07-20-2017, 09:58 AM
Shivers vibrated across Ebony's body as she grew accustomed to the warm magical ebony. Knees still bent slightly, she leant forwards pulling the scythe towards her and using it as a support - the silver blade curved over her left shoulder. Still nervous, shy, exposed, yet feeling less vulnerable, Ebony stumbled forwards while Morene watched. The woman displayed a mix of bemusement and excitement on her face but was clearly making an effort to suppress it.
Vulre was still cradling his hand. It still hurt him. The realisation that she might have even broken it permanently, while unlikely, flooded Ebony's mind. Loneliness. She'd inadvertently pushed someone away, someone who had offered her his hand. Fear. He might be angry. He might hate her. Sadness. She didn't want people to be hurt or angry. Motivation. With the intent to properly apologise she pressed on, moving forwards towards him.
The hunter had turned around, speaking to the white armoured men about something called 'Westside'. Hearing what she thought was a gap in the conversation, Ebony tried to open her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the clashing of metal hidden on the other side of Vulre's body. He spoke, continuing. Maybe I should just wait for them to finish. I don't want to be a bother. Ebony slumped slightly, idly running her fingers along the smooth wood of her scythe.
She perked up, jolting and then shaking slightly. Hunter of men. Vulre had definitely just said he was a 'hunter of men'. Does that mean he hurts people? Ebony didn't think that would have made her justified in hurting his hand, however. Regardless of it being an accident, she did still want to apologise. Hurting people was wrong.
Her face distorted into a fearful frown as she stepped backwards, giving him some distance. He had weapons, armour. She'd dismissed it before as a precaution for hunting wild animals or monsters - not a tool for fighting actual people.
"You h-hunt p-people?" Her voice shook, stuttering yet definitely audible. She quivered under her cloak, defensively bringing her scythe even closer. Her mind raced.
Sure Ebonywood Hellscythe, the character, had to beat up her fair share of bad guys, but she never harmed them too much - it was in defence of others or herself. And it was never violent enough to leave more than a few bruises. She hoped Vulre was the same. Was he just tracking down criminals to detain? They were talking about crime, at least. So from the context, she gathered that was the case. That said, he would be intentionally placing himself in a dangerous area with the probable likelihood of violence - either caused by himself or others.
It was wrong. But she reassured herself with the thought that Vulre didn't seem bad. Maybe I misunderstood something.
Vulre was still cradling his hand. It still hurt him. The realisation that she might have even broken it permanently, while unlikely, flooded Ebony's mind. Loneliness. She'd inadvertently pushed someone away, someone who had offered her his hand. Fear. He might be angry. He might hate her. Sadness. She didn't want people to be hurt or angry. Motivation. With the intent to properly apologise she pressed on, moving forwards towards him.
The hunter had turned around, speaking to the white armoured men about something called 'Westside'. Hearing what she thought was a gap in the conversation, Ebony tried to open her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the clashing of metal hidden on the other side of Vulre's body. He spoke, continuing. Maybe I should just wait for them to finish. I don't want to be a bother. Ebony slumped slightly, idly running her fingers along the smooth wood of her scythe.
She perked up, jolting and then shaking slightly. Hunter of men. Vulre had definitely just said he was a 'hunter of men'. Does that mean he hurts people? Ebony didn't think that would have made her justified in hurting his hand, however. Regardless of it being an accident, she did still want to apologise. Hurting people was wrong.
Her face distorted into a fearful frown as she stepped backwards, giving him some distance. He had weapons, armour. She'd dismissed it before as a precaution for hunting wild animals or monsters - not a tool for fighting actual people.
"You h-hunt p-people?" Her voice shook, stuttering yet definitely audible. She quivered under her cloak, defensively bringing her scythe even closer. Her mind raced.
Sure Ebonywood Hellscythe, the character, had to beat up her fair share of bad guys, but she never harmed them too much - it was in defence of others or herself. And it was never violent enough to leave more than a few bruises. She hoped Vulre was the same. Was he just tracking down criminals to detain? They were talking about crime, at least. So from the context, she gathered that was the case. That said, he would be intentionally placing himself in a dangerous area with the probable likelihood of violence - either caused by himself or others.
It was wrong. But she reassured herself with the thought that Vulre didn't seem bad. Maybe I misunderstood something.