovel she now called home. It had been even more cold and miserable than usual the last couple of days; their new hiding spot was...undesirable. And Sylvia, of course, being one of the newest of the bunch, was not rewarded with any of the luxuries afforded to the Shade's favorites. She slept on a mat of straw and fabric scraps, wrapping herself in he mother's deep green cloak for warmth. Of course, it could have been worse; her small fire gave a cozy glow to the room, and a stack of books sat on the ground next to it.
Sighing, Sylvia tucked her dress behind her and sat down heavily. She had just begun to contemplate opening a book when she felt something run up her spine. An icy finger pushed her long hair aside, a whisper filling her ear; it was barely audible, but the Shade was good at making himself known. She shivered. Pulling up her hood, she stood and opened the door. The freezing cold air hit her like a slap across the face; she ignored it, pulling her cloak more tightly around her and beginning her trek down the steep path to the camp.
Sylvia's hands trembled as she tended the fire in the small hovel she now called home. It had been even more cold and miserable than usual the last couple of days; their new hiding spot was...undesirable. And Sylvia, of course, being one of the newest of the bunch, was not rewarded with any of the luxuries afforded to the Shade's favorites. She slept on a mat of straw and fabric scraps, wrapping herself in he mother's deep green cloak for warmth. Of course, it could have been worse; her small fire gave a cozy glow to the room, and a stack of books sat on the ground next to it.
Sighing, Sylvia tucked her dress behind her and sat down heavily. She had just begun to contemplate opening a book when she felt something run up her spine. An icy finger pushed her long hair aside, a whisper filling her ear; it was barely audible, but the Shade was good at making himself known. She shivered. Pulling up her hood, she stood and opened the door. The freezing cold air hit her like a slap across the face; she ignored it, pulling her cloak more tightly around her and beginning her trek down the steep path to the camp.
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