Post by blackcat on May 31, 2012 23:27:38 GMT -4
She clung to the shadows like the icy bite clings to a crisp wind. Observing, watching others, pinpointing the best prospects for a nice "reward"...Felicia had a bit of a problem with 'sticky fingers' and infatuation with all things sparkling and expensive. And if her targets couldn't hold onto their valuables, she was more than willing to relieve them of it.
After a bit of the night's pickpocketing and pilfering, she found herself wandering in a familiar neighborhood, to a familiar graveyard.
She scaled the tall, closed metal gate entrance and landed silently, crouching to see if there were any nightly staff about, cleaning up the grounds. Thankfully, tonight must have been a holiday or something, because not a soul could be found. Her night vision made everything as clear as day, without the sun's glaring heat nonsense.
Felicia walked a familiar path, one she had followed many times in her rage. Her body swayed back and forth, stalking like a feline, in her skin-tight black leather bodysuit trimmed in white fur. Her long, white hair flowed behind her in the night breeze as she walked forward to her destination.
She stopped and turned to stand in front of a familiar gravestone. Her breathing became tighter, her jaw clenched, and her hands in the form of fists.
"Bastard...." she whispered to herself, and partially to the stone itself as she glared at the stone. All that had remained in place of the name was rough stone, seemingly scratched and carved away incessantly.
Her blood began to boil, her eyes dwelling on the unmarked stone. Filled with rage, she reared her leg back and landed a powerful kick that connected with the marker, cracking and crumbling the stone to pieces. This left a jagged, stone nub poking from the ground with rubble around it.
Respect for the dead? Hell, even in real life, they didn't deserve respect, much less the painless death they received. It should have been slow, it should have been tortorous and filled with revenge....it should have been by her own hands...
After a bit of the night's pickpocketing and pilfering, she found herself wandering in a familiar neighborhood, to a familiar graveyard.
She scaled the tall, closed metal gate entrance and landed silently, crouching to see if there were any nightly staff about, cleaning up the grounds. Thankfully, tonight must have been a holiday or something, because not a soul could be found. Her night vision made everything as clear as day, without the sun's glaring heat nonsense.
Felicia walked a familiar path, one she had followed many times in her rage. Her body swayed back and forth, stalking like a feline, in her skin-tight black leather bodysuit trimmed in white fur. Her long, white hair flowed behind her in the night breeze as she walked forward to her destination.
She stopped and turned to stand in front of a familiar gravestone. Her breathing became tighter, her jaw clenched, and her hands in the form of fists.
"Bastard...." she whispered to herself, and partially to the stone itself as she glared at the stone. All that had remained in place of the name was rough stone, seemingly scratched and carved away incessantly.
Her blood began to boil, her eyes dwelling on the unmarked stone. Filled with rage, she reared her leg back and landed a powerful kick that connected with the marker, cracking and crumbling the stone to pieces. This left a jagged, stone nub poking from the ground with rubble around it.
Respect for the dead? Hell, even in real life, they didn't deserve respect, much less the painless death they received. It should have been slow, it should have been tortorous and filled with revenge....it should have been by her own hands...