No More Amazons
Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2019 11:40 pm
((Leslie Price continued from The World Turned Upside Down))
She felt fresh and well-rested, even though the air in the building was musty.
After arriving at the complex, she spent the rest of her time dodging others and their groups as though they were enemy patrols. Figures. They were all too distant or too standoffish or too dangerous-looking for her to want to go talk to 'em, so she lay in wait, always inching ever closer to the buildings, and weaving through them when she arrived.
She didn't have much of an objective beyond reaching them. That fulfilled, she had nothing in mind. There wasn't anyone to confront or speak to, and she didn't feel any desire to kill. Not just yet. She simply snuck into the warehouse and stayed there for a good long while, sometimes exercising her muscles and taking a nibble into her rations. Eventually, the day turned red and gold and faded into blue, then black. So she found a secluded corner and slept, and that was it.
The terrorist's voice woke her up.
Apparently, some people did die yesterday. That should've been a depressing thought for her, but she still didn't feel much at hearing the dead and the murderers. It still didn't feel as though there was anything new to say. Just a list of those to mourn and those to avoid, really. There wasn't much else to it.
Except when it came to Kimiko. The Mute Bitch. Apparently, she'd killed yesterday. Killed Cristobal.
Leslie's fists balled up. She moved to retrieve her bag. The tiny, but growing speck of anger had seeded in her mind, and the aimless wanderlust that drove her here had struck again, although she was much closer to the big bridge now.
Bag in hand, she started walking once more.
((Leslie Price continued in St. Patrick's Purgatory.))
She felt fresh and well-rested, even though the air in the building was musty.
After arriving at the complex, she spent the rest of her time dodging others and their groups as though they were enemy patrols. Figures. They were all too distant or too standoffish or too dangerous-looking for her to want to go talk to 'em, so she lay in wait, always inching ever closer to the buildings, and weaving through them when she arrived.
She didn't have much of an objective beyond reaching them. That fulfilled, she had nothing in mind. There wasn't anyone to confront or speak to, and she didn't feel any desire to kill. Not just yet. She simply snuck into the warehouse and stayed there for a good long while, sometimes exercising her muscles and taking a nibble into her rations. Eventually, the day turned red and gold and faded into blue, then black. So she found a secluded corner and slept, and that was it.
The terrorist's voice woke her up.
Apparently, some people did die yesterday. That should've been a depressing thought for her, but she still didn't feel much at hearing the dead and the murderers. It still didn't feel as though there was anything new to say. Just a list of those to mourn and those to avoid, really. There wasn't much else to it.
Except when it came to Kimiko. The Mute Bitch. Apparently, she'd killed yesterday. Killed Cristobal.
Leslie's fists balled up. She moved to retrieve her bag. The tiny, but growing speck of anger had seeded in her mind, and the aimless wanderlust that drove her here had struck again, although she was much closer to the big bridge now.
Bag in hand, she started walking once more.
((Leslie Price continued in St. Patrick's Purgatory.))