Jun 12, 2011 15:53
No! You're not getting your hands on me!
[If anyone's within the vicinity, they might think they've heard something- a disembodied voice that echoes through their mind like a fading dream, an angry shout that can send chills down anyone's spine.
The helmeted motorcyclist stands at the intersection of a street, surrounded by at least a dozen slender, and by quite the contrast, pale figures with bulbous heads and large black eyes. Aliens, by pop culture's default standards.
They creep closer towards her, not seeming very deterred by the fact that Celty forms a long-bladed scythe from seemingly out of nowhere, and this she spins expertly in hands to ward them off.
When they advance, she swings, the sharp blade slicing through the closest ones. That gives the others pause, but not the Dullahan. She's already advancing, following through to lash out at the others. She's not pulling any punches tonight. Those bodies that hit the ground won't move again, and eventually they vanish completely as though they'd never been.
Once she clears the first wave, she steps back towards her bike, keeping wary watch for more. She knows they're there, after all. Waiting, watching. They'll come soon enough. She has to work fast. She pulls out her watch.]
[[Temper-
If anyone knows what's going on, it's usually you.]]
c: [npc] temper vale,
celty sturluson,
c: scott pilgrim