[ooc: new to this, voicetesting, let's see what happens.]
arrival
The drill has ended, and most of the new arrivals are moving off, but one young woman remains motionless. She's clutching the lei so tightly that her knuckles have turned white, and her eyes dart about as if she's expecting something else to happen at any moment. Something worse.
December has learned to be wary. This isn't her first time stepping beyond the mundane, and she knows it's much safer to keep her questions to herself. She's playing passenger now. That's a new game, a game she doesn't know the rules to, and when you don't know, you keep still and silent and hope that's not against the rules and that someone will come and tell you.
She'd never really believed she'd be left alone anyway. She's not human enough for that. Most people are going to see a woman in her early twenties, a little too pale, as if she were cultivating a gothic aesthetic. Some, however, might see something else. Those who see the unseen. Snow-white skin, icicles in her hair, gleaming eyes. There's cold breeze and the soft fall of snow at her feet as you approach.
shadows
December is pushed as she's going down the stairs. She stumbles, catches herself, and skips down the remaining steps with a look of frightened urgency on her face. There's no-one behind her. No-one she can see.
Raising her hand, she delicately points one finger and begins to count the steps. Seven, and seven, and one.
No, that's not right. She counts again. Seven, and seven, and one.
'Not seven,' she mutters under her breath, but there's nothing she can do about it. She can't remove a step. A feeling of dread settles in her stomach. Will it be enough if she skips one, every time?
December Smith | Changeling: the Lost OC
arrival
The drill has ended, and most of the new arrivals are moving off, but one young woman remains motionless. She's clutching the lei so tightly that her knuckles have turned white, and her eyes dart about as if she's expecting something else to happen at any moment. Something worse.
December has learned to be wary. This isn't her first time stepping beyond the mundane, and she knows it's much safer to keep her questions to herself. She's playing passenger now. That's a new game, a game she doesn't know the rules to, and when you don't know, you keep still and silent and hope that's not against the rules and that someone will come and tell you.
She'd never really believed she'd be left alone anyway. She's not human enough for that. Most people are going to see a woman in her early twenties, a little too pale, as if she were cultivating a gothic aesthetic. Some, however, might see something else. Those who see the unseen. Snow-white skin, icicles in her hair, gleaming eyes. There's cold breeze and the soft fall of snow at her feet as you approach.
shadows
December is pushed as she's going down the stairs. She stumbles, catches herself, and skips down the remaining steps with a look of frightened urgency on her face. There's no-one behind her. No-one she can see.
Raising her hand, she delicately points one finger and begins to count the steps. Seven, and seven, and one.
No, that's not right. She counts again. Seven, and seven, and one.
'Not seven,' she mutters under her breath, but there's nothing she can do about it. She can't remove a step. A feeling of dread settles in her stomach. Will it be enough if she skips one, every time?
wildcard
[Throw something else at me!]