one more five horu drive to home...then ill stop spamming the status bar. promise. go back to only updating it once every few months
2
likes
2 yrs ago
back in my home state. actually a real nice hotel compared to the last one that had cockroaches in the bathroom. so thats cool and good. ready to get home tomorrow. blehhhhjgkjgkjhatk
June pointed accusatorily toward Carter. "Yes! I saw you, fearing. We should be leaving you behind. Mallory could have died because of you." She was visibly upset. Standing to her feet, she crossed her arms and stared daggers at the selfish American. They can't trust him.
Mallory nodded at Elijah and stood aswell, clearing her throat. "I would have died if you people hadn't helped me. Clearly, I know what it's like to panic. I don't think we should judge monsieur too harshly. We shouldn't toss him to those...sick people...because of a mistake. That would be murder, not self-defense. Hopefully," The brunette glanced over at Carter, "He and I both have learned more about ourselves today, and wish to improve. Right?"
June looked flabbergasted. "Mallory...!" Both for her defense of the selfish man, and in seemingly surprise at her verbosity.
Mallory took a shaky breathe. Her heart was beating a million miles a minute. She almost wanted to curl into a ball again. Infact, that's almost what she did. Apparently giving a speech like that was almost as terrifying as facing the monsters outside, for she slid back down the wall and hugged her legs to her chest again, though far more lucidly this time.
June recrossed her arms and looked over at Mike, seemingly having noticed something. "You are not with us coming?" She asked, concerned. He had saved their lives, after all. Were it not for him, Mallory and June would still be trapped in their hotel room.
P R O F I L E Standing at five foot, six inches, the lithe, cream-skinned brunette's hair flows past her shoulders when she lets it fall. However, it's almost permanently tied into a tight bun. Prim uniforms, spotless boots, perfect posture. However, don't let her cleanliness and organization mislead you. She is a strong-willed go-getter with a bubbly, optimistic personality. Humor is her coping mechanism of stress and one of her favorite things in life- even though she is only half-decent at coming up with funny things to say. Some would say she is overconfident in her abilities- and they would be right. Jamie playes it aggressive in the air, believing swift and decisive action is the best course to victory. Trained recklessness is what she calls it, but it could very easily turn into foolhardy behavior. Still, she is endlessly confident in almost all situations. Whether it be making friends, completing challenges, or engaging in life or death dogfights, it's rare to see the young woman break under pressure. If she does, she will always choose fight over flight.
Jamie is a true believer and a red-blooded patriot. Antrea is her home and she is proud to live there, willing to defend it at all costs. Not only does she stand by her friends and her country, she also strongly believes in the democratic ideals Antrea represents.
D A Y S - G O N E Born in the small town of Autumn, Andrea, Jamie was the second child born to Delilah and James Teale, Jamie being born three years after her older brother Martin. James wanted to name a kid after him, but apparently he only managed to convince Delilah of this on the second kid instead of the first. Thanks, Dad. Her mother, a nurse, loved chess. Her father, a mechanic, loved engineering. And her brother, Martin, loved his country and wanted to join the army. As you can see, it's no wonder Jamie became a kind, clever, mechanically inclined patriot. Though while she loved her family, there was something nagging on it. Jamie was born with a desire, a compulsion even, to fly. Jamie was beginning to resent Autumn, despite how much she loved it. So she told her parents she would become a commercial airliner pilot. Autumn did have an aviation community that she was able to participate in. She had her pilot's liscence by 18.
That was until her brother was wounded in combat four years ago. Of course, the parents wanted their son back as soon as possible. But for Jamie, it only served to unearth the nationalist ferver within the young woman. Though she failed to explain this to her parents, who couldn't possibly understand why she would want to do such a thing. Unfortunately they couldn't stop her, and after an argument, Jamie left Autumn on bad terms with her parents. It makes her heart hurt, to be pulled in two different directions. But Jamie feels she has a duty and an obligation to this country. It had been good to her, after all, and were it to fall, so would Autumn. That little boring town she loves so much.
M E M O R I E S None yet
S K I L L SSkills: Gifted(+5): Dogfighting, Fighter. Aircraft Maintenance. Adept(+4): Dogfighting, Attacker. Dogfighting, Multirole. Engine Mechanics. Average(+3): Persuasion. First Aid. Military Science. Novice(+2): Marksmanship. History. Dogfighting, Bombers. Firearms.
A I R - C R A F T
20mm Gun, Standard Lock-on Missles A slim supersonic interceptor from the Century series of fighters. Its thrusters and small, thin, trapezoidal wings allow it to fly at great speeds, meaning it even stands up to more modern craft.
P R O F I L E Standing at five foot, six inches, the lithe, cream-skinned brunette's hair flows past her shoulders when she lets it fall. However, it's almost permanently tied into a tight bun. Prim uniforms, spotless boots, perfect posture. However, don't let her cleanliness and organization mislead you. She is a strong-willed go-getter with a bubbly, optimistic personality. Humor is her coping mechanism of stress and one of her favorite things in life- even though she is only half-decent at coming up with funny things to say. Some would say she is overconfident in her abilities- and they would be right. Jamie playes it aggressive in the air, believing swift and decisive action is the best course to victory. Trained recklessness is what she calls it, but it could very easily turn into foolhardy behavior. Still, she is endlessly confident in almost all situations. Whether it be making friends, completing challenges, or engaging in life or death dogfights, it's rare to see the young woman break under pressure. If she does, she will always choose fight over flight.
Jamie is a true believer and a red-blooded patriot. Antrea is her home and she is proud to live there, willing to defend it at all costs. Not only does she stand by her friends and her country, she also strongly believes in the democratic ideals Antrea represents.
D A Y S - G O N E Born in the small town of Autumn, Andrea, Jamie was the second child born to Delilah and James Teale, Jamie being born three years after her older brother Martin. James wanted to name a kid after him, but apparently he only managed to convince Delilah of this on the second kid instead of the first. Thanks, Dad. Her mother, a nurse, loved chess. Her father, a mechanic, loved engineering. And her brother, Martin, loved his country and wanted to join the army. As you can see, it's no wonder Jamie became a kind, clever, mechanically inclined patriot. Though while she loved her family, there was something nagging on it. Jamie was born with a desire, a compulsion even, to fly. Jamie was beginning to resent Autumn, despite how much she loved it. So she told her parents she would become a commercial airliner pilot. Autumn did have an aviation community that she was able to participate in. She had her pilot's liscence by 18.
That was until her brother was wounded in combat four years ago. Of course, the parents wanted their son back as soon as possible. But for Jamie, it only served to unearth the nationalist ferver within the young woman. Though she failed to explain this to her parents, who couldn't possibly understand why she would want to do such a thing. Unfortunately they couldn't stop her, and after an argument, Jamie left Autumn on bad terms with her parents. It makes her heart hurt, to be pulled in two different directions. But Jamie feels she has a duty and an obligation to this country. It had been good to her, after all, and were it to fall, so would Autumn. That little boring town she loves so much.
M E M O R I E S None yet
S K I L L S
Your character's skills they possess, taken from the OOC.
Skills: Gifted(+5): Dogfighting, Fighter. Aircraft Maintenance. Adept(+4): Dogfighting, Attacker. Dogfighting, Multirole. Dogfighting, Bombers. Engine Mechanics. Average(+3): Persuasion. First Aid. Military Science. Novice(+2): Marksmanship. History.
A I R - C R A F T
The character's starting air craft. Pick 1.
20mm Gun, Standard Lock-on Missles A slim supersonic interceptor from the Century series of fighters. Its thrusters and small, thin, trapezoidal wings allow it to fly at great speeds, meaning it even stands up to more modern craft.
Well, here's my character submission. Let me know if there's anything at all I could change or add. I'm going to be logging off soon, so I might not be able to reply until morning.
J A M I E T E A L E ◄ 23 ▎ FEMALE ▎ 5'6 ►
P R O F I L E Standing at five foot, six inches, the lithe, cream-skinned brunette's hair flows past her shoulders when she lets it fall. However, it's almost permanently tied into a tight bun. Prim uniforms, spotless boots, perfect posture. However, don't let her cleanliness and organization mislead you. She is a strong-willed go-getter with a bubbly, optimistic personality. Humor is her coping mechanism of stress and one of her favorite things in life- even though she is only half-decent at coming up with funny things to say. Some would say she is overconfident in her abilities- and they would be right. Jamie playes it aggressive in the air, believing swift and decisive action is the best course to victory. Trained recklessness is what she calls it, but it could very easily turn into foolhardy behavior. Still, she is endlessly confident in almost all situations. Whether it be making friends, completing challenges, or engaging in life or death dogfights, it's rare to see the young woman break under pressure. If she does, she will always choose fight over flight.
Jamie is a true believer and a red-blooded patriot. Antrea is her home and she is proud to live there, willing to defend it at all costs. Not only does she stand by her friends and her country, she also strongly believes in the democratic ideals Antrea represents.
D A Y S - G O N E Born in the small town of Autumn, Andrea, Jamie was the second child born to Delilah and James Teale, Jamie being born three years after her older brother Martin. James wanted to name a kid after him, but apparently he only managed to convince Delilah of this on the second kid instead of the first. Thanks, Dad. Her mother, a nurse, loved chess. Her father, a mechanic, loved engineering. And her brother, Martin, loved his country and wanted to join the army. As you can see, it's no wonder Jamie became a kind, clever, mechanically inclined patriot. Though while she loved her family, there was something nagging on it. Jamie was born with a desire, a compulsion even, to fly. Jamie was beginning to resent Autumn, despite how much she loved it. So she told her parents she would become a commercial airliner pilot. Autumn did have an aviation community that she was able to participate in. She had her pilot's liscence by 18.
That was until her brother was wounded in combat four years ago. Of course, the parents wanted their son back as soon as possible. But for Jamie, it only served to unearth the nationalist ferver within the young woman. Though she failed to explain this to her parents, who couldn't possibly understand why she would want to do such a thing. Unfortunately they couldn't stop her, and after an argument, Jamie left Autumn on bad terms with her parents. It makes her heart hurt, to be pulled in two different directions. But Jamie feels she has a duty and an obligation to this country. It had been good to her, after all, and were it to fall, so would Autumn. That little boring town she loves so much.
M E M O R I E S None yet
S K I L L SSkills: Gifted(+5): Dogfighting, Fighter. Aircraft Maintenance. Adept(+4): Dogfighting, Attacker. Dogfighting, Multirole. Engine Mechanics. Average(+3): Persuasion. First Aid. Military Science. Novice(+2): Marksmanship. History. Dogfighting, Bombers. Firearms.
A I R - C R A F T
20mm Gun, Standard Lock-on Missles A slim supersonic interceptor from the Century series of fighters. Its thrusters and small, thin, trapezoidal wings allow it to fly at great speeds, meaning it even stands up to more modern craft.
Pick-pocketing is easier than one would assume. The main ingredient is confidence. Have the guts to snag someone’s wallet from their back pocket or even their hand, and the rest will come soon after. It helped, of course, that Clara Cabello had quick fingers. She was operating farther away from her house than usual, out towards the university. Where people didn’t expect crime to happen.
The best marks are distracted people. People are on their phones a lot now which certainly helps. So when Clara was walking inconspicuously down the street and saw a short legged jogger texting someone on her phone, she knew what to do. Approaching from behind, Clara quickly spotted the obvious wallet in the jogger’s pocket. Wait for it…
Clara bumped into the girl with her shoulder, effortlessly slipping her hand into the pocket and removing the wallet with surgical precision. ”Hey, sorry,” She apologized, holding the wallet in front of her so it couldn’t be seen.
"It’s-- ...Fine."
Unfortunately, you couldn't always have things go smooth.
The wallet had been successfully excavated, but it was fairly fat. It looked like a haul for sure, but heft like that was a bit easier to notice when you were used to it always being tightly crammed in your pocket. The girl turned in Clara's direction and began following her; lowering her phone and sliding it into her pocket: The same pocket Clara had stolen the wallet from.
She looked like a pipsqueak, not that much of an issue. Kind of smelled like sweat, too. Ick. But the fact she was following wasn't a good sign: Everything was moreso pointing towards trouble. "The easy solution is to just give it back." The girl said, tone somewhat flat. Shouldn't a kid that knew she was being robbed call the police or try to get help? Was she cocky, stupid... Or both?
Clara turned around, taking a larger step forward to make more space between the jogger and herself. Her heart rate began to increase- the rewards were great but the rush was better. Even if it was only a little. ”Give what back?” She shrugged innocently, opening her now empty palms towards the jogger, still continuing to walk backwards. The fat wallet was in her back pocket now.
"You're quick with your hands, but it's not funny." The girl responded, patting her pocket. She picked up speed to close their distance between one another, seeming to eagerly be approaching despite potential danger: It seemed she really was stupid. "If you give me the wallet, I won't have to call the police." She added, still progressing forward. She almost looked ready to sprint.
The thief grinned, looking down to the jogger’s shoes. ”Okay, shortstuff.” She reached into her back pocket and took the wallet in her hand. With that, Clara whirled around and began sprinting down the street. This was going to be fun. It had been awhile since Clara had been chased- and she’d never been caught before. Already her sneakers were slamming down on the side-walk’s pavement, she had good form considering she’d never done school sports.
The chase was on: The jogger wasn't as fast as she expected, but she seemed steady on her feet. She was persistent, too: Even if she sucked at dodging between the crowd as the chase went on, she changed tactics to pushing people out of the way to keep up her speed like she was some miniature bull with anger issues. Actually, she did look pretty peeved: Maybe the shortstuff comment got to her more than expected, judging by that scrunched up angry face. That only made the situation better, of course.
"You aren't getting away!" The jogger shouted, despite having not closed much distance between them.
Clara suddenly veered off down an alley between two convenience stores. There was a chain link fence about five feet high. Grinning, Clara leaped into the air and vaulted over it. There was no grace in her technique but there was speed. Her legs flailed briefly before slamming down on the concrete. Barely losing a step, she sprinted off down the alleyway. Crossing the street (was the light red?) she began making her way to what looked like a large complex of various buildings. Might be easier to lose her in their. Sticking mostly to the sidewalk, the thief made her way towards Empire State University. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to see what her mark was doing.
It almost seemed like she lost that jogger, but then the short runner came out from around a corner still bolting at full speed. The best assumption was she totally botched getting over the fence and probably had to climb it like a slowpoke because the fence was taller than she was. What a determined little munchkin she was turning out to be: She even looked like she had steam coming out of her nose with how upset she was getting that she was being left behind.
She'd be eating dust until this chase was over, it was funny she thought she even had a chance to actually get her wallet back.
Clara would just have to break line of sight, and fortunately there were plenty of buildings available to do so. This college was connected via various paved paths, and there was a staircase that let into a courtyard from which many more escape routes were presented. That was where the thief would go next.
Her feet rotated rapidly as she descended down the stairs. Soon, she’d be home-
”What the fuck-!?” There was some kind of violent attack on her senses. Like someone had stabbed her in the eyes and filled her nose with poison. It was revolting. Clara lost her balance and scrambled out to catch the railing, but she could barely see a thing. With several grunts she tumbled down the flight of stairs and landed on her back. The last few steps were particularly troublesome, and with a solid crack Clara’s world went dark. The wallet had obviously slipped from her grasp and was laying at her feet. Now it wasn’t just her head that was fucked; her elbows, knees, sides, and the back of her head were throbbing with pain.
Clara coughed, curling up into a ball. Shit, that hurt. Move, Clara! There's no time to waste. She had to...
Things went black.
...
"Hello?? Are you--"
Despite the black, a voice kept cutting in.
"What the hell--"
"--Is this burning feeling?!"
Not very familiar, but it was heard recently.
"I need an ambulance--"
"Empire State University--"
"My name is Lindy Audrum; Please, just hurry!"
That jogger.
"You have to wake up; Help is on the way!" The girl insisted, kneeled down at Clara's side. Her eyes were watering, and she was shaking from what could only be assumed as pain. "Whatever's happening with this... Burning... We'll get out of here!"
Clara closed her eyes and then opened them, refocusing on the jogger. Tears started to stream down her face and her gaze was confused and delirious. What the Hell was going on? Clara gasped and shakily reached a hand out, grabbing the jogger by the collar of her tank top and attempting to pull herself up.
”No! No-, fucking cops!” She spat, falling back onto her back.
"There's no police, damn it! You think that matters right now?!" The girl retorted, gritting her teeth out of both irritation and agony for what she was feeling.
"I called an ambulance! You're getting taken to the hospital, you're bleeding! And whatever the hell is in the air--" She cut herself off with a hiss of pain as she fell backwards into a sitting position, aggressively rubbing her eyes in an attempt to get rid of whatever the hell was causing it.
Clara rolled onto her belly and began pushing herself off the ground until she was on her knees. ”Fuck off! I’m fine!” The thief swore, dismissing the jogger with a wild wave. There were a few lines blood running down the back of her neck out of her auburn hair.
”I just...gotta go home…” She began crawling over to the railing to pull herself up.
The girl lowered her hands, pushing herself to her feet after she witnessed Clara trying to crawl away. "You're an idiot: Do you even realize you could die? Just wait, the ambulance will be here any minute!" She approached and grabbed onto Clara, gripping her shirt as to not let her continue to crawl.
Clara reacted violently. ”No fucking cops! Blindly she planted her hands on the joggers torso and shoved her away, the momentum carried Clara down a few steps, but she steadied herself. Blinking hard, she tried to make something out of the bleary fog of her vision. Where’d she go?
What had been a shove to escape ended up being much worse.
The jogger laid against the stairs; motionless. A crimson leaking out from her head from an impact against one of the steps, slowly adding up on the step below where her head laid. The only sight of movement was her breathing, showing that she was still alive if someone looked close enough.
Clara felt a stab of guilt. Quickly, she shifted the blame back onto the jogger. ”God damn it!" She swore, pulling herself up via the railing, her eyes still on the jogger. Clara didn’t ask for help. Clara didn’t ask for help!
”Didn’t fucking ask!” She said aloud, though the girl didn’t respond. Regaining her balance Clara began stumbling back up the stairs. People all around were running or on the ground. At the top of the stairs Clara looked over her shoulder back down at the jogger, who still hadn’t moved. She had to get away. Had to go home. Warm liquid trickled down her back. Looking away from her crime, Clara straightened up and ran away into the chaos. Sirens wailed in the distance, filling the air with their horrible cries. The thief clenched her jaw and quickened her pace.
There were many people around. Easy to slip in and out. Time passed- Clara's memory was spotty. She knew the way home, but she wasn't able to remember the journey. Man- she was really fucked up. And not in the good way, either. This was some next level fuckery. Everything hurt. Hadn't she only hit her head? Why did everything hurt? This was bullshit. AJ. AJ, where are you?
Home was a bit of an overstatement. In a particular back alley near a particular bridge, there was a collection of various tents and sleeping bags. Had to get home.
"Hey, Clara- you okay?" Someone asked. Clara had to get home. Holding the back of her head, her right hand now covered in blood, she ran over to AJ's tent.
"Hey, sorry Alejandra. I need your help." She said in an uncharacteristically montone voice, speaking to the inside of the orange tent.
"Yeah yeah, what's up, sis?" The voice of a younger woman called from within the tent. A dark-haired head poked out of the tent, looking up at Clara. Clara fell onto her knees with a grunt, her hands falling away from her head.
"Somethin' happened. Can you take me...to Doc?" It would cost a lot of money. But it was safe. Doc had connections.
Alejandra shrieked and went to steady her best friend by the shoulders, scrambling out of the tent. Clara looked far worse than she realised. Tears were streaming down her reddened face, blood streaked down the back of her neck. This was no bad hangover.
"Yeah, yeah, of course! Come on! Stay awake, you gotta stay awake. Can someone help us!?" She called out. A few people rushed over.
"Do I really gotta stay awake?" Clara mumbled, leaning her weight onto AJ, resting her chin on her shoulder. Alejandra held back a sob.
"Yeah, yeah you do. You really do. Please, Clara. Stay awake." She pushed Clara away to look into the face of Clara. Clara blinked slowly, giving her smile.
"Okay, fine. For you. Boop." She touched her finger against AJ's nose. Despite the darkness at the edges of her vision and the swimming of her head, Clara kept her gaze trained on the bright green eyes of her best friend.
Alejandra giggled hysterically. "You're so stupid. You're gonna be okay."
"I hurt someone." Clara murmered. Someone wrapped their arms underneath her armpits, and AJ grabbed her by the ankles.
"Yeah? I'm sorry that happened, Clara." AJ said, glancing around, giving directions to whoever was holding Clara's upper section.
"I didn't mean too." Clara frowned. Her head lolled back. Her hair, a deep auburn red, dangled beneath her hovering form in a long ponytail. Brown, watery eyes searched a blue sky for signs.
"I know you didn't." AJ reassured her.
"There was somethin' in the air."
"Was it love?"
"No, stupid." Clara giggled, and went silent.
"Clara?" AJ asked.
"Clara?"
AJ? AJ? You ever shut up?" Clara responded mockingly, blinking a few times as something strange stirred within her chest.
"Not today, Clara, not today."
The last thing Clara remembered of that day was AJ screaming as blood bubbled from over her lips.
September 5th, somewhere in Hell's Kitchen
Money was the biggest concern on Clara's mind. Illicit, under the radar health care didn't come cheap. They in debt, and out of money. Doc expected to be paid back soon. Clara, AJ, and Doctor "Doc" Reséndiz were standing in a well lit, sterile, but clearly not official hospital room. There was a dimming neon light swinging overhead. The doctor was in some kind of contimination get-up, and AJ had a simple face mask on. No one knew the effects of whatever Clara had gone through. No one else had come to the Doctor after the Incident who was directly gassed in the attack. Only Clara was unfortunate enough to be at the sight of the attack and have enough heat on her that she couldn't go to a real hospital. Fortunately, this meant Clara could have her own room and be treated especially well by the illegal doctor, unlike most victims of the attack. Still, the young thief had certainly broken state quarantine, but she really couldn't care less.
"Consider yourself lucky, chica." The man said, adjusting the glasses on the edge of his nose. "Lotsa people are already dead or dying. Whatever they did at the university was bad shit. Like I said, you look like you're gonna make it, though." He said, looking down from the otherside of the makeshift hospital room. AJ broke down in relieved sobbing, which Clara couldn't believe.
"Like I ever even had a fuckin' chance of dyin'," She commented, rubbing the bandage wrapped around her head
"You were puking up blood, dumbass!" AJ swore lovingly, punching Clara in the arm.
"Ow! I puke up blood all the time! I'm fine!" She protested defensively, trying to reassure AJ. Thus far, Clara had been the one taking care of AJ. The two were an inseperable team, but Clara was the older one. The leader. She didn't like that AJ saw her in such a vulnerable position. It can't be good for her. Though Clara was putting up a good front, she felt awful on the inside. Felt like her skin was about to fly off. Clara grunted, pushing herself up into a sitting position.
"So, Doc, how much do we owe ya?" Clara asked trepidatiously.
Doc considered this for a moment. Gears grinded between his ears. Crunching the numbers and spitting out broken people. "Your symptons were quite unique. I'd say this put you back twenty thousand dollars."
Clara's heart dropped deep into her stomach. AJ put her face in her palms. "Yeah, okay. No problem, Doc." She managed, her voice breaking a little bit. All this for what- a wallet? Son of a bitch.
"I hope so, chica." Doc nodded. "Health ain't cheap. Not like I got insurance providers helpin' cover costs 'round here. 400 bucks a month will do it no problem. I like you, Clara. Please don't disappoint me." Clara nodded. The doc adjusted his white coat and left the room.
AJ cried silently into her hands. "Hey, sorry Alejandra. This is my fuckin' fault." Clara said sadly.
"It's...it's okay Clara. I just...don't know how we're gonna get that money."
"You know us, AJ. We been through worse. We'll come up with the money somehow." She reassured her best friend. "I could always just sell my kidneys or somethin'," She laughed falsely, as that truly might be the only way out. The joke didn't seem to help, as that was most likely the way the Doctor would get his sunken cost back if they couldn't cough up the dough along with all that blood.
"I'll think of somethin'...I promise." Clara reached her IV-free hand and rested it on AJ's shoulder. They'd think of something. Always did. There was plenty of money out there to be made. The thief just had to to work harder for a little while. A little while. Something painful pulsed within the injured woman, causing her to grunt softly. Carefully she lay her head back on the pillow. Clara closed her eyes, her hand slipping off of AJ's shoulder as the exhausted young woman fell back asleep. AJ wiped her eyes and took her adopted older sister's hand in hers, and waited.
Dareen didn't know what she was expecting. A forgotten guest bedroom? A broom closet? For one thing, she had expecting it to be locked. But it opened easily, and her head leaned in naturally to get a glimpse of the inside. Taking a step inward, she pushed the door open and followed the light's rays to the center of the room.The glint of bored curiosity in her eyes quickly morphed into shame as the truth of the room settled in her gut like a rock. "Oops..." She whispered under her breath.
Looking upon the empty cradle, her cheeks quickly flushed red. She wasn't supposed to be in here. No one was. Maybe she was overthinking it. Perhaps this room did not imply what Dareen knew it did. Much like the Black Widow had peered in Dareen's mind and saw her darkest secrets, Dareen now felt as if she had peered into the mind of Faeril and saw things that noone was meant to see. This room was a dark recess. Retracting her foot over the threshold, Dareen gently shut the door. Why could she never let well enough alone, she wondered? It almost felt like self-sabotage at this point. Should she tell Faeril? Perhaps if she was some kind of moral crusader, but if Faeril never found out about this everyone would be happier. Best pretend like this never happened.
Swiping away at the bottom of her tunic with her hands as if she could simply shake loose the secret of the eyrie, Dareen quietly made her way out of the hallway. Briefly, she paused by Faeril's bedroom. The door was open, and Faeril slept somewhere within. The mercenary...had a lot to make up to the Healer. The debt had only increased. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't going to happen now. Dareen probably couldn't wake up Faeril if she wanted too.
Perhaps she should stay in the hallway, afterall. Faeril might need something when she wakes up, and currently none of the others were inside the eyrie. In order to seem detatched, Dareen went back to the spot she had before. A door down from where Faeril was, outside of Dareen's own guest bedroom. In order to seem busy, she unlooped the quiver from around her shoulder and began counting arrows. Eleven. Eleven arrows left. That distraction did not last long. Might as well count them again. Quietly, the mercenary slid down the wall, moving her knees to her chest. Holding her palm out, a small, well worn sketchbook appeared in her hand from the ether. It was one of the only things she kept vanished. Tucked into the spine was a bundle of charcoal sticks- not nearly as permanent as an ink and quill but suitable for her purposes.
Delicately holding a charcoal stick between her left index finger and thumb, undid the tight bindings of the book and flipped through their well-maintained pages. Sketches of all kinds rest within, most smudged or fading on one way or another. Faces, the human figure, landscapes, animals, objects of interest, buildings, maps. Pruulish words floated between them all, not sentences or dates but rather exclamations or brief proclamations. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Indeed, Dareen had found an unmarked patch of paper next between two older sketches. What to draw? This was meant to be a distraction, but perhaps putting some of her feelings to the page would help take her mind off some things.
A well-dressed woman began to manifest herself within the dark lines of charcoal. Long hair, slender and tall, with wings held close to her back. The faces were always simple and undetailed. Still, Dareen managed to capture some of the elegance and sharpness to the woman's face. She was looking at something in her right hand- something that wasn't there. Dareen would figure it out when she came to it. Soon, the woman was complete. Anyone who knew Faeril could probably tell it was her. Tapping the writing utensil on the corner of the page, Dareen decided on what to draw. There was a toy, now, in Faeril's right hand. Floppy bunny ears, a round body, and four stubby limbs. Staring at the completed illustration for a moment, Dareen slipped the charcoal stick back into the spine of the book and began flipping idly through the pages. The sound of crinkling parchment could barely be heard over the silence of the hallway.
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