..Are you scared of the shadows...{SK, Open}
Dec 11, 2010 1:45:48 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Dec 11, 2010 1:45:48 GMT -5
It had been a tiring day before, in all honesty. Marcelli Phote was not built or designed for physical labor, unless it required special tasks like slipping a flask of grey earl oil into someones drink, thus, knocking them out for the next few... eternities. She couldn't haul a bucket of water without complaining, but, she could haul a body.
In complex situations, I assume she appreciated the way she could do things. The way she could try to keep herself safe. And others. Not a compassion, really, but it was something she could do.
Thats why, when she finally stumbled into her tent the midafternoon previous, fingers numb through the thin gloves that somebody had leftover and hair smelling like smoke and canned lobster, she had mumbled something obcene under her breath, sending small puffs of steam throughout the tent.
She had decided to sleep, like she was assigned to do for six hours, before being shoved a plate of campfire beans and being sent to the edge of camp to observe the horizon for any intruders. And if any came, she would alert them.
She had put a hat on her head, and curled under the slick surface of the sleeping bag, and slept for a good six hours, until the rain started hitting the tent, and she had to emerge from the small cacoon she called the sleeping bag, annoyance and her normal "I dont care about anything that is living" attitude.
She had decided to emerge only for the reason of serving a purpose. And she was hungry enough to inch slowly out of the comfort of the warming bag, so she finally just jumped out, making her grey-socked feet land in a graceful movement on the tarpy bottom surface of the tent. Turning around, she sought out the simple leather boots she wore, and pulled them up onto her feet, making sure they were secure by clomping them on the ground a few times, before finally nodding towards the laced shoes and putting on her coat.
Sliding each sleeve onto her arms, she pulled the hat she wore tighter around her head and made sure that the gloves didnt have any holes in them. They didn't, a sure good thing.
She zipped open the tent flap, slowly peeking her head out of the six by six thing she called a sleeping quarters. Jumping out, she encountered the rain drops she so much hated.
An ugly sneer escaped her face, and she glared at the percipitation that was wettening the things she wore, the clothes that honestly smelled like she had rolled in a ditch all day, and the appearance of the clothes she wore were no different. Sure, she didn't care much about her appearance, but she smelled.
Stopping at the small mess area set up, she grabbed a paper plate that must of been used at least twice before from a pile of greasy, white paper plates. She dusted off any crumbs that were left by the previous eater of the plate, and made her way to a small table with a few little dishes on it. Beans, tuna fish or berries.
Settling on the berries and canned tuna, Marcelli scooped herself some, under the close supervision of someone who really should of been minding their own business.
With cold and shaky fingers, her arm extended to grab a small fork from the top of the table. She stabbed the tuna, which was now a slimy ooze on her plate and stared at it, finally choking it down her throught, throwing some berries in for good measure. Oh, God, it was disgustiing.
Marcelli really wished she got the real meal instead of the leftovers the guards could pick through. Mind meandering, she closed herself from the repulsive fish and focused on the pleasant-enough taste of the berries.
With a swish of the wrist, she finally finished .Cringing slightly, she crossed the camp to the edge of it.
The edge of camp was the path of ivy and the trees that shot upward like moss that encased the edges with it. The branches were something of a magestic looking, and the clearing was the perfect place to sit and absorb it all.
Or, to just watch out for potential government spies, insane people, bomb specialists, the works.
Yeah, that works too.
Leaning against one of the water-logged trees, she felt a drop of water hit her head. A bit of resentment filled her, then finally draining itself and continuing down the path of normality. In minds eye, Marcelli had the normal temper of a nineteen year old like herself.
She was sure that she was unlike the other girls her age, though. For one, she lived in the wilderness with a group of at least ten other people. She was bitter. She had never dated someone. She had no social life. She could kill someone with lethal combonations of plants.
Oh, and did I mention that she carried around dead bodies in a dufel bag before?
I rest my case.
With glazing over eyes, she recalled the time that her Father had given her the bag. The dirty, large, light blue with green trim duffel bag that apparentlly had been passed down through the generations.
"She was probably fourteen, a few years after her father started to teach her things. Things, of course, being killing, but now, on with the story that we so much need to hear.
She was standing on top of a box, holding a grey crate, trying to think her way to let go of the crate without having it drop anywhere. Without moving her legs.
So, fourteen year old Marcelli pulled herself up in her mind and finally figured out she could bend to put the crate on her lap, then she could lay down and gracefully put the grey crate on the floor in one last triumphful trumpeting of noise.
Her Father had rushed in, holding something in a paper bag in his hand. The bag was large enough to hold a small child, so she was wondering what was in the bag.
It was the baby blue, bloodstained duffel bag with the double initals of "Phote" writeen in fancy calligraphy writing on the inside of the strap.
It was explained that it was a killing bag.
Not for animals.
For people.
Marcelli smiled, remembering how very fun that day had been. In mid smile, she heard a slight rustling in the grass. She turned around. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size]
