Post by Mortel on Jun 26, 2009 23:12:42 GMT -5
It was late out, far too late for anyone to really be out in the city. Soft crimson eyes were narrowed, searching every corner of the slums in Midgar. She hated this place. She felt sick to her stomach from the fumes, the horrible fumes which clogged her inhuman senses and made her want to empty the contents of her stomach. Her face, that pretty face of hers held the dislike for this city, yet she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
Zazabelou had been left in Mideel, in a pasture while she traveled to the city. He wasn't welcome here, and neither was she. But why did this pale beauty come here? None would probably ever know. She tilted her head back to study the plate, how she hated not to be able to see the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds. It would be best if something could wash this sad city up. It would be wonderful if such a thing could happen.
The female sighed, turning down an alley, jumping as a rat of some sort moved across the well-traveled pathway. Where was she, anyway? Sector 7. Right. She found a small bar and carefully wandered in. Even in here, it was quiet. Her eyes flicked to the bartender, who said nothing as the female walked across the dimly-lit room and into a corner. She had a black bag made out of some sort of leather, and she opened it, carefully pulling out a book and reading it.
"Would you like anything, miss?" The bartender said, watching the female curiously.
"No thank you. Perhaps I will have something later." She said in that sweet, dreamy voice of hers, and she dove back into her book. The bartender said nothing more and went back to cleaning glasses and plates.
The female, you could see, was not in the best of condition. She had a few new cuts and scars littering her body, she looked like she had not had anything to eat for a few days, she looked rather tired, too, but she seemed as pleasant and cheerful as ever. The thing about this blonde female was that she hid everything from the world. Her grief, her sadness. And she replaced that with her paranoia. Fear of consequence for her actions.
The book had a black and red cover, yet no writing on it. She was absorbed into one of the pages of the book, a soft smile on her lips as she allowed herself to dive into the world of fiction. She loved it. The female was clothed in rather strange clothing, too. She had on a black leather jacket that was extremely large on her slender flame, a white tank top, a pair of very old, stained, and ripped jeans, and beaten up black sneakers. She looked like a hood, but seemed too pleasant and sweet to be one.
She, truthfully, had nowhere but the abandoned fields of Mideel to call home. She didn't mind this one bit. She didn't mind the fact that mostly all the Gil she possessed had been stolen from her today, and said that it was only misfortune that had made her cross paths with thugs. She was oblivious to the world, yet she saw it like no other. Mortel Sinneau indeed was one of a kind, and was pretty much trapped in this concrete hell. With a sigh, she finally mustered up the courage to order herself a cup of tea, strangely not caring for alcohol to wash away her stress.
As the bartender brought back her drink, she smiled and searched her bag for the last of her Gil, but he put one hand up. "It's on the house, sweetheart."
The female's eyes got big and she shook her head. "I insist, take it." She said, holding out the small wad of Gil.
He then sighed and took it, before walking back to where he was behind the counter, and going back to cleaning up. Odd girl, she was.
Zazabelou had been left in Mideel, in a pasture while she traveled to the city. He wasn't welcome here, and neither was she. But why did this pale beauty come here? None would probably ever know. She tilted her head back to study the plate, how she hated not to be able to see the sun, the moon, the stars, the clouds. It would be best if something could wash this sad city up. It would be wonderful if such a thing could happen.
The female sighed, turning down an alley, jumping as a rat of some sort moved across the well-traveled pathway. Where was she, anyway? Sector 7. Right. She found a small bar and carefully wandered in. Even in here, it was quiet. Her eyes flicked to the bartender, who said nothing as the female walked across the dimly-lit room and into a corner. She had a black bag made out of some sort of leather, and she opened it, carefully pulling out a book and reading it.
"Would you like anything, miss?" The bartender said, watching the female curiously.
"No thank you. Perhaps I will have something later." She said in that sweet, dreamy voice of hers, and she dove back into her book. The bartender said nothing more and went back to cleaning glasses and plates.
The female, you could see, was not in the best of condition. She had a few new cuts and scars littering her body, she looked like she had not had anything to eat for a few days, she looked rather tired, too, but she seemed as pleasant and cheerful as ever. The thing about this blonde female was that she hid everything from the world. Her grief, her sadness. And she replaced that with her paranoia. Fear of consequence for her actions.
The book had a black and red cover, yet no writing on it. She was absorbed into one of the pages of the book, a soft smile on her lips as she allowed herself to dive into the world of fiction. She loved it. The female was clothed in rather strange clothing, too. She had on a black leather jacket that was extremely large on her slender flame, a white tank top, a pair of very old, stained, and ripped jeans, and beaten up black sneakers. She looked like a hood, but seemed too pleasant and sweet to be one.
She, truthfully, had nowhere but the abandoned fields of Mideel to call home. She didn't mind this one bit. She didn't mind the fact that mostly all the Gil she possessed had been stolen from her today, and said that it was only misfortune that had made her cross paths with thugs. She was oblivious to the world, yet she saw it like no other. Mortel Sinneau indeed was one of a kind, and was pretty much trapped in this concrete hell. With a sigh, she finally mustered up the courage to order herself a cup of tea, strangely not caring for alcohol to wash away her stress.
As the bartender brought back her drink, she smiled and searched her bag for the last of her Gil, but he put one hand up. "It's on the house, sweetheart."
The female's eyes got big and she shook her head. "I insist, take it." She said, holding out the small wad of Gil.
He then sighed and took it, before walking back to where he was behind the counter, and going back to cleaning up. Odd girl, she was.
