((Sofia Chiles continued from And T'Were Well That She Stood))
It was probably about four in the morning now, by Sofia's reckoning. It had been dark for a long time, for almost an eternity it felt like. The announcement was so far in the past it might as well have been another lifetime. It hadn't meant too much to her. She'd thought that it might, had thought that perhaps it would make everything seem more serious or real or dire, but no.
Some of the names had been familiar. How could they not? Roll was called as an everyday part of school routine. But Sofia didn't have great lasting attachments to any of the names, killers or killed. Lena, she'd seen out and about not too long before this, back in the wooded hills near Bellington. She'd not approached the girl. That was the closest it all came to affecting Sofia. She'd thought on it, of course, had taken a moment of somber contemplation, but more because it felt right and proper than because she meant it. Then the moment had passed.
Sofia hadn't been idle since. She'd torn a set of pale blue drapes from a house in the town, and had gotten to work on it with the scissors in the first aid kit. They were small, but sharp enough, and with patience she had snipped a square from a corner, roughly the shape and size of a bandanna. She'd tied this around her face, obscuring it from the nose down, hopefully doing a bit to hide her identity.
Okay, she was the only girl who'd been wearing the boy uniform in class when they were taken. That was just an inevitable fact of life and if anyone had been paying any attention at all they would know who she was the very moment she opened her mouth, but it felt better to be masked anyways, so she was doing it.
She'd straightened out the edge of the drapes with some more scissor-work, so there wasn't an obvious square chunk missing, and had then rendered the trimmings into strips suitable for bandages. The remainder was still long and wide, billowing, and she'd tied it around her neck, turning it into an impromptu cape. This, she rationalized, was lighter than her jacket and also less stifling, and therefore tactically-sound, and also wearing a cape felt cooler than wearing a blazer. They weren't at school anymore. They were going to die, so why should she still pay even the token attention she'd ever given the school uniform? No reason. Cape it was.
Some further time scrounging through the town area had yielded almost nothing of note. Sofia had entertained this vague idea that she would stumble upon one of the bodies and then... do something, loot it if it had anything or close its eyes and bury it or wrap it up or something if not, but she hadn't found any bodies and after a while had moved towards the outskirts.
That was where she was now, lurking in the customs office. She'd rummaged through the desks here and had found absolutely nothing of interest, but looting wasn't her purpose. No, there was more to it for sure. Sofia had a plan.
She'd practiced loading her flare gun. She'd read how it worked, and had figured out that it probably wouldn't be a very good weapon at all unless she managed to zing someone right in the face, and maybe not even then, but that didn't matter. It looked like a real gun, and nobody needed to know it wasn't. More than that, its actual function could be very, very useful.
Some of her classmates were waiting for rescue. Maybe it would arrive, and maybe it wouldn't. Whatever the case, though, people like Barry believed it would, and they'd be on the lookout for signals. Sofia had the ability to send signals. The dark of night seemed the best time to make use of that.
Sofia made her way to the entrance of the building, and then out into the cool night air. The chill prickled her skin a bit, and made her consider adding her blazer under her improvised cloak, but that could come later. For the moment, she raised the flare gun as straight as possible, looked up into the dark sky, and pulled the trigger.
The flare rocketed up, the incandescence dazing Sofia for a moment. By the time she shook it off, the flare had reached the top of its arc and deployed fully, a brilliant, burning beacon drifting slowly back to the ground, hopefully to land not too far from where she lurked, having ducked back into the office, peeking out now through a mostly-covered window. The flare would be visible to nearly anyone still awake and keeping an eye to the sky, and if she was lucky, somebody would take enough of an interest to come find out what was going on.
And then she'd rob them.
Ill-Met By Moonlight
Open but you might get robbed
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MurderWeasel
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Sh4dE
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((Seebbo continued from The Seeagull))
Out of danger and not out of breathe anymore he had calmed down and recollected himself and made him realise what he was.
Sebbo was the poet of The Program. And he was going to show them all.
If he could find anyone.
Sadly, it was not easy to find anyone in the dark. It was especially dark for him right then right there - the moon was not visible through the clouds. He wasn't sure if its worse for him or for the people that he can't seem to find anyone. There was no one visible in the surroundings even when using the flashlight. He fiddled with the flashlight in one hand and with the map and the compass in the other. Sebbo has a good sense of direction and expects to see the Casa of Diabolo anytime soon.
Suddenly a bright light flew out of the dark into the sky some distance to the right of him. Oh damn, what was that? Sebbo stepped closer to the direction of where it came from until his flashlight could show the outline of a building. This must be the so-called Casa del Diablo. Though it looked very familiar. The walls, the windows - this arena probably has a lot of buildings from the same architect.
Oh for fuck's sake, he's been here before.
Sebbo threw the piece of shit of a compass to the ground and stomped it repeatedly. These bastard Americans should've given him a compass that worked. He was using the map correctly, he couldn't explain to himself why the fuck he's back in the North. He should've been at least in the middle by the distance he had walked.
Whatever. He went closer to the flare that was glowing in front of the entrance. Being familar with the surroundings ain't a bad thing, plus the building would be a good place to sleep in. Not that it was cold - it was cool and he was glad that the sun doesn't shine anymore, but the insects are fucking scary. He'd rather not sleep in the wild. He pointed the flashlight into the direction of the burning flare.
So, what the heck was this?
"Hello?"
Sebbo thought of puns with light but it was fucking late so he couldn't think of any at the moment. There was no light bulb over his head right now.
Sebbo moved closer to the flare.
Out of danger and not out of breathe anymore he had calmed down and recollected himself and made him realise what he was.
Sebbo was the poet of The Program. And he was going to show them all.
If he could find anyone.
Sadly, it was not easy to find anyone in the dark. It was especially dark for him right then right there - the moon was not visible through the clouds. He wasn't sure if its worse for him or for the people that he can't seem to find anyone. There was no one visible in the surroundings even when using the flashlight. He fiddled with the flashlight in one hand and with the map and the compass in the other. Sebbo has a good sense of direction and expects to see the Casa of Diabolo anytime soon.
Suddenly a bright light flew out of the dark into the sky some distance to the right of him. Oh damn, what was that? Sebbo stepped closer to the direction of where it came from until his flashlight could show the outline of a building. This must be the so-called Casa del Diablo. Though it looked very familiar. The walls, the windows - this arena probably has a lot of buildings from the same architect.
Oh for fuck's sake, he's been here before.
Sebbo threw the piece of shit of a compass to the ground and stomped it repeatedly. These bastard Americans should've given him a compass that worked. He was using the map correctly, he couldn't explain to himself why the fuck he's back in the North. He should've been at least in the middle by the distance he had walked.
Whatever. He went closer to the flare that was glowing in front of the entrance. Being familar with the surroundings ain't a bad thing, plus the building would be a good place to sleep in. Not that it was cold - it was cool and he was glad that the sun doesn't shine anymore, but the insects are fucking scary. He'd rather not sleep in the wild. He pointed the flashlight into the direction of the burning flare.
So, what the heck was this?
"Hello?"
Sebbo thought of puns with light but it was fucking late so he couldn't think of any at the moment. There was no light bulb over his head right now.
Sebbo moved closer to the flare.
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
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"Hey," Sofia said, stepping out of the doorway off to the side of the boy.
She held the flare gun tightly in her hand, but kept her finger away from the trigger. It was reloaded, not that that meant anything. Firing one shot had given her more context for how it worked, and more precisely how it didn't, and she didn't think it would be useful if she fired it at someone, except maybe if she hit them in the face. But there was no reason to share that information.
"Turn around slowly, hands where I can see them."
She jerked her head at the guy, signalling him to do what she was saying, but couldn't even tell if he was looking at her yet; he had a torch, which was bright, and was backlit by the still-burning flare, which was brighter, and she hadn't really thought that part of things through and had to squint against the brilliance, so different from the shadows otherwise enveloping them.
She had no idea who the guy was. He was kind of stocky, but it was hard to say if he was fat, bulky, or both. He had a torch, but no immediately apparent weaponry, but then again anything small could be in his bag or his pocket. Sofia's bag was stashed inside the building, under a desk where she could quickly grab it if she had to but it'd hopefully be out of the way and unobtrusive otherwise. She didn't need anything restricting her movements as she...
Well, actually, what was the plan there anyways? She was going to rob this guy and take his weapon and maybe some of his supplies, but that wouldn't end in a fight if it worked as planned. So mobility wasn't actually that important. And she wasn't quite saying the robbery words right, either. She sounded like a cop, like she was suspicious of him. That wasn't it at all. The killers had been just girls and Yian, who had caught her attention around school by virtue of being Welsh and who was definitely not this guy. But then again, it had been a while since the announcement, she realized with a brief flash of something between excitement and unease. Who could say what had happened?
She wiggled the flare gun a little more in his vague direction.
She held the flare gun tightly in her hand, but kept her finger away from the trigger. It was reloaded, not that that meant anything. Firing one shot had given her more context for how it worked, and more precisely how it didn't, and she didn't think it would be useful if she fired it at someone, except maybe if she hit them in the face. But there was no reason to share that information.
"Turn around slowly, hands where I can see them."
She jerked her head at the guy, signalling him to do what she was saying, but couldn't even tell if he was looking at her yet; he had a torch, which was bright, and was backlit by the still-burning flare, which was brighter, and she hadn't really thought that part of things through and had to squint against the brilliance, so different from the shadows otherwise enveloping them.
She had no idea who the guy was. He was kind of stocky, but it was hard to say if he was fat, bulky, or both. He had a torch, but no immediately apparent weaponry, but then again anything small could be in his bag or his pocket. Sofia's bag was stashed inside the building, under a desk where she could quickly grab it if she had to but it'd hopefully be out of the way and unobtrusive otherwise. She didn't need anything restricting her movements as she...
Well, actually, what was the plan there anyways? She was going to rob this guy and take his weapon and maybe some of his supplies, but that wouldn't end in a fight if it worked as planned. So mobility wasn't actually that important. And she wasn't quite saying the robbery words right, either. She sounded like a cop, like she was suspicious of him. That wasn't it at all. The killers had been just girls and Yian, who had caught her attention around school by virtue of being Welsh and who was definitely not this guy. But then again, it had been a while since the announcement, she realized with a brief flash of something between excitement and unease. Who could say what had happened?
She wiggled the flare gun a little more in his vague direction.
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Sh4dE
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The culprit of the light at this hour showed up by appearing by the door and then demanded him to turn around and show his hands. Hey, that was not how it worked. Then he noticed the gun in her hand that was not that well visible in the dark and began to comply. He dropped the map, but still held the flashlight and did a slow 360 clearly showing that he had nothing besides the flashlight in his hands.
"See? Got nothing."
Sebbo's chest pounded at the thought of the gun in her hands. He stepped a bit closer to the girl, mentally preparing himself to attack her when she's not expecting it. Hit her, slam her with the flashlights, kick her. He kinda felt bad at thinking of beating a woman and to be honest he still felt bad for having punched Molly. That's not something what Sebbo would usually do. Sebbo hated people who beat women, it wasn't fair, it wasn't honourable, men were stronger. But that was Sebbo's advantage right now, he supposed.
"Now, can you put down the fucking gun?"
"See? Got nothing."
Sebbo's chest pounded at the thought of the gun in her hands. He stepped a bit closer to the girl, mentally preparing himself to attack her when she's not expecting it. Hit her, slam her with the flashlights, kick her. He kinda felt bad at thinking of beating a woman and to be honest he still felt bad for having punched Molly. That's not something what Sebbo would usually do. Sebbo hated people who beat women, it wasn't fair, it wasn't honourable, men were stronger. But that was Sebbo's advantage right now, he supposed.
"Now, can you put down the fucking gun?"
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
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"Nah," Sofia said. Then a moment later, because she wasn't being combative just to be combative and wanted to signal that the situation could change if he played nice, she added, "Not quite yet."
The guy had done a nice slow circle, making clear that all he held was the torch, but that torch was still playing havoc with Sofia's sight and she couldn't quite identify him even now. The voice was, of course, familiar. They were classmates, after all. It's just, he wasn't on the level of familiar to actually conjure up an image of his face or an understanding of what sort of person he was.
On the one hand, that made this robbery thing a little easier. She didn't have to deal with a situation like before, where Galahad had just been too pathetically relatable to actually target. On the other, the physical aspect of the robbery was much harder because she couldn't track what this guy was doing very well in the dark. He'd taken a step towards her which was not what she wanted him to be doing. There was still enough space that he'd have to sprint at her for a second or two before attacking her, during which time she could easily fill him with lead, except that she had a flare gun and not a real gun and so if he had a pocketknife he probably had the upper hand in armament.
Well, that just meant it was time to figure out what the score was.
"Stay there for now," Sofia said, wiggling her flare gun a little for emphasis. "And tell me, what were you assigned?"
The guy had done a nice slow circle, making clear that all he held was the torch, but that torch was still playing havoc with Sofia's sight and she couldn't quite identify him even now. The voice was, of course, familiar. They were classmates, after all. It's just, he wasn't on the level of familiar to actually conjure up an image of his face or an understanding of what sort of person he was.
On the one hand, that made this robbery thing a little easier. She didn't have to deal with a situation like before, where Galahad had just been too pathetically relatable to actually target. On the other, the physical aspect of the robbery was much harder because she couldn't track what this guy was doing very well in the dark. He'd taken a step towards her which was not what she wanted him to be doing. There was still enough space that he'd have to sprint at her for a second or two before attacking her, during which time she could easily fill him with lead, except that she had a flare gun and not a real gun and so if he had a pocketknife he probably had the upper hand in armament.
Well, that just meant it was time to figure out what the score was.
"Stay there for now," Sofia said, wiggling her flare gun a little for emphasis. "And tell me, what were you assigned?"
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Sh4dE
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Shit. She wanted to know what he was assigned. Man, it would be embarrassing to tell her that he got mugged. He couldn't do that, he couldn't show any sign of weakness. But if he doesn't say anything, he'll get killed.
"Uh, uh, uh..."
Then, he found the rhyme.
"I'm Oh-Oh-Seven/
I got my skills from heaven/
You might got a gun/
but my WORDS are my weapon/"
Bitch!
He almost proudly said 'bitch' outloud but was too scared of potentially getting shot in the face as a result. He didn't need to piss her off that much. Sebbo was sane. This might turn out well perhaps by any chance. Perhaps the US will not shoot him in the face right now for having rapped again. Perhaps she will be impressed by his god-like rap performance and falls in love with him right now.
Perhaps.
"Uh, uh, uh..."
Then, he found the rhyme.
"I'm Oh-Oh-Seven/
I got my skills from heaven/
You might got a gun/
but my WORDS are my weapon/"
Bitch!
He almost proudly said 'bitch' outloud but was too scared of potentially getting shot in the face as a result. He didn't need to piss her off that much. Sebbo was sane. This might turn out well perhaps by any chance. Perhaps the US will not shoot him in the face right now for having rapped again. Perhaps she will be impressed by his god-like rap performance and falls in love with him right now.
Perhaps.
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
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"What?"
That was what Sofia could come up with. Oh, there were variations on the tune she could've gone with—"What the fuck?" in particular held some appeal—but really her tone conveyed all that needed communicating. It was total bafflement, and she was left standing there, blinking, eyebrows squeezing together as she squinted at the figure, now really quite curious who he was. The flare behind him was starting to sputter out, the dimming light leaving her with blueish afterimages that persisted behind hey eyelids.
Sofia did not follow popular music very closely. There were a lot of reasons for that, but really the core was that it often struck her as inauthentic, distanced and divorced from the world as it was. A few bands, though, got it right. One of these was Steeleye Span, a folk group which ranged from traditional renditions of classic ballads to modern reinterpretations and original compositions of the same general tone and style of the canon. She hadn't listened to every album they did, but one of the single most memorable, befuddling experiences in her sampling of their discography had come when, in the middle of an otherwise more or less straight-faced (if modernized and jarringly electric) rendition of the eighteenth century song "Boys of Bedlam" the track broke into a rap interlude. Then nothing like that happened on any of their albums ever again.
This moment right now was a lot like that.
Was this guy scared? He didn't sound scared, but Sofia sang to herself when she needed to feel brave and when she did that she tried not to sound scared either. He'd answered her in his spitfire verse, too, sort of. His weapon was his words, and she didn't feel stung by them, which suggested he was deficient in the armory department.
She didn't lower the flare gun entirely, but she let the barrel droop so it was pointed more at his toes than his torso.
"They didn't give you anything good then, huh?" she asked.
That was what Sofia could come up with. Oh, there were variations on the tune she could've gone with—"What the fuck?" in particular held some appeal—but really her tone conveyed all that needed communicating. It was total bafflement, and she was left standing there, blinking, eyebrows squeezing together as she squinted at the figure, now really quite curious who he was. The flare behind him was starting to sputter out, the dimming light leaving her with blueish afterimages that persisted behind hey eyelids.
Sofia did not follow popular music very closely. There were a lot of reasons for that, but really the core was that it often struck her as inauthentic, distanced and divorced from the world as it was. A few bands, though, got it right. One of these was Steeleye Span, a folk group which ranged from traditional renditions of classic ballads to modern reinterpretations and original compositions of the same general tone and style of the canon. She hadn't listened to every album they did, but one of the single most memorable, befuddling experiences in her sampling of their discography had come when, in the middle of an otherwise more or less straight-faced (if modernized and jarringly electric) rendition of the eighteenth century song "Boys of Bedlam" the track broke into a rap interlude. Then nothing like that happened on any of their albums ever again.
This moment right now was a lot like that.
Was this guy scared? He didn't sound scared, but Sofia sang to herself when she needed to feel brave and when she did that she tried not to sound scared either. He'd answered her in his spitfire verse, too, sort of. His weapon was his words, and she didn't feel stung by them, which suggested he was deficient in the armory department.
She didn't lower the flare gun entirely, but she let the barrel droop so it was pointed more at his toes than his torso.
"They didn't give you anything good then, huh?" she asked.
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Sh4dE
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Sebbo saw the confusion in her face, felt it in her voice. It was a sign of her being not in control anymore, not in power. Weak.
If there was a time to strike, it was now.
So Sebbo quickly dashed forward while she was asking him a question and put the flashlight over his own right shoulder to prepare for a quick strike.
If there was a time to strike, it was now.
So Sebbo quickly dashed forward while she was asking him a question and put the flashlight over his own right shoulder to prepare for a quick strike.
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
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As the boy burst into a sprint, Sofia went tense. She would've mentally chided herself for her inattention, but there was no time. Instead, her finger contracted around the trigger of the flare gun, a movement instinctual from stories, from movies, and one completely ill-suited to the realities of her present situation.
The tool, for she couldn't really call it a weapon, was still pointed more or less at the ground, and now nowhere near the onrushing boy. With a pop, the flare launched, emitting a blinding, sparkling glow, then impacted the ground and rebounded, skipping over the dusty road and off into the distance. The afterimages flashed orange and blue in Sofia's vision, and the guy was coming closer, torch raised like a club, and all she could think to do was backpedal into the building, raising her arms to cover her face.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to attack her.
Or, like, at least he could've waited until she actually tried to steal his stuff.
The tool, for she couldn't really call it a weapon, was still pointed more or less at the ground, and now nowhere near the onrushing boy. With a pop, the flare launched, emitting a blinding, sparkling glow, then impacted the ground and rebounded, skipping over the dusty road and off into the distance. The afterimages flashed orange and blue in Sofia's vision, and the guy was coming closer, torch raised like a club, and all she could think to do was backpedal into the building, raising her arms to cover her face.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to attack her.
Or, like, at least he could've waited until she actually tried to steal his stuff.
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Sh4dE
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Sebbo carefully looked at the gun to see where it was pointed at.
Then, suddenly there was a bright light burning Sebbo's vision. He immediately closed his eyes when he saw the light come out of the gun. Was this what being dead feels like? No, his legs were still running. And he would continue running with his eyes closed until he felt himself colliding with something or someone.
Then, suddenly there was a bright light burning Sebbo's vision. He immediately closed his eyes when he saw the light come out of the gun. Was this what being dead feels like? No, his legs were still running. And he would continue running with his eyes closed until he felt himself colliding with something or someone.
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
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Sofia was still blinking, still dazed, still moving backwards step by uncertain step. She could see a shadow closing in fast, rushing at her, and her hands were covering her face so these impressions were taken in snippet between her fingers, keeping her from picking out too much but maybe at least protecting her eyes, except what struck her wasn't anything so clean and calculated as a punch or a shattering blow to the head.
No, the boy slammed bodily into her, his momentum combining with her own backwards movement to send her crumpling. Her hands moved from her face now, flailing, grabbing for the boy, for anything, getting tangled up in the drapes she wore like a cloak, as she fell.
It was probably lucky that a desk broke her descent, though it didn't feel so in the moment. Her back smashed into the edge, drawing a line of pain above her hips, and the desk also toppled over, papers and notepads and assorted office supplies scattering all around with a tremendous clattering, and before she knew it Sofia was lying amidst a pile of administrative detritus, staggered and stinging and not even sure if the boy had fallen with her.
No, the boy slammed bodily into her, his momentum combining with her own backwards movement to send her crumpling. Her hands moved from her face now, flailing, grabbing for the boy, for anything, getting tangled up in the drapes she wore like a cloak, as she fell.
It was probably lucky that a desk broke her descent, though it didn't feel so in the moment. Her back smashed into the edge, drawing a line of pain above her hips, and the desk also toppled over, papers and notepads and assorted office supplies scattering all around with a tremendous clattering, and before she knew it Sofia was lying amidst a pile of administrative detritus, staggered and stinging and not even sure if the boy had fallen with her.
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Sh4dE
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Sebbo opened his eyes as he bumped into the person, but it was too late as that same person pulled on the collar of his uniform. The weight of a whole person on his neck pulled him down too and while he was falling he was using the flashlight to hit the hand that was pulling him down, trying to get rid of it as if it was a parasite.
Sebbo fell down on his side, his left side of the hip paining from the sudden impact.
Sebbo fell down on his side, his left side of the hip paining from the sudden impact.
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
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Sofia let out a yelp as the hard plastic of the torch impacted her hand, and loosened her grip immediately on instinct. They were both on the ground now, dazed and battered but, she thought, not too seriously in either case. It was bothering her to no end now that she couldn't figure out who this guy was, because he was scrappy and fought more than a little dirty and those were both attributes that made Sofia feel like she was missing out by not knowing him better at school. If she had, maybe he wouldn't currently be trying to...
What was he doing, anyways? That concern slipped quietly through her mind as she pushed herself unsteadily to a kneel and then lunged at the boy, grabbing at him again, looking to grapple with him. Was he trying to kill her? It would be an uphill battle for him to do so unarmed. He was bigger than her, but not that much bigger; he had an edge on her in power but she would make him pay dearly if he attempted to strangle or bludgeon her to death. Or, what if he was trying to rob her? There was a certain irony to be found there, if she'd failed because someone else had been quicker on the draw.
The flare gun had been lost at some point in the struggle, maybe right after she fired it, maybe when she grabbed at her assailant. She couldn't say with any certainty when it had happened or where the device now was. It didn't matter, except that she was going to be livid if he made off with it, just on principle.
Sofia grunted as she flailed at him, an onslaught of grabs and slaps and pinches less aimed to hurt than to keep him on the defensive, keep up the pressure. She wanted to subdue him, or scare him off, or just convince him to piss off and leave her be to pick on the helpless in peace.
What was he doing, anyways? That concern slipped quietly through her mind as she pushed herself unsteadily to a kneel and then lunged at the boy, grabbing at him again, looking to grapple with him. Was he trying to kill her? It would be an uphill battle for him to do so unarmed. He was bigger than her, but not that much bigger; he had an edge on her in power but she would make him pay dearly if he attempted to strangle or bludgeon her to death. Or, what if he was trying to rob her? There was a certain irony to be found there, if she'd failed because someone else had been quicker on the draw.
The flare gun had been lost at some point in the struggle, maybe right after she fired it, maybe when she grabbed at her assailant. She couldn't say with any certainty when it had happened or where the device now was. It didn't matter, except that she was going to be livid if he made off with it, just on principle.
Sofia grunted as she flailed at him, an onslaught of grabs and slaps and pinches less aimed to hurt than to keep him on the defensive, keep up the pressure. She wanted to subdue him, or scare him off, or just convince him to piss off and leave her be to pick on the helpless in peace.
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Sh4dE
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He looked at the hand he was trying to get rid of and then looked at her face clearly. Sofia Childs was her name. And right when he recognised her she jumped at him and slapped, grabbed, punc- yeah, annoyed him. He reacted by this attempt of the attack by shielding his face with his hands and arms.
He backed away and turned around so she would only attack his back and not his pretty face anymore. It really felt uncomfortable being touched like that by a girl.
"Stop acting so childish," he screamed at her.
He backed away and turned around so she would only attack his back and not his pretty face anymore. It really felt uncomfortable being touched like that by a girl.
"Stop acting so childish," he screamed at her.
I'm so glad to be back !
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
As the boy turned, warding off Sofia's blow, he called out something between a demand and a plea. Stop acting childish. That simple phrase set her teeth on edge. Did he want that? Did he really?
When she fought, Sofia tended to play to one notch more extreme than whoever she was scrapping with. If someone shoved her, she'd slug them. If someone hit her back, she'd take them to the ground. And if someone really seemed intent on walloping her, she'd claw and bite and pull hair and throw dirt and do just about whatever it took to make them rue the day they'd decided to earn her ire. She was just about there now, and if he was goading her, well, Sofia could sometimes be goaded, and woe upon he who was unprepared for what he unleashed.
And yet, there was one little thing holding her back. That doubt, that suspicion that he'd actually been trying to rob her too. It wasn't right. They were fighting more or less for no reason, and while he was making advances towards giving her a real good one, there was still a chance, slim but present, to cut this needless squabble short.
He'd gotten a little respect from her with his speed and trickiness. An idea—one she had some pretty severe misgivings about, granted, but still an idea—was beginning to form.
So, tentatively, she pulled herself back a bit, away from him, hands still up and ready in he case he turned on her. She stopped clawing and flailing, and after a second spoke.
"Hey, hey," she said, "that's more like it. Truce? Parley?"
When she fought, Sofia tended to play to one notch more extreme than whoever she was scrapping with. If someone shoved her, she'd slug them. If someone hit her back, she'd take them to the ground. And if someone really seemed intent on walloping her, she'd claw and bite and pull hair and throw dirt and do just about whatever it took to make them rue the day they'd decided to earn her ire. She was just about there now, and if he was goading her, well, Sofia could sometimes be goaded, and woe upon he who was unprepared for what he unleashed.
And yet, there was one little thing holding her back. That doubt, that suspicion that he'd actually been trying to rob her too. It wasn't right. They were fighting more or less for no reason, and while he was making advances towards giving her a real good one, there was still a chance, slim but present, to cut this needless squabble short.
He'd gotten a little respect from her with his speed and trickiness. An idea—one she had some pretty severe misgivings about, granted, but still an idea—was beginning to form.
So, tentatively, she pulled herself back a bit, away from him, hands still up and ready in he case he turned on her. She stopped clawing and flailing, and after a second spoke.
"Hey, hey," she said, "that's more like it. Truce? Parley?"