(no subject)
Who: u_n_asplode and, maybe, you.
Where: West of the Shipyard
When: Towards evening, March 21st
Rating: PG-13 because Flandre. Oh, and blood.
Summary: This is how this particular vampire deals with grief; at losing friends, and her adopted father-figure forgetting about her. She probably won't eat you. Probably. Maybe.
the log:
Though it wasn’t quite dark, not yet-more akin to dusk, though a light dusting of snow seemed to encourage the light to linger; a pleasant sight. Less pleasantly towards the seaport was the faint smell of rotting fish that time had not worn away--though today there seemed to be fewer monsters than normal in that area.
With one notable exception-or rather, parts of one.
There was a severed hand…like appendage right in the middle of the intersection between Gar Road and Latimir Street. It may have belonged to a Kenny-it may have belonged to something else, it was really too shredded and mauled about to tell. It wasn’t very old, either, but showed no signs of being eaten or even slightly chewed on. The patches of thin snow around it were scattered about and churned up with struggle, though.
The rest of what could be assumed was the body lay in jumbled bits up and down both streets with almost mathematical precision. Blood was splattered around in angry splashes, not quite dry where it hadn't soaked into the snow. But despite the smell, no monsters had come to investigate, though a pack of wolves bayed in the distance.
There was still a prickling sense of being watched; even to the none-too-sensitive.
But the only living thing in sight was a little girl, with blonde hair and in a red dress and eyes just as red and softly glowing. There are two wings sprouting from her back-if they could be called that. Iron bars shaped like a wing, with eight seven-colored prisms hanging beneath, like very strange luminescent ornaments.
There’s blood on her dress, and she had flopped over on her back in the little bit of clean snow left, like she was going to make a snow angel at any moment.
Then she stirred, lifted her head--and stares straight at you.
((OOC: Reply in prose or brackets, whatever you'd prefer :3))
Where: West of the Shipyard
When: Towards evening, March 21st
Rating: PG-13 because Flandre. Oh, and blood.
Summary: This is how this particular vampire deals with grief; at losing friends, and her adopted father-figure forgetting about her. She probably won't eat you. Probably. Maybe.
the log:
Though it wasn’t quite dark, not yet-more akin to dusk, though a light dusting of snow seemed to encourage the light to linger; a pleasant sight. Less pleasantly towards the seaport was the faint smell of rotting fish that time had not worn away--though today there seemed to be fewer monsters than normal in that area.
With one notable exception-or rather, parts of one.
There was a severed hand…like appendage right in the middle of the intersection between Gar Road and Latimir Street. It may have belonged to a Kenny-it may have belonged to something else, it was really too shredded and mauled about to tell. It wasn’t very old, either, but showed no signs of being eaten or even slightly chewed on. The patches of thin snow around it were scattered about and churned up with struggle, though.
The rest of what could be assumed was the body lay in jumbled bits up and down both streets with almost mathematical precision. Blood was splattered around in angry splashes, not quite dry where it hadn't soaked into the snow. But despite the smell, no monsters had come to investigate, though a pack of wolves bayed in the distance.
There was still a prickling sense of being watched; even to the none-too-sensitive.
But the only living thing in sight was a little girl, with blonde hair and in a red dress and eyes just as red and softly glowing. There are two wings sprouting from her back-if they could be called that. Iron bars shaped like a wing, with eight seven-colored prisms hanging beneath, like very strange luminescent ornaments.
There’s blood on her dress, and she had flopped over on her back in the little bit of clean snow left, like she was going to make a snow angel at any moment.
Then she stirred, lifted her head--and stares straight at you.
((OOC: Reply in prose or brackets, whatever you'd prefer :3))