Aurelia
and that the world is always our fault
when we did nothing, how did we do wrong?
when we did nothing, how did we do wrong?
Aurelia's frustration and well-trained instincts threaten to take over from here, to dispatch this makeshift crew like the scum of the earth that they are. Petty thieves, fools, the lot of them. People like that don't deserve to-
Her thoughts come to a crashing halt, that darkness she thought she'd left behind so readily coming to the surface in a time of opportune need. She doesn't like it, doesn't like the way it feels in her mind and how it wrestles against who she really is. Or is that just it? Is that just who she really is, and everything about this is a denial of the truth?
She glares at the man's yellow grin, unmoving due to some sort of internal clash. She tenses as he steps forth, making his way up towards the dock, to rise upon it and snarl towards her.
One final warning, that's all he'll get. She knotches the arrow and lets it fly, lets it soar through the air, feet away from him. Turning down the bow, she stands her ground. "Melita!" She calls up without looking, "Stop them!" She gestures towards the three men taking off with the box. "I'll take care of this one," she states, not quite an exclamation but likely still audible.
At that, she sets the bow aside and unsheathes her hunter's knife. It shines in the light, the silver far too clean. And she advances with little fear. He takes a swing at her, scimitar dude that is, but she dips past it easily. She'll make quick work of him, she thinks; he looks strong, but clearly stupid. She has years of practice on her side. Surely it will work in her favor. But will she kill him? She doesn't know yet.
Her thoughts come to a crashing halt, that darkness she thought she'd left behind so readily coming to the surface in a time of opportune need. She doesn't like it, doesn't like the way it feels in her mind and how it wrestles against who she really is. Or is that just it? Is that just who she really is, and everything about this is a denial of the truth?
She glares at the man's yellow grin, unmoving due to some sort of internal clash. She tenses as he steps forth, making his way up towards the dock, to rise upon it and snarl towards her.
One final warning, that's all he'll get. She knotches the arrow and lets it fly, lets it soar through the air, feet away from him. Turning down the bow, she stands her ground. "Melita!" She calls up without looking, "Stop them!" She gestures towards the three men taking off with the box. "I'll take care of this one," she states, not quite an exclamation but likely still audible.
At that, she sets the bow aside and unsheathes her hunter's knife. It shines in the light, the silver far too clean. And she advances with little fear. He takes a swing at her, scimitar dude that is, but she dips past it easily. She'll make quick work of him, she thinks; he looks strong, but clearly stupid. She has years of practice on her side. Surely it will work in her favor. But will she kill him? She doesn't know yet.
and I've been thinking that when we thought
the world would break us, that we weren't wrong
the world would break us, that we weren't wrong
