(no subject)
[OOM: Iceheart keeps herself busy.]
The woman who steps through the door tonight is tall, dressed in a crisp red uniform with simple rank insignia on the left shoulder. She is middle-aged, and maybe she would be beautiful if it weren't for the sharp cast to her features, framed by a thick lock of white hair on either side of her face, and if it weren't for her eyes; one blood-red and the other cold as Hoth, frigid blue. If one stands close enough, they might catch the faint scent of sandalwood.
If Ysanne Isard is surprised to find herself in Milliways, she shows no sign of it. She glances back at the door, dark hair swaying, and then she turns back to the bar at large and smiles. There's no warmth to the expression, no joy; simply cold satisfaction.
She begins making her way to the bar, boot heels clicking on the floorboards. Click. Click. Click.
[Plot-locked, please and thank you.]
The woman who steps through the door tonight is tall, dressed in a crisp red uniform with simple rank insignia on the left shoulder. She is middle-aged, and maybe she would be beautiful if it weren't for the sharp cast to her features, framed by a thick lock of white hair on either side of her face, and if it weren't for her eyes; one blood-red and the other cold as Hoth, frigid blue. If one stands close enough, they might catch the faint scent of sandalwood.
If Ysanne Isard is surprised to find herself in Milliways, she shows no sign of it. She glances back at the door, dark hair swaying, and then she turns back to the bar at large and smiles. There's no warmth to the expression, no joy; simply cold satisfaction.
She begins making her way to the bar, boot heels clicking on the floorboards. Click. Click. Click.
[Plot-locked, please and thank you.]