Gretel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
haventkilledusyet) wrote2013-03-04 05:47 pm
haventkilledusyet) wrote2013-03-04 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
1st Fight - [ action ]
[Another New Feather season, another flood of confused new residents. Unfortunately, Gretel has no idea how routine this is for the village. She, actually, knows very little of anything at present. She only knows not to stop moving, to keep going. If she stops to rest now, she won't get up, and it's cold enough that she knows to fear exposure. She hasn't lived this long just to be killed by the cold.
Her body shows signs of the ordeal she's obviously been put through since her arrival. Dressed in only the New Feather gown, there is no hiding the abuse of the elements. Her skin is red from the chill she's fighting, and there are scratches on her legs and hands as well as blood on her bare feet, fresh against the well-worn scars on her body. She's walked all day, crossed the field after waking alone and barely dressed and fought her way through the branches of the forest, guided by a few tall buildings that served as the promise of civilization. Faint traces of vomit cling to her lips and the back of her hand despite an earlier attempt to clean it off. The cause is likely the patch of feathers missing from her left wing.
The fountain glitters in the light of the moon, and Gretel uses it as a focus. Walking all day is nothing new, but she's barely dressed -- especially for this weather -- and has an untreated wound. Or, at least, that's what the damage to the unwanted growth on her back feels like. She has resisted the allure of every source of water, too worried she might slump over and never be found. But the buildings all around her, even dark as they might be right now, promise traffic come morning.
Gretel's throat burns as she drops to her knees and cups her hands to bring water to her mouth. She's shouted herself hoarse as she's walked all day, and now the fatigue is setting in. She's not sure she can even get up any time soon without some help.]
(Two requests for Gretel's first Luceti encounter: please no magic users or non-humans. Either would provoke a very violent reaction, and I'd prefer to avoid that for this thread. Thanks.)
Her body shows signs of the ordeal she's obviously been put through since her arrival. Dressed in only the New Feather gown, there is no hiding the abuse of the elements. Her skin is red from the chill she's fighting, and there are scratches on her legs and hands as well as blood on her bare feet, fresh against the well-worn scars on her body. She's walked all day, crossed the field after waking alone and barely dressed and fought her way through the branches of the forest, guided by a few tall buildings that served as the promise of civilization. Faint traces of vomit cling to her lips and the back of her hand despite an earlier attempt to clean it off. The cause is likely the patch of feathers missing from her left wing.
The fountain glitters in the light of the moon, and Gretel uses it as a focus. Walking all day is nothing new, but she's barely dressed -- especially for this weather -- and has an untreated wound. Or, at least, that's what the damage to the unwanted growth on her back feels like. She has resisted the allure of every source of water, too worried she might slump over and never be found. But the buildings all around her, even dark as they might be right now, promise traffic come morning.
Gretel's throat burns as she drops to her knees and cups her hands to bring water to her mouth. She's shouted herself hoarse as she's walked all day, and now the fatigue is setting in. She's not sure she can even get up any time soon without some help.]
(Two requests for Gretel's first Luceti encounter: please no magic users or non-humans. Either would provoke a very violent reaction, and I'd prefer to avoid that for this thread. Thanks.)
no subject
Okay, but are you going to be okay?
no subject
[Not that she's sure she believes herself, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that this kid doesn't worry about her.
It's her job to worry about him. Or at least the people like him. Especially the kids like him.]