. O A K R I D G E C I T Y .
She had sunken in her nails through transit, bedded down deep into her flesh, clawing at the surface in malformed repentance, the fostered guilt that had sired under their brief days apart; speaking only through cryptic missive. Her cheek had nestled against her shoulders, her chin then aligned to her crown, her lashes veiled and coloured soot, ashes over glimmering sapphire. Disturbed by khaki colours and pale, snow hued threads wavering into view, the pin prick of observation intentions coiling tight and bristled. Liesabet inhaled sharp, probably gnashed her chin against silver tresses a little too hard and held on fast. Less the Omega falter and bolt from ‘neath her Alpha.
If anyone else spoke or uttered, she did not register it, nor their presence. For she was tempered down and intact, and thus the she-wolf was placated.
For now.
He searches for something.
But never does he figure out what that something is.
His name is known not by many, and his face known only by fewer. He’s a shadow within the mountains, a legend within the frigid landscapes speculated as some desolate wasteland speckled with taint and tales of ancient worship and forgone praise. He is a man lost and never found and his utterances are manic, and sometimes, tinged with desperation. With eyes to the sky he does wander and wishes not that the title of The Betrayer looms across his shoulders, and wishes not his children bear the same.
But, it is for now. For all the Abendroth heirs are doomed onto for eternity - forevermore.
It was a cage, and the air was pungent; wrought with the still life of machinery and life breathed into their machinations.
Liesabet had only visited the city a mere handful of opportunities, usually at the behest of Celise who she elegantly followed after once the hull yawned open and allowed them to step down from the hatch. The existence of an inner-city unsettled her, it encouraged festering malice and ill favoured trades within a proverbial Black Market, a very one that Intelligence had a solid hold within to garner information and — such a term as maybe Montero would utter — grease palms. Subornation was found within spades, lingered behind fronts of economic gains and pulls, and a quick pan to her mobile provided a brief interlude of recent events occurring yonder these facilitated walls.
Hm.
She registered her identification with the driver, a bracelted cord of metallic flashing briefly with her designation at the scanning, a blurb signaling that her numbers be blotted out at the next opportunity. She nodded her consent, exchanged such for her weapons and reformed her suspension units within her gear and spun her daggers into home at the same time a siren blared. Boards flashed and flickered, interchanging advertisement and proclamations of fame and prizes at the current tournament taking place. Liesabet paused to ruck up the hood of her wears, smoothing the edges down alongside her tresses at the broadcast of The Spirit Within line of rarities to be found within the contest.
An Abendroth name would never be found within those things, she thought, her eyes falling to the crest of her fingers, curling them inward to still their sudden trembling. It was a pure sensory overload, bidding her to nearly bolt, but not before she snagged her gestures around Celise’s delicate wrist, flexed, and thrust out her opposite gesture to immerse themselves into the crowd.
“We’ll head to the harbour then,” she accented, her whisper boiling fluently with a cadence of urgency, such a grace afforded to those only found in the North.
“I don’t like these crowds,” Liesabet growled, eyes aglow, shadow apparitions banked at her rushed steps and billowing outward from her haste, trotting alongside them both with spheres glimmering white in their warped faces, malformed by her own distress. Liesabet worked them through the crowd, by passing most civilians with a snap of her teeth or a violation of her jutted shoulder. She was a creature of lonesome wants and inclinations, and the thickets of market were teeming beyond the threshold of her own tolerance; threatening to collapse them inward. She required hours of preparation and empathetic tampering to fortify her willpower, to ensure her missions were executed without hindrance by the bidding of Intelligence. They had certain tools within place, protocols and dictations that named her as she was: Ulva. Temperance.
“Black Market might have a few things we need, it’s.. not as crowded.” She muttered, glancing down to where she had Celise in a vice and quickly dispelled her grip, allowing her freedom. “If you’re not above such a place. It might be worth checking out before we check in with the naval transport.”
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