Keep your head down, dress modestly, don't talk to strangers, and stay where it's well lit. That was her aunt's advice when she had to catch a bus out of Camberwell in Southwark. It was vampire territory, and she couldn't get herself caught out here.
It was both good and bad that she looked and, to her knowledge, smelled human. It meant she wasn't treated as an enemy in vampire territory, but it also meant she was prey.
"C'mon. Don' do this t' me." When she got frustrated, the Irish in her really came out. "Damn it!"
The phone, which had been helpfully giving her directions after having taken a wrong turn down an unmemorised path, died. Without even thinking, she threw it away from her, and it landed on the pavement with a crack.
"Fuck!"
She hurried over and picked it up.
"Good job, Skip. Got another shattered screen. How're you gonna explain that t' Da?"
4)
"I know what it looks like." And, oh, she really does. She really, really, really does. Covered in blood with a dead body at her feet. And holding up hands caked in his blood. "But I swear t' God, I didn' do it."
Of course, she wasn't sure how to explain what had happened. 'I saw a vampire chomping down on him and made enough noise to scare them off' sounded like a crazy person.
"My mobile's busted, swear t' God. Call 999, won't ya?"
6)
She tells herself she doesn't want to dance. It's kind of stupid to participate in something that's supposed to be about singles when she's technically engaged, but... It's a ceilidh. How can she resist?
It's actually almost easy to forget that her leg was ever injured. Of course, if she actually tried to go into her ballet movements, she'd be reminded quickly. But she's not going to do that, and she's going to try very hard not to even think about it.
Besides, it's easy to keep her mind off any one thing as she moves between dances and partners, letting her mind take in all the little glimpses and swirls of colours. Might make for a good few elements to bring to a painting.
Sofia "Skip" Hughes - OC
Keep your head down, dress modestly, don't talk to strangers, and stay where it's well lit. That was her aunt's advice when she had to catch a bus out of Camberwell in Southwark. It was vampire territory, and she couldn't get herself caught out here.
It was both good and bad that she looked and, to her knowledge, smelled human. It meant she wasn't treated as an enemy in vampire territory, but it also meant she was prey.
"C'mon. Don' do this t' me." When she got frustrated, the Irish in her really came out. "Damn it!"
The phone, which had been helpfully giving her directions after having taken a wrong turn down an unmemorised path, died. Without even thinking, she threw it away from her, and it landed on the pavement with a crack.
"Fuck!"
She hurried over and picked it up.
"Good job, Skip. Got another shattered screen. How're you gonna explain that t' Da?"
4)
"I know what it looks like." And, oh, she really does. She really, really, really does. Covered in blood with a dead body at her feet. And holding up hands caked in his blood. "But I swear t' God, I didn' do it."
Of course, she wasn't sure how to explain what had happened. 'I saw a vampire chomping down on him and made enough noise to scare them off' sounded like a crazy person.
"My mobile's busted, swear t' God. Call 999, won't ya?"
6)
She tells herself she doesn't want to dance. It's kind of stupid to participate in something that's supposed to be about singles when she's technically engaged, but... It's a ceilidh. How can she resist?
It's actually almost easy to forget that her leg was ever injured. Of course, if she actually tried to go into her ballet movements, she'd be reminded quickly. But she's not going to do that, and she's going to try very hard not to even think about it.
Besides, it's easy to keep her mind off any one thing as she moves between dances and partners, letting her mind take in all the little glimpses and swirls of colours. Might make for a good few elements to bring to a painting.
8)
Wildcard option!