Post by Arrow on Jul 19, 2018 19:04:19 GMT -8
Amelia Larson
Her heart hums in soft harmony with the tenacious thundering of steel spears driving deeply into dummies. Around the small girl plucked from her pristine palace, a world warps with faces of fear and edging uncertainty. Sorrow stems from some eyes streaming in running rivers over mountainous cheeks. The others now deemed to the same battle of brutality are clearly incapable of comprehending how such a selection is a blissful blessing. No longer like slaves are they sewn to walk the ruined routes of their mediocre existences. Here new faces can be formed from the calling of their names. No longer are they accountable for whatever place they were purged from, but now they are Runner's capable of rewriting their names in the blood of others less worthy than them.
Slipping behind some Runner or another she steals a spear from their hands with impish ignition of laughter. Curses crawl from the mouth of her victim but little does the little human mind. Taking her place on one of the station's markers the lights on the dummies begin busting into life. However, a face sullen and seemingly pitiful pulls Amelia's attention. On the side of his arm an impressive 4 defines him as one of those already prepared for the wretched war to come. Perhaps that is why he still seems frozen to the life he left behind. Perhaps this is only another familiar setting for him to be sitting in. Amelia sinisterly smiles, she can adjust such thinking.
Whipping in a rush of air her spear sails straight into the matted wall off to the career's side. Letting loose another long laugh Amelia approaches him her face still showing her newest smirk. "You look absolutely ridiculous, not to mention like a loser. Stop moping around, it pathetic."
Slipping behind some Runner or another she steals a spear from their hands with impish ignition of laughter. Curses crawl from the mouth of her victim but little does the little human mind. Taking her place on one of the station's markers the lights on the dummies begin busting into life. However, a face sullen and seemingly pitiful pulls Amelia's attention. On the side of his arm an impressive 4 defines him as one of those already prepared for the wretched war to come. Perhaps that is why he still seems frozen to the life he left behind. Perhaps this is only another familiar setting for him to be sitting in. Amelia sinisterly smiles, she can adjust such thinking.
Whipping in a rush of air her spear sails straight into the matted wall off to the career's side. Letting loose another long laugh Amelia approaches him her face still showing her newest smirk. "You look absolutely ridiculous, not to mention like a loser. Stop moping around, it pathetic."