[overflow] Pray to your god, open your heart
Universe: Normal Rift!verse
Time: Present day
Place: The streets of Chicago.
Characters: Paz Mendoza, for a bit of voice testing, so OPEN.
Paz is wandering down the streets of Chicago, humming an old Chilean folk song under her breath. It's one her mother used to sing to her when she was a child, and while their's no excuse for it at the moment, she's feeling a little nostalgic. Churches always tend to make her feel nostalgic, with the way the incense just carries the coppery tinge of blood up to the rafters, mixing the pungent smells in a way that reminds her of home. She hasn't been back to Chile in a little over a century, but her memory is still just as sharp, and she remembers the smell of her village as the walls ran red. It isn't something she's likely to forget either.
It's one of her most prized moments.
Tonight isn't like that night. There are too many archangels in Chicago to get away with it, a Barnam included. The name sits on her tongue like a lead weight she wants to spit out, but she isn't stupid enough to confront him head on. She'll just bide her time. A little here, a little there, and maybe a set of wings for her wall before she leaves, but for right now, just the little church would have to do. Men of faith, so willing to condemn for something that according to their beliefs their god has done -- she took far too much pleasure in turning their skin inside out, but there's no guilt in her steps as she walks. The blood on her clothes is heavy, but it doesn't slow her gait. She just continues to wander down the streets of Chicago, humming along as she goes.
Time: Present day
Place: The streets of Chicago.
Characters: Paz Mendoza, for a bit of voice testing, so OPEN.
Paz is wandering down the streets of Chicago, humming an old Chilean folk song under her breath. It's one her mother used to sing to her when she was a child, and while their's no excuse for it at the moment, she's feeling a little nostalgic. Churches always tend to make her feel nostalgic, with the way the incense just carries the coppery tinge of blood up to the rafters, mixing the pungent smells in a way that reminds her of home. She hasn't been back to Chile in a little over a century, but her memory is still just as sharp, and she remembers the smell of her village as the walls ran red. It isn't something she's likely to forget either.
It's one of her most prized moments.
Tonight isn't like that night. There are too many archangels in Chicago to get away with it, a Barnam included. The name sits on her tongue like a lead weight she wants to spit out, but she isn't stupid enough to confront him head on. She'll just bide her time. A little here, a little there, and maybe a set of wings for her wall before she leaves, but for right now, just the little church would have to do. Men of faith, so willing to condemn for something that according to their beliefs their god has done -- she took far too much pleasure in turning their skin inside out, but there's no guilt in her steps as she walks. The blood on her clothes is heavy, but it doesn't slow her gait. She just continues to wander down the streets of Chicago, humming along as she goes.