03-19-2020, 09:35 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 480px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 8pt; color: #484848; word-spacing: 4px; line-height: 22px;"]
she's sitting, distracted in the presence of the canine, that she doesn't notice the approach of the man. by the time she does, she knows if he was on the offensive, she'd be too late. awareness of her surroundings was something emphasized in the cuel household, repeated over and over again like the words of a religion. stay aware of your surroundings, stay armed, safety in numbers. her father would have an aneurysm if he saw her now, distracted and alone, her pocket knife buried in her duffel back. she'd never been the careless child, but after hawthorn, her mind hadn't been in the right place. everything was fuzzy and hard to comprehend at times, and all too often, her thoughts drew back to him. he was so goddamn responsible, and even that hadn't saved him.
the man speaks, and, though belated, she's carefully observant. he's around her age, maybe a few years older. fair hair, fair eyes, well built for a mountain. not warm, but his words are polite. she decides not to fish out the pocket knife.
[color=#4a4e54]"he's fine, just fat." she says simply, and begins the process of shoving the canine off of her. it's gentle but firm, and when his eyes open he gives her an annoyed look before slowly standing, stretching and taking his time to climb off of her. he mentions a lodge, and she knows she's in the right place; before she can respond, a second man, a little younger than her, offers her a hand.
she accepts it without hesitation, never quite the wary type, and pulls herself to her feet, brushing the debris off of her rear and glancing between the two. they're better dressed for wintry weather than she is, wearing gloves and proper coats, but she makes no show of being cold or bothered by the weather. instead: [color=#4a4e54]"i'm used to colder weather than this." she says simply, grabbing her duffel bag and fixing her hat. [color=#4a4e54]"but i did come to join, if this is the flintlock lodge?" she inquires, stuffing her hands into the pockets of the jeans, cognac gaze shifting between them, unsure who was in charge.
she's sitting, distracted in the presence of the canine, that she doesn't notice the approach of the man. by the time she does, she knows if he was on the offensive, she'd be too late. awareness of her surroundings was something emphasized in the cuel household, repeated over and over again like the words of a religion. stay aware of your surroundings, stay armed, safety in numbers. her father would have an aneurysm if he saw her now, distracted and alone, her pocket knife buried in her duffel back. she'd never been the careless child, but after hawthorn, her mind hadn't been in the right place. everything was fuzzy and hard to comprehend at times, and all too often, her thoughts drew back to him. he was so goddamn responsible, and even that hadn't saved him.
the man speaks, and, though belated, she's carefully observant. he's around her age, maybe a few years older. fair hair, fair eyes, well built for a mountain. not warm, but his words are polite. she decides not to fish out the pocket knife.
[color=#4a4e54]"he's fine, just fat." she says simply, and begins the process of shoving the canine off of her. it's gentle but firm, and when his eyes open he gives her an annoyed look before slowly standing, stretching and taking his time to climb off of her. he mentions a lodge, and she knows she's in the right place; before she can respond, a second man, a little younger than her, offers her a hand.
she accepts it without hesitation, never quite the wary type, and pulls herself to her feet, brushing the debris off of her rear and glancing between the two. they're better dressed for wintry weather than she is, wearing gloves and proper coats, but she makes no show of being cold or bothered by the weather. instead: [color=#4a4e54]"i'm used to colder weather than this." she says simply, grabbing her duffel bag and fixing her hat. [color=#4a4e54]"but i did come to join, if this is the flintlock lodge?" she inquires, stuffing her hands into the pockets of the jeans, cognac gaze shifting between them, unsure who was in charge.