Post by Priscilla Ferreira on Jun 12, 2017 20:09:13 GMT -5
There was a tangible ire emanating from Priscilla’s aura. Her deep red eyes, the color of blood, appeared murderous in the face of contempt. She scoffed at the civilization built here, palpable disdain for its denizens. But there was little that could be done about it--for now. She wasn’t powerful enough yet, actually cognizant of her standing in the hierarchy unlike the delusion that was prevalent here.
Priscilla scoffed audibly in her march toward the exit. Onlookers were quick on the uptake, moving to each side as she plowed through the sand. Some stared in fear perhaps but most probably stared with inquiring eyes. She wasn’t exactly dressed to fit in donning a red jacket resembling a military uniform and a dark skirt with black thigh highs. On each side of her waist were her two .45 ACP’s sheathed in a white leather that tapered off from the similarly colored belt.
“Every last one of them,” she huffed in a staccato pattern. There were Quincy here, Shinigami, as if Hueco Mundo was the dumping ground for trash of other spiritual beings. For Priscilla, Las Noches very much represented a place for Hollow breed only and by extension, Hueco Mundo fell under the same rule. Something had to be done about it and if nobody else was going to volunteer, then Priscilla gladly would.
It pained her to admit but she’d have to start somewhere, nowhere near powerful enough to pull a stunt like that off alone. She tugged on her gloves as if to physically demonstrate she was ready and from the corner of her eye caught a person of interest, another Arrancar. “You,” Priscilla barked, graceless but she’d long left behind such finesse. Her height looked imposing approaching the other Arrancar, diminutive in stature but Priscilla personally knew very well that stature was a poor standard for judgment. “I saw you sassing around the people in there. You’re as sick of this place as I am, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to destroy it, in fact.” The last statement was said with a bloodcurdling grin, merciless in its principle, and no exaggeration.
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Word count: 353
Total: 353
Priscilla scoffed audibly in her march toward the exit. Onlookers were quick on the uptake, moving to each side as she plowed through the sand. Some stared in fear perhaps but most probably stared with inquiring eyes. She wasn’t exactly dressed to fit in donning a red jacket resembling a military uniform and a dark skirt with black thigh highs. On each side of her waist were her two .45 ACP’s sheathed in a white leather that tapered off from the similarly colored belt.
“Every last one of them,” she huffed in a staccato pattern. There were Quincy here, Shinigami, as if Hueco Mundo was the dumping ground for trash of other spiritual beings. For Priscilla, Las Noches very much represented a place for Hollow breed only and by extension, Hueco Mundo fell under the same rule. Something had to be done about it and if nobody else was going to volunteer, then Priscilla gladly would.
It pained her to admit but she’d have to start somewhere, nowhere near powerful enough to pull a stunt like that off alone. She tugged on her gloves as if to physically demonstrate she was ready and from the corner of her eye caught a person of interest, another Arrancar. “You,” Priscilla barked, graceless but she’d long left behind such finesse. Her height looked imposing approaching the other Arrancar, diminutive in stature but Priscilla personally knew very well that stature was a poor standard for judgment. “I saw you sassing around the people in there. You’re as sick of this place as I am, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to destroy it, in fact.” The last statement was said with a bloodcurdling grin, merciless in its principle, and no exaggeration.
- - - - -
Word count: 353
Total: 353