<img style="avatar" src="http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f206/Blade_Redwind/Alonimi/Trinity-1-1.png" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;]Was she chain smoking? It wouldn’t the first time; not like it mattered really. At one point in her life she’d probably smoked to take the edge off he frayed and disembodied nerves; much the same when for the alcohol use. Actually, of the two, the latter had been binged on more times than she could recall. There were nights she drank too much just to sleep; though, it wasn’t often enough to warrant a problem anymore.
When he spoke and his hand slid over her knee, warmth rubbing over soft suit material, she stilled. The glass in her hand, poised before her lips, halted. Images slipped along her subconscious, some that were painful and others that were not; it was a half broken epiphany that gave her no indication of a natural reaction.
She remember the past, the time after; when being mute was no longer an issue and she’d risen through the ranks with the same ease that fingers slid over the cocking mechanism on a pistol. Some thought to rattle her, to bait her; the Underworld was a little more than cutthroat. Those that knew her before imaged it would be easily to manipulate the silent marksman who didn’t make a sound when she walked. They also hadn’t planned on shuffling away with a few broken fingers for their ill-suited foresight, and probably not on an arm or two that needed slammed back into socket.
One or two fucking instances like that had paved the way for people to take her seriously—to make a wide path in her wake. As time progressed, and as money ran out, it became more obvious that while their boss was an asshole when it counted, she was also easy to talk to. Just, you know, don’t fuck her shit and keep your darker intentions to the red light district. Vampire or not, she was perhaps a little human for her own good.
Always had been.
But Trin wasn’t back home just then; she wasn’t in a place where everyone knew her on sight—where everyone knew her name. The man beside her had no idea how easy it would be for her grab hold of his wrist, twist his body, and slam the side of his face into the bar while shoving one of her Peacemaker .45s into the base of his skull to the point of breaking bone and tissue.
He was just another body in a bar easing out of a monotonous day—just the same as she. And their was power in not being known; in not being evaluated on sight because of your reputation.
And so, she kept her crimsoned gaze on him even as he looked away from her. She didn’t do any of the things her mind imagined her doing. Instead, she entertained the thought of going against that natural reaction.
How long had it been? She and Amon were always back and forth, half in the sheets and out. And, for his part, the man deserved a medal. He tried to win that part of her that she refused to be let won. It would be easy to stop, but, it would be harder to let go just because part of her wanted to him to keep trying…. Maybe.
“Trinity,” she finally replied, the moment of silence too long not to notice. “Trin,” she amended, not thinking she needed to clarify that it was a shortened nickname. “Don’t have a last name.” She finally took a sip and looked away. The cigarette I her hand had long overburned and she put it out entirely. “Sioux’s weren’t passing out last names when I was kid, just ones that told something about who you were.” She set down her drink and pushed a few errant strands aside. “But, telling people to call me Silent Walker sounds too much like the fuckin’ start of a bad movie.” At this she chuckled.
When he spoke and his hand slid over her knee, warmth rubbing over soft suit material, she stilled. The glass in her hand, poised before her lips, halted. Images slipped along her subconscious, some that were painful and others that were not; it was a half broken epiphany that gave her no indication of a natural reaction.
She remember the past, the time after; when being mute was no longer an issue and she’d risen through the ranks with the same ease that fingers slid over the cocking mechanism on a pistol. Some thought to rattle her, to bait her; the Underworld was a little more than cutthroat. Those that knew her before imaged it would be easily to manipulate the silent marksman who didn’t make a sound when she walked. They also hadn’t planned on shuffling away with a few broken fingers for their ill-suited foresight, and probably not on an arm or two that needed slammed back into socket.
One or two fucking instances like that had paved the way for people to take her seriously—to make a wide path in her wake. As time progressed, and as money ran out, it became more obvious that while their boss was an asshole when it counted, she was also easy to talk to. Just, you know, don’t fuck her shit and keep your darker intentions to the red light district. Vampire or not, she was perhaps a little human for her own good.
Always had been.
But Trin wasn’t back home just then; she wasn’t in a place where everyone knew her on sight—where everyone knew her name. The man beside her had no idea how easy it would be for her grab hold of his wrist, twist his body, and slam the side of his face into the bar while shoving one of her Peacemaker .45s into the base of his skull to the point of breaking bone and tissue.
He was just another body in a bar easing out of a monotonous day—just the same as she. And their was power in not being known; in not being evaluated on sight because of your reputation.
And so, she kept her crimsoned gaze on him even as he looked away from her. She didn’t do any of the things her mind imagined her doing. Instead, she entertained the thought of going against that natural reaction.
How long had it been? She and Amon were always back and forth, half in the sheets and out. And, for his part, the man deserved a medal. He tried to win that part of her that she refused to be let won. It would be easy to stop, but, it would be harder to let go just because part of her wanted to him to keep trying…. Maybe.
“Trinity,” she finally replied, the moment of silence too long not to notice. “Trin,” she amended, not thinking she needed to clarify that it was a shortened nickname. “Don’t have a last name.” She finally took a sip and looked away. The cigarette I her hand had long overburned and she put it out entirely. “Sioux’s weren’t passing out last names when I was kid, just ones that told something about who you were.” She set down her drink and pushed a few errant strands aside. “But, telling people to call me Silent Walker sounds too much like the fuckin’ start of a bad movie.” At this she chuckled.
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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