(no subject)
Ysanne remembers the lake from the (first) last time she was here. The days are colder now than they were then, but the lake is still smooth as glass aside from the ancient wooden sailing vessel anchored on it. The air stings with each breath, cold and crisp, exactly the way Isard likes it.
Her hold-out blaster still rests on a rafter in the bar, most likely; she didn't bother to check when the Door opened tonight. She simply passed through the back door and now walks by the lakeside, deep in thought, hands clasped behind her back.
Her uniform is charcoal-colored (not as easy to spot), and the blaster holstered at her hip is black. Only her eyes and the white in her hair stand out in the darkness.
Her hold-out blaster still rests on a rafter in the bar, most likely; she didn't bother to check when the Door opened tonight. She simply passed through the back door and now walks by the lakeside, deep in thought, hands clasped behind her back.
Her uniform is charcoal-colored (not as easy to spot), and the blaster holstered at her hip is black. Only her eyes and the white in her hair stand out in the darkness.