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Post by scarletta2 on Dec 23, 2010 16:59:02 GMT -6
Y O U O N L Y S E E W H A T Y O U WANT T O S E E Y O U N E V E R S E E T H E R E A L M E
Nobody knew who Lucy really was. Well, they knew Lucy wanted them to know, but nothing more than that. In fact, if they actually did know the true Lucy, many people would be going for her life, not that that didn't happen already, but it would be much worst. Lucy was a hit girl and a very good one at that. She has worked on every side of the war possible and didn't care who she betrayed or who her spying ended up killing. Lucy did whatever she was told by whoever paid her. And she made a pretty penny by doing so.
Lucy worked hard to make sure her secret was well hidden. She had stabbed every species in the back multiple times, and Lucy was positive she didn't want all of them knowing what she did. Besides it wasn't her fault. They were the stupid ones for trusting her. Trusting a tiny human who was very good a lying and who was responsible for more than half the population in hell. That is why she didn't play sides; it never turned out well. Lucy felt no loyalty to know one and therefor slept soundly at night.
She sat alone in the cemetery, leaning against an old gravestone that was actually made of rock and not a stupid wooden cross. Lucy had just watch a couple of humans bury a family of three. She was the one who killed them. Three sunrises early, Lucy had been paid off by some demon to kill them. Humans were the easiest to kill. She knew their weaknesses from being one herself and Lucy knew exactly where it hurt.
It wasn't hard sneaking into their hideout dressed in black from head to toes. It was easy to kill the female and male, slowly, like she was ordered. They were probably some related to a solider who had been a little but too naughty, so Lucy was hired to put them back in their place. But when it came to the little boy, no more than nine years old, Lucy was hesitant. He looked so innocent sleeping, but she always accomplished a job, and besides his parents were dead. There wouldn't be much point of waking up now. Lucy killed him swiftly, unlike his parents, so he would die not feeling a thing.
The "funeral" was today and Lucy watched the whole thing, like she did with many of her victims. She was still wearing the same clothes from that night. She smiled when they said they didn't know what killed them. That was nice. Lucy was a good killer. Every mark she made on flesh was prefect and planned out. She had every weapon imaginable on her, even ones that she had created herself. That wasn't a creature that Lucy didn't kill or couldn't kill.
Night was already upon her and everyone went home. The three freshly wooden crosses laid silent and so did Lucy. She loved the cemetery at this time, it was so peaceful. She removed her black jacket, revealing a red and black striped cami. Lucy always wore black, since some creatures had very good eye sight at night and the blackness sometimes helped her in the long run. She leaned backwards, her fair skin touching the icy cold stone and looked up at the sky. There was no moon tonight, only stars-- many, many stars. Everything was prefect until Lucy heard a snap of a twig and her hand flew admittedly to the dagger in her boot. She was ready for anything, and the element of surprise was already gone.
[/size] In the cemetery, Lucy Pond is playing with OPEN in this outfit. With a grand total of 612 words, Lucy is finished with her post.
Notes; rawr.
So this template was made by me for Lucy Pond. If you steal you will die a very painful death by my pieces of ninja toast. If you ask to use this, I will say yes and the pieces of ninja toast will spare your life. Mkay? Thanks. [/size] |
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Post by ella on Dec 29, 2010 16:46:06 GMT -6
 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Such a sad affair, were funerals. And yet they were the cause of so many sweet sounds. The humans wept together, and the diamonds glistened as they ran down the smooth cheeks, begging to be licked off. Humans were so beautiful, in sorrow. The sang with grief, and it showed that they could care and they did so, so magnificently. For there was beauty in sorrow, was there now? Any romantic could see that to be true.
Pec was one such romantic. Somewhere in his mind, in that shattered rainbow of thoughts, none of which coming into alignment for more than one second, it had registered this beauty. And that was why he’d found himself here now, enjoy the sights and the sounds of the mourners. The crosses that were planted were a delicate touch, to be sure, and they completed the picture just so. Such a show, he enjoyed it, oh yes. Displaying emotions was something that was so sweet about humans. Something that made him not want to fall any further, not want to loose those few strands he could cling to still.
He tilted his head slowly, his lips pursed in contemplation as the humans kept speaking and weeping and mourning, kept displaying those emotions, and he crouched down closer to the branch he was on now. Hiding in the tree, so cliché, perhaps, but romance was a cliché, and grief even more so. Less so was war, and this was war now. War on earth, and good will to none. Hah. The tree was comfort to him, now. He’d been here many times recently, watching and admiring the tracks the tears made. Admiring the beauty of it all. He was resting, of course. Killing was fun, when he felt in the mood, but he hadn’t been. He’d been calm...almost relaxed. It was rather odd...but nothing about him was normal, was it? Open on his lap had been the book he’d spent most of the day ensnarled in. A small book, paperback, and well worn. It had slipped out of the pocket of the last demon who’d been felled by his gun shot, and Pec being Pec had found it intriguing. And so he’d taken it, slipped it away insides his clothes...and only remembered about it today, because he was wearing the same jacket. The words were beautiful, wrapping themselves around his mind. Poetry. He was thinking in poetry, and watching the romance in poetry, and didn’t care.
He was not the only watcher. Another lingered in his vision, from where he was, from his perch that gave view of all the crosses and the stones. All the signs of the souls condemned to burn or to rise, felled in the war that kept going on around him, between the scorned and the praised. He curled his lip slightly. He wanted to rise again. Or fall, either one, as long as it brought his mind back to him. The girl was there too, which girl, he knew not, but the girl all the same. For reasons and purposes he did not know, and did not care. Free land, after all. But watching a burial was the pastime of a romantic, was it not? So perhaps she would be fine, to stay there. Fellow romantics...No, the time for romance had passed, as the humans had moved on and as the sun had died, bleeding out against the sky. Blood, blood was sweet. Sweet and there, and real. People burned and gave blood as they did, which was odd. Surely the blood would burn first?
He slipped elegantly down from the tree, keeping to the shadows and the dark, using his dark clothes to fit in nicely. He might be insane, but he wasn’t stupid. The girl, or the romantic, or whatever she was, was just as likely to be a threat as a friend. One pale hand slipped inside the pocket of his jacket, dancing his fingers over the handle of the ornately designed throwing knife he’d stored there. Weapons were a good thing, in a war, just as staying unseen for as long as possible was. So he approached quietly, sensibly, up until the branch cracked under his foot, and he abandoned that idea, straightening up. Besides, the surprise had gone now, run away with the breeze created from that mistake. So how else should he approach this? In a way that wouldn’t expected, he decided.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” he sang softly, unconsciously reciting a few words of poem that had flitted through his mind at that moment. He was moving towards her, skipping lightly between the stones and crosses between them both, but staying in full view. Curiosity had won out in the battle with safety regard, right now. “How I wonder what you are?”
[/b] He stopped, phrasing that last line into a question directed right at her, blinking owlishly in her direction, before waiting for a response. That was clear, he thought. His mind wasn’t right at the best of times, but no. That question was obvious. [/blockquote][/blockquote] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
TAGGED; lucy pond
WORDS; 845
OUTFIT; Punk Fit
COMMENTS; Hope this is ok xP [/color] THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY ELLA FOR USE ON WSRR. NADDA ON THE STEALIE FRONT. OR THE RUBBER DUCKS WILL BE SET ON YOU.[/center][/size] [/font] |
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