(no subject)
The entire thing, as far as Maladicta was concerned, had been a bust. Not in the fun way, or the copper way. In the 'my country doesn't work anymore because its patron deity has gone mad', busted way. She had some scrapes from flying splinters of chipped wood and sparse masonry that had been sent flying when the speeding hunks of lead had ripped through or slammed into them, and she was very, very dishabille and wasn't enjoying it in the slightest.
She hadn't even had a damn horsebow, and those jokers had had guns. It was unsettling her more and more, the thought that she might need one. She didn't want one. She didn't even want the damn sword. For the first time in quite a long time, walking in the almost-dark, she actively missed what she had been. She missed being a vampire. Not as badly as she'd been missing it about twenty minutes ago, when it would have been terribly convenient to be able to walk unimpeded, if somewhat discomfited, through the hail of bullets and simply ripped their Suspect's head from his shoulders with one hand. The other hand, of course, would have been crushing the muzzle of his firearm.
The brief visual gave her a slight sense of satisfaction, but she sighed it away and frowned at the boardwalk planks, clunking dully under her boots with each step. No, no. None of that, she'd moved past it.
The mourning in the werewolf community was also striking her oddly. With F, she'd felt... well she'd felt sad about something, but she was pretty sure it wasn't, physically, F. She hadn't liked or wanted to befriend the other creature. They were connected, it was as basic- if complicated- as that. But not only Angua but the Winchesters seemed deeply upset, and it... Well, the girl had been a dark creature. As well as a girl. Maladicta was still weighing which loss, on sheer principle, was greater, for a given definition of great. She wasn't sure. She was sure she was tired, though, and feeling sore from throwing herself against walls and floors in a kind of self defense she hadn't much participated in before: Ducking.
She was going to be bruised in the morning, she knew that much. And while copious amounts of alcohol would have helped, she only had one direction, and two people in mind at the moment, and nothing but nothing was going to stop or dissuade her from getting exactly what she wanted-
Needed, an inner voice chimed in, in a vaguely condescending and half questioning tone-
at that moment.
She hadn't even had a damn horsebow, and those jokers had had guns. It was unsettling her more and more, the thought that she might need one. She didn't want one. She didn't even want the damn sword. For the first time in quite a long time, walking in the almost-dark, she actively missed what she had been. She missed being a vampire. Not as badly as she'd been missing it about twenty minutes ago, when it would have been terribly convenient to be able to walk unimpeded, if somewhat discomfited, through the hail of bullets and simply ripped their Suspect's head from his shoulders with one hand. The other hand, of course, would have been crushing the muzzle of his firearm.
The brief visual gave her a slight sense of satisfaction, but she sighed it away and frowned at the boardwalk planks, clunking dully under her boots with each step. No, no. None of that, she'd moved past it.
The mourning in the werewolf community was also striking her oddly. With F, she'd felt... well she'd felt sad about something, but she was pretty sure it wasn't, physically, F. She hadn't liked or wanted to befriend the other creature. They were connected, it was as basic- if complicated- as that. But not only Angua but the Winchesters seemed deeply upset, and it... Well, the girl had been a dark creature. As well as a girl. Maladicta was still weighing which loss, on sheer principle, was greater, for a given definition of great. She wasn't sure. She was sure she was tired, though, and feeling sore from throwing herself against walls and floors in a kind of self defense she hadn't much participated in before: Ducking.
She was going to be bruised in the morning, she knew that much. And while copious amounts of alcohol would have helped, she only had one direction, and two people in mind at the moment, and nothing but nothing was going to stop or dissuade her from getting exactly what she wanted-
Needed, an inner voice chimed in, in a vaguely condescending and half questioning tone-
at that moment.