| Subject: Re: What we've got so far .. |
Author:
K-chan
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Date Posted: 15:14:50 07/29/02 Mon
In reply to:
K-chan
's message, "What we've got so far .." on 15:10:30 07/29/02 Mon
(( OOC: Just to reinstate it, as easy as the "Post New Message" thing at the bottom looks, *DON'T USE IT!* .. Go to the last message and click "reply to this post." Plus, I've learned another wierd rule .. you can't post more then once per minute, I guess to prevent double-clicking and double-posting. Otherwise, here's *my* first post, along with my hope that none of y'all mind posting inna forum thingie .. Oh, and as to my character, I'm not going to post a profile unless someone asks for one. I wanna see if I can get all the info y'all will need in my posts, just as a challenge to myself. Whack me or something if I mess up.))
Ink. She smells of thick ink and thick blood, more blood then a person should smell of and live. From out of the alley she stumbles, one hand raised to cover her mouth as if she has found something offensive in the alley behind her and it sickens her delicate sensibilities. Ink. Her perfection is almost painful, like the digitally altered models in magazines come to life: hair short and bottle-blonde, held fluffy by hair spray in perfect curls; eyes large, oval, and baby-blue; lashes and lips right off a commercial, a body to die for. She smells of blood and ink, and wears a white t-shirt beneath a leather biker's vest, with fingerless leather gloves. The streetlights play across her and her skin is pale, the only fault in her fashion-flawless image. That fault is accentuated by the black skirt that she wears, a match for the black leather, and the calf-length steel toed boots. A length of thin chain forms her belt, another compromising of an armband. She should smell of leather, of perfume and hairspray, but she only smells of ink and of blood, though there are no stains of either anywhere on her person.
One glance over her shoulder, in horror, at the alleyway, and she continues to stagger forward, her manicured nails digging into the creamy skin around her mouth. She sees no one, not the waitress, not the one that walks away, not any others that might be on the street. Hiccuping back a distraught sob she starts to move faster, her quicker, clumsier steps the preclude to a run.
~K~
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