Post by maggieraewolfe on Feb 10, 2011 4:39:17 GMT -5
A cold, cruel wind was blowing, ruffling the figure's short hair. The only sound she could hear was the whistle of the wind and the crunching of the dead leaves and sticks beneath her combat boots. A pair of aviator glasses covered her hard as ice green eyes while one of her hands idly twirled a knife that was decorated with sigils.
Her gait was slow, her posture loose and at ease. From a simple glance, someone may think she's at comfort in her surroundings. However, if one were to look closer, they could see subtle lines of tension in the tightness of her jaw and the way that she was twirling that knife. Despite the glasses, her eyes were constantly roving, constantly looking for any sign of a threat.
She'd heard rumors of a camp specifically designed for refugees and resistors of Lucifer's regime. The rumor had piqued her curiousity, although she couldn't fathom exactly why. She'd heard rumors for a good while now about the many different resistance camps, but she hadn't paid much attention to them. So, what was different about this one? Perhaps it was the persistant whisper that this particular camp was founded by the Archangel Gabriel. Or maybe it was the nagging pull towards something that she couldn't explain.
Or maybe, just maybe, the constant loneliness was getting to her. It seemed that the closest thing to actual human life that she came across now was Croats, and they weren't very good for conversation. Especially since they seemed too busy trying to eat her.
Without realizing it, she began humming. It was a soft sound, barely audible to anyone but her. She'd picked up this habit over the past couple of years because she'd needed to hear something other than her footsteps. At times, it seemed, the near silence almost drove her insane. The humming helped relax her a bit, kept her from being as jumpy and on edge.
Her mind wandered over the past few years, memories flashing through her mind. The day she'd met her Ricky Boy, the fun times they'd had and the laughter they'd shared while they had traveled around the country, the fear and pain she'd felt when she escaped the diner shoot out, the exhileration she'd felt when she'd broken Ricky out of that transport van, everything.
NO! She clenched her teeth, eyes flashing behind her glasses. She was Maggie Rae Wolfe. She was the angelic halfbreed, the abomination, the cold blooded killer. She didn't cry and she didn't dwell on her past. She couldn't afford to allow herself to do these things. If she did, she would break under the pain of it all. She needed to buck up, push the memories to the back of her mind, and keep trekking.
Her hand was clenched so tightly around the handle of the knife that she formerly had been twirling that her knuckles were white. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to loosen her grip upon her knife. As a precaution, she slipped the knife into the sheath that rested on her hip. She didn't want to risk an actual, sane, person coming up on her and she accidently throwing the knife at them. That would probably be a horrible first impression.
Without warning, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her footsteps came to an abrupt stop and her right hand reached up, removing her sunglasses. Someone, or something, was near. She slipped one of the legs of the glasses into the collar of her shirt, looking around warily. She spread her senses out, trying to figure out what it was.
After a few moments, she realized that it wasn't a person or creature that she was sensing, but magic. She let out the small breath that she didn't even realize that she was holding. She hesitated only a brief moment before walking forward once more. She made sure to keep all weapons out of her hands and her hands in clear view in an attempt to show that she was not a threat. She kept her senses spread out about her, not wanting anyone or anything to show up unexpectedly and startle her. She didn't do good when she was startled.
She came to a sudden stop, every muscles taught with tension and apprehension. She could have sworn that she sensed something besides the magic invoked to help protect this place. Not for the first time in her life, Maggie Rae found herself at a figuretive crossroads. Should she walk on until she met the person, or should she stay and wait for them to approach her? Her right foot moved forward and her decision was made. She was going to meet whoever was coming, face to face.
Her gait was slow, her posture loose and at ease. From a simple glance, someone may think she's at comfort in her surroundings. However, if one were to look closer, they could see subtle lines of tension in the tightness of her jaw and the way that she was twirling that knife. Despite the glasses, her eyes were constantly roving, constantly looking for any sign of a threat.
She'd heard rumors of a camp specifically designed for refugees and resistors of Lucifer's regime. The rumor had piqued her curiousity, although she couldn't fathom exactly why. She'd heard rumors for a good while now about the many different resistance camps, but she hadn't paid much attention to them. So, what was different about this one? Perhaps it was the persistant whisper that this particular camp was founded by the Archangel Gabriel. Or maybe it was the nagging pull towards something that she couldn't explain.
Or maybe, just maybe, the constant loneliness was getting to her. It seemed that the closest thing to actual human life that she came across now was Croats, and they weren't very good for conversation. Especially since they seemed too busy trying to eat her.
Without realizing it, she began humming. It was a soft sound, barely audible to anyone but her. She'd picked up this habit over the past couple of years because she'd needed to hear something other than her footsteps. At times, it seemed, the near silence almost drove her insane. The humming helped relax her a bit, kept her from being as jumpy and on edge.
Her mind wandered over the past few years, memories flashing through her mind. The day she'd met her Ricky Boy, the fun times they'd had and the laughter they'd shared while they had traveled around the country, the fear and pain she'd felt when she escaped the diner shoot out, the exhileration she'd felt when she'd broken Ricky out of that transport van, everything.
NO! She clenched her teeth, eyes flashing behind her glasses. She was Maggie Rae Wolfe. She was the angelic halfbreed, the abomination, the cold blooded killer. She didn't cry and she didn't dwell on her past. She couldn't afford to allow herself to do these things. If she did, she would break under the pain of it all. She needed to buck up, push the memories to the back of her mind, and keep trekking.
Her hand was clenched so tightly around the handle of the knife that she formerly had been twirling that her knuckles were white. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to loosen her grip upon her knife. As a precaution, she slipped the knife into the sheath that rested on her hip. She didn't want to risk an actual, sane, person coming up on her and she accidently throwing the knife at them. That would probably be a horrible first impression.
Without warning, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her footsteps came to an abrupt stop and her right hand reached up, removing her sunglasses. Someone, or something, was near. She slipped one of the legs of the glasses into the collar of her shirt, looking around warily. She spread her senses out, trying to figure out what it was.
After a few moments, she realized that it wasn't a person or creature that she was sensing, but magic. She let out the small breath that she didn't even realize that she was holding. She hesitated only a brief moment before walking forward once more. She made sure to keep all weapons out of her hands and her hands in clear view in an attempt to show that she was not a threat. She kept her senses spread out about her, not wanting anyone or anything to show up unexpectedly and startle her. She didn't do good when she was startled.
She came to a sudden stop, every muscles taught with tension and apprehension. She could have sworn that she sensed something besides the magic invoked to help protect this place. Not for the first time in her life, Maggie Rae found herself at a figuretive crossroads. Should she walk on until she met the person, or should she stay and wait for them to approach her? Her right foot moved forward and her decision was made. She was going to meet whoever was coming, face to face.