[5-10] Flights of Fancy (Christa and Red)

[Gildarts]

Cold eyes caressed the empty scene of sprawling trees and curving roots while she was taken deeper into the secluded in the silence of the forest. A canopy of leaves above her cast shrouds of refreshing shade over her skin as she made her path. The woman stalked through the wood on edge, Karl had melted her favorite pistol, the monster had broken her favorite wrist, and well, her favorite leg was moving at the pace of a slow, hobbled old man. In her left hand she had propped the sniper against her shoulder–in case she heard any sound–but there was doubt that it’d be much good, for her hand was inches from the trigger and there was also aiming the extended snout of the gun for a clean shot.

“Ugh.”

She grunted to herself, though still keeping some element of silence. The fresh ocean breeze was vacant from this area, there was no rustling of life from birds, squirrels, or whatever the hell they had on tropical islands. Instead there was an ominous and soundless chill slinking in the shadows, as though the woman had been sighted, and the scent of her blood was leaving a wafting trail marking where she had been.

Creeeek!

One of the trees close to her sung, spooking the girl and causing her to pull her weapon up in a startled frenzy. Her eyes fixed on the point, once over her shoulder, which had made the noise. It now looked innocent, devoid of having done anything wrong, completely lifeless. Perhaps the tree itself was smirking through its thick, scraggly bark. The woman scowled at the tree, knowingly. There was not a single sound in this forest, there was no way that tree hadn’t done that intentionally. After a deep breath, the sniper set back out on her way, she couldn’t exactly attack a friggin’ tree. She wasn’t that far gone, yet.

Still perched between her lips was the cigarette, which gave her some sanctity through all of this Hell. Her stomach rumbled slightly, and she knew she had the snickers, but the girl couldn’t bring herself to let the stick leave her lips. She told herself she forgot it was there, in order to justify keeping her eyes on it longer, though it was starting to get soggy and had begun decomposing crumbs of paper in her mouth. Having stuffed the rest of the box in her pockets, which were once rather roomy, Christa suddenly slowed down with her eyes wide, and looked back at the way she had come.

There was not a trace. Nothing left for her to follow or reference. “Shit.” she growled, “I should’ve been marking my trail,” but there wasn’t much left of her to mark with. She had to ask Karl for the cloth of her sling, and she had been reduced to her jacket to protect the skin of her shoulders. “Shit.” she said again, realizing that she’d have to resort to a particular brand of breadcrumbs, that is, if she had decided she wanted any other kind of beasts hunting her. It took her a moment to decide, and when she was pulling out the cigarettes, having chosen not to get lost, rather than worried about getting hunted by creatures that could already probably smell trace her blood, there was a silent rustling in the forest.

Spinning around quickly, Christa trusted her ears while her hand flew upward, scattering the box of coffin nails everywhere and dropping the one from her lips while she fumbled for her gun. Their eyes met, hers a glacial blue, his an emblazoned yellow. Through the connection, her fears were, more or less, chased away.

“Red.” her eyes fell over the fur of his ears and followed down the sinewy sculpt of the feline’s body. The lion, symbol of courage and spacious pride, she could see why. Followed by his number, what it meant, she didn’t know, though the sniper was sure it had some semblance to war, “Thirteen.”

He, however, said nothing. Usually when she was talking to a creature, that would’ve been fine, but Christa, more-or-less intrigued by why he had come, felt the sting of the silence like a well sharpened blade. Not even a hello, Hell, he had followed her! The gun didn’t lower immediately. She was suspicious of this place, his intentions, though she looked into his amber gaze and saw nothing but purity. The woman blinked and reluctantly lowered her aim, “Guess you’re with me now.” It had dawned on her that he could’ve been some sort of illusion, hysterics from the blood loss, or the island itself but she counted out all the doubt and now knelt, cleaning up her mess of sentimental cigarettes.

After the floor was spotless, save the leaves and all but one cigarette, she pronounced, “Do you think Karl and the others are coming?” A sound came from his throat while Christa finally noticed the bulge below his lips and resting gently below his fangs. “Oh,” she said, offering an amused smile and reached out to grab it, though the fearless woman hesitated as her hand drew a few inches from his saber-shaped teeth, the unnamed trust of having fought a battle together carried it the rest of the way.

Now she held the drool-covered thing and shook it off of the gizmo with indifferent disgust. Suddenly, her attitude took an enormous turn, “Well, welcome to the jungle,” she smirked, “I have nothing to mark the trees, so I’m using cigarettes on the ground. Maybe one of them will catch up with us if they choose to, and be able to find us this way... Though I’ll say you’ll probably be better at navigating in here better than I am, plus, I’m looking for someone I was on the plane with... Yuck!” she said wiping off the last of the saliva against her pant leg, though it had the tendency to cling to anything it could and lathered her hand with its frothing, slimy substance, after getting a bit frustrated with the machine itself, she asked out loud.

“What even is this thing?”