No more sea, no more sun. [Active/Open]
Who: Kari, and anyone you care to introduce her to!
Where: Entrance Hall, but I'm open to the Parlor if you prefer.
When: Night 003
What: The arrival of a foxgirl with a shotgun.
Warnings: None yet!
She tripped, and it was time to adapt again.
The omnipresent smell of sand and sea-salt vanished, in it's place an unfamiliar must of age and dust. The crisp sea air no longer stung her noise with its familiarity, replaced as it was by a cloying thick dust that somehow managed to carry dread on it's campaign of irritation on her nose.
Kari sneezed.
She adjusted the red duffelbag around her shoulder and took in her surroundings; dusty as though in need of a butler, with little more interesting than an umbrella stand with...a very oddly shaped cane therein. Her ears perked; try as she might, she could no longer hear the omnipresent roar of the ocean outside. She was beginning to suspect that she had tripped, and ended up in a different house. This was ridiculous of course, but the hallway she stood in now was completely unfamiliar to her, and carried none of the familiar, even nostalgic tells of an island home. In fact, if anything it seemed...too quiet.
Dead, even.
But, at least, she still had her possessions. A red tanktop, brown cargo pants and hiking boots, all vaguely stained with sand and dust. Her trusty goggles stayed resting on her neck, albeit in need of severe cleaning after a sandstorm. Most importantly, the military-grade shotgun stayed resting in her left arm. There was, at least, that. However, the thick slab of oak that served as a front door refused to yield. Not even to kicking. Worrisome. Especially since it left nothing to do but explore the unfamiliar, dusty house.
(PS - she has fox ears and a tail.)
Where: Entrance Hall, but I'm open to the Parlor if you prefer.
When: Night 003
What: The arrival of a foxgirl with a shotgun.
Warnings: None yet!
She tripped, and it was time to adapt again.
The omnipresent smell of sand and sea-salt vanished, in it's place an unfamiliar must of age and dust. The crisp sea air no longer stung her noise with its familiarity, replaced as it was by a cloying thick dust that somehow managed to carry dread on it's campaign of irritation on her nose.
Kari sneezed.
She adjusted the red duffelbag around her shoulder and took in her surroundings; dusty as though in need of a butler, with little more interesting than an umbrella stand with...a very oddly shaped cane therein. Her ears perked; try as she might, she could no longer hear the omnipresent roar of the ocean outside. She was beginning to suspect that she had tripped, and ended up in a different house. This was ridiculous of course, but the hallway she stood in now was completely unfamiliar to her, and carried none of the familiar, even nostalgic tells of an island home. In fact, if anything it seemed...too quiet.
Dead, even.
But, at least, she still had her possessions. A red tanktop, brown cargo pants and hiking boots, all vaguely stained with sand and dust. Her trusty goggles stayed resting on her neck, albeit in need of severe cleaning after a sandstorm. Most importantly, the military-grade shotgun stayed resting in her left arm. There was, at least, that. However, the thick slab of oak that served as a front door refused to yield. Not even to kicking. Worrisome. Especially since it left nothing to do but explore the unfamiliar, dusty house.
(PS - she has fox ears and a tail.)