(closed) These violent delights have violent ends

[armd]

WHO: Abby & Ellie
WHAT: Two girls one mission
WHEN: they least expect it (October)
WHERE: Wounded Coast
NOTES: Violence, mention of old trauma and past violence/torture/murder

The Wounded Coast is colder than she thought it would be. There's a southerly blowing up off the top of the water that sets Abby's horse stamping in place, shifting restlessly when she tethers him up near the sparse tree-line. She presses her palm gratefully against his cheek, and offers him a bruised apple from her pocket; the later is the real treat. She leaves him munching, and descends down the track to the beach to get a better scope of the area, hands dropping to her hips as she breathes in.

Scouting wants people out to mark new enemy supply lines up the coast, and thinks they could run into a bit of hassle along the way. It's why she's here and working with somebody out of her usual division: she's the muscle, as per usual. She doesn't mind. Means she gets to do a bit of exploring by herself while she's at it, and it's nice to be away from the Gallows, out in the salt air.

Abby just hopes she hasn't been paired with somebody quiet, or boring, god fucking forbid. Guess she'll have to wait and see.

She's waiting on them to arrive, after managing to worm her way out of getting on the back of a griffon. Yeah it would have been faster, but some how Abby doesn't think it'd work out so good for her. She's trying to make a good first impression here. Sorry, Lev. She'll get back to facing her fears... later. Promise.

Comments

[armd]

Abby catches her in the disturbing silence, and it gives her pause. Her thumb is hooked into the strap of her bag up by her shoulder, half-way through readjusting the distribution of its weight, and Ellie is looking at her with a strange expression on her face. Resignation, perhaps. Something colder.

It gives Abby a shiver. She disguises the movement of her hands as concern for her wounds, lifting the neck of her shirt to press the underneath of the scratchy material against the blood, wipe it away.

"Right."

The theater.

And yet, for some reason, that look feels very far away from it.

"... Come on," she adds brusquely, electing to ignore it. As if Ellie would explain even if she asked, "Let your griffon know we'll meet it back at the Gallows. We'll take Broomstick."

Uh, that's the horse. Obviously.