She's sitting at a table, her hand reaching out for a cup of tea. There's a joke on her lips — something meant for a woman in thick glasses, but this isn't her apartment. This feeling is all the more jarring because she knows it's wrong; all the memories have stuck with her this time. Maybe, she realizes with an immediate churn of her stomach, that makes it worse.
Picking up the cup of coffee (not tea), she swears loud enough to be heard through to the other room.
The Vagrant stands up, and as she does, a big brass gun at her hip comes into view, as well as a sword. The scar running down her right cheek means she's probably dangerous, or maybe it's the way she grabs the first person she sees coming into the room by the collar.
"Where the hell am I this time?"
Well, this is a grumpy start. This woman, with strange white hair and tattoos covering her forearms, probably isn't what anyone is expecting as a normal, pleasant house guest. But when was the last time things were normal anyway?
it arrives.
There's a hell of a lot of reason to be angry. A goose who thinks it's clever is really just the start. The small fluff of a villain, currently carrying part of a sandwich in its mouth, is wobbling its way on down the sidewalk, flapping its wings in some kind display of evil pleasure. Sal, for her part, is trying to chase it down.
Sure, that sandwich can't be recovered but...it's the damn principal of the thing, alright? She pushes and shoves people out of her way, cursing under her breath. "Watch it," Sal grumbles, "don't you know I've got a criminal to hunt?"
She's staring straight ahead, watching as the goose — does it hear her? Wiggles its stupid, feathery butt in glee. For someone who loves birds, she hasn't felt the need to roast one more.
braving the trail.
It's a stupid challenge, but Sal's okay with finding some sort of distraction. Being focused on a single, solitary goal is the sort of stubborn behavior she's best at, and the march up the path is at least invigorating. There's a nagging, fleeting wish she ignores along the way; if she was elsewhere, if she still could fly than none of this — well, before she's able to go too long down that trail of thought, something else manages to break her determined stride.
Sal frowns, noticing the person just up ahead. They aren't moving, not even to turn their head and notice her. She's accustomed at least to strange glances, but this person doesn't seem to be aware of...anything else. That annoying thing called a conscience starts to come back around into play, and eventually she finds herself waving and calling out.
Nothing, not a damn thing. It's unsettling, but without the urge to just leave them here to play at some statue game, Sal lifts a hand and covers their eyes.
"Hey, anybody fucking in there at all?" Helpful, maybe, but not exactly polite.
Sal the Cacophony | The Grave of Empires (CRAU)
arrival.
She's sitting at a table, her hand reaching out for a cup of tea. There's a joke on her lips — something meant for a woman in thick glasses, but this isn't her apartment. This feeling is all the more jarring because she knows it's wrong; all the memories have stuck with her this time. Maybe, she realizes with an immediate churn of her stomach, that makes it worse.
Picking up the cup of coffee (not tea), she swears loud enough to be heard through to the other room.
The Vagrant stands up, and as she does, a big brass gun at her hip comes into view, as well as a sword. The scar running down her right cheek means she's probably dangerous, or maybe it's the way she grabs the first person she sees coming into the room by the collar.
"Where the hell am I this time?"
Well, this is a grumpy start. This woman, with strange white hair and tattoos covering her forearms, probably isn't what anyone is expecting as a normal, pleasant house guest. But when was the last time things were normal anyway?
it arrives.
There's a hell of a lot of reason to be angry. A goose who thinks it's clever is really just the start. The small fluff of a villain, currently carrying part of a sandwich in its mouth, is wobbling its way on down the sidewalk, flapping its wings in some kind display of evil pleasure. Sal, for her part, is trying to chase it down.
Sure, that sandwich can't be recovered but...it's the damn principal of the thing, alright? She pushes and shoves people out of her way, cursing under her breath. "Watch it," Sal grumbles, "don't you know I've got a criminal to hunt?"
She's staring straight ahead, watching as the goose — does it hear her? Wiggles its stupid, feathery butt in glee. For someone who loves birds, she hasn't felt the need to roast one more.
braving the trail.
It's a stupid challenge, but Sal's okay with finding some sort of distraction. Being focused on a single, solitary goal is the sort of stubborn behavior she's best at, and the march up the path is at least invigorating. There's a nagging, fleeting wish she ignores along the way; if she was elsewhere, if she still could fly than none of this — well, before she's able to go too long down that trail of thought, something else manages to break her determined stride.
Sal frowns, noticing the person just up ahead. They aren't moving, not even to turn their head and notice her. She's accustomed at least to strange glances, but this person doesn't seem to be aware of...anything else. That annoying thing called a conscience starts to come back around into play, and eventually she finds herself waving and calling out.
Nothing, not a damn thing. It's unsettling, but without the urge to just leave them here to play at some statue game, Sal lifts a hand and covers their eyes.
"Hey, anybody fucking in there at all?" Helpful, maybe, but not exactly polite.