[Open | Ongoing]

[daystararcher]

Who: Abigail Whistler, OTA
When: Early evening, May 18th
Where: Somewhere in the park then who knows
Rating: PG to PG-13
Summary: Abby needs to blow off some steam and get her thoughts in order. What better way then to practice, practice, practice?

Comments

[_devil_inside]

God, but he was bored. There was shit-all to do around this fucking place; the baddies what had been visible weren't much to worry about, nothing like his usual prey. But Dante was tired of sitting in his warehouse, watching the peeling paint chip. Hence his little jaunt around town.

Noise attracted his ear as he sauntered across the bridge leading to the park; hell, maybe somebody had taken some sort of initiative and was doing something constructive or even better, maybe someone'd found something that needed killing and God wasn't he ripe for that shit? Nevertheless, the hunter veered towards it in his leisurely saunter; no sense getting in a hurry unless the screams started. And even then, it depended on the price.

But what greeted his vision was nothing so sporting as a pack of dragladours devouring some unfortunate citizen whole, just one of the women - a newer one, from the looks of it - beating the hell out of some crappy looking crash test dummies. Still, Dante had to give her credit for finding enough shit to make the things.

And didn't she just look pissed? Suppressing a snerk, the red-coated half-devil simply hopped up on a broken section of wall and watched wordlessly, chewing on a wood sliver in lieu of something constructive to do.

[daystararcher]

The motions were learned, engraved in to her head since the day that she had learned them. Honestly Abby couldn't say how long she had been out there in the park simply trying to wear her anger out of herself, but it had been long enough her arms and her hands were marked with various forms of cuts. Not that it bothered her a single bit. It was part of the course- not to mention something to keep her going.

One solid punch landed at the 'targets' chest was enough to finally get her to stop at least for a moment. That one she might have overdone it a little on, but it wasn't something that was going to stop her from getting right back to practicing. From the corner of her eye she caught a flash of red causing the young woman to quickly turn her head in that direction. He wasn't a man that she knew, the coat being a little over the top in her opinion, but that was just her. Nodding her head in greeting, Abigail stepped back from the target using the time to pull her gloves off to check her knuckles.

[_devil_inside]

Not bad. Not bad at all. Gal had spunk; he'd give her that. Waiting a respectful beat until she'd finished venting her PMS, Dante nodded in return and pulled the piece of wood out of his mouth long enough to drawl by way of hello, "Feel better, do ya?"

But his smile was easy, and his tone light; he wasn't here to start shit, to cop attitude, or any other sort of drama. Used to a much more high action lifestyle, the hunter was plain bored to shit.

Sorry for being slow! Notifs are of fail :(

[daystararcher]

"No."

In all honestly it was going to take a lot for Abby to start feeling better. Of course her definition of better and the man's were probably warped enough that, in some form or fashion, the answer would have still been a no. Tucking her gloves in to her back pockets the woman studied the bruises that were starting to form along her knuckles only allowing a breath through her nose as her only response towards it.

A quick glance towards the man and his easy tone was surprising to say the least. Most people here she had encountered so far either had chips on their shoulders or were soured from their experiences here. Abby's was mostly carry-over. "You're Dante aren't you?"

Not a problem. It happens. ^^

[_devil_inside]

He lifted an eyebrow and cocked a crooked smile to her question, sweeping her a rakish bow from his perch atop the wall. Dante then hopped down to the ground, thumbs hooked in his beltloops as he swaggered over.

"Guilty as charged, doll."

Even though there were no obvious boogies out and about, the hunter wasn't so stupid or naive to saunter about weaponless; his pistols rode his hips and the Alastor was snug in its harness on his back. Coupled with the aged red leather coat, oddly platinum colored hair and bright blue eyes, Dante carried a style all his own. Far from hiding his identity, he tended to flaunt it. Aggressively, sometimes.

But now wasn't one of those times; as lecherous as he was known for being around the female gender, he was far from stupid and had no desire to limp off shamefaced holding a bloody nose in one hand and a tender body part in the other.

So, rather than start off with the typical male bullshit, he simply gestured to the broken up dummies and gave an approving nod. "Not a bad job scrounging, considering the surroundings." The latter was also given a derisive snort of disapproval.