05-07-2019, 05:23 AM
[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%; font-family:georgia; text-transform:lowercase"][i]Jackie had long ago learned that Death was the only god that came when you called. A droplet of blood dripped from her brow, grazing her lashes and trailing down her cheek. Glossy red nails reached into the pocket of her black cargo pants, extracting a stained rag to wipe most of the crimson splatter from her face. Tucking the rag away, the femme turned to glance back at the scene she had created behind her. Dark eyes examined the now unrecognizable corpse as she lit her cigarette, gazing over the torn flesh and spilled blood. She took a long drag, eyes squinted in the sunlight. She was merely one of Death’s prophets.
A black feline sat upright upon a tree stump, having witnessed the scene clad in curiosity that had yet to kill him. â€ÂCome, Church,†his owner beckoned, and with a prick of his ears, he trotted after her. The two black haired prophets continued their journey down the worn trail that split the mountain range. The Badlands had a bloody trail, and despite what warnings Jackie had heard, she did not care to yield to them. They were sharp and intense and deadly and everything Jackie was. The femme couldn’t help but wonder if this was where people like her found their home.
Adjusting the small bulletproof vest she wore, the dark haired girl scanned the area as she cleared a small woodland, nearing the border of the city. Her heeled boots crunched upon the gravel, cigarettes and a metallic smell lingering faintly upon her. A manicured hand clutched the bloodied pistol, and with her other she took the last drag from her cigarette before flicking it to the floor, crushing the creation to nothingness under her boots. â€ÂI’m looking to join,†she announced in effort to avoid any overly-defensive approachers. She’d wait at the border, Churchhill beside her. Fortunately, the two were very good at being patient.
A black feline sat upright upon a tree stump, having witnessed the scene clad in curiosity that had yet to kill him. â€ÂCome, Church,†his owner beckoned, and with a prick of his ears, he trotted after her. The two black haired prophets continued their journey down the worn trail that split the mountain range. The Badlands had a bloody trail, and despite what warnings Jackie had heard, she did not care to yield to them. They were sharp and intense and deadly and everything Jackie was. The femme couldn’t help but wonder if this was where people like her found their home.
Adjusting the small bulletproof vest she wore, the dark haired girl scanned the area as she cleared a small woodland, nearing the border of the city. Her heeled boots crunched upon the gravel, cigarettes and a metallic smell lingering faintly upon her. A manicured hand clutched the bloodied pistol, and with her other she took the last drag from her cigarette before flicking it to the floor, crushing the creation to nothingness under her boots. â€ÂI’m looking to join,†she announced in effort to avoid any overly-defensive approachers. She’d wait at the border, Churchhill beside her. Fortunately, the two were very good at being patient.