When the dark wood fell before me [OPEN; multiple threads welcome!]

[notalighieri]

The battle at the barracks and it's subsequent end had been one hell of a party. Suspenseful, loud and violent; with a crazy kicker for the final act... -everything a half-demon could ask for in terms of entertainment and exercise. More or less, at any rate. Could have had more demons and more gates leading home but hey

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<33333!

[mutings]

She gives him a look that clearly says she's not all that concerned with her own health, and is much more interested in something he mentioned previously. Her eyes grow a little wider as she nods, wishing that she could tell him about what she remembers going through back home. The fact that she can't is frustrating, and she lets out a silent sigh as she forces herself to look down and away from him.

She doesn't necessarily think of herself as being strong, just a survivor. And really, she owes all of her survival to people like Heine and Naoto, to people like Bishop and Badou. They're all the reason she survived long enough to reach the woods, and now it's men like Peter and Neal that keep her safe enough to keep going.

She eventually reaches up with a single hand and begins to slowly write letters in the air. There's a mixture of some sign language there, thanks to lessons she's been giving herself using books from the library.

G-E-R-M-A-N-Y

That's where she's from, she thinks. She remembers Badou mentioning the name once, and it stuck with her. It's the best place to start a story, isn't it?

The beginning, the very first thing I know. Where I'm from. Even if I'm not all that sure about it, I can pretend like it's home and that will be enough.

[notalighieri]

"See that look is exactly what I mean, girl!" Dante lets out a sigh and a soft chuckle, "You needs to look out for yourself more." Though he doesn't push the issue more than that because he knows better. Sometimes, to people like them, it's often a warning on deaf ears and hey... it's her life to do what she wants with.

Dante doesn't know sign language but he watches with patience as she starts to write things in the air. It reminds him of blurry memories of an orphaned childhood; crowded sleeping arrangements and scarred children trying to make sense of a world while simultaneously learning to walk and talk again around their scars. He knits his brow together in concentration.

"Ger.. Germany?" He tilts his head to the side a bit and nods. "I guess I pretty much grew up on the road, in the States. Uh.. America?"

He turns, and wades over tot he shore by his weapons, picks them up and climbs out. We'll call it clean enough for now. At least most of the blood is off and he can probably rub off the rest. "I'm starving and I need a drink..."