Sat, 27 May 2006 05:56:30 GMT

*and now she's sitting, knees loosely drawn in to her chest, one arm resting on top of them and the other tapping an irregular, almost nervous rhythm against the floor -- her hair is down, loose and messy and slightly disheveled, there's a smear of blood on her knuckles, and her eyes look distant, faintly haunted, and very, very tired*

*if you talk to her, she'll probably snap at you*

Sun, 30 Apr 2006 03:39:49 GMT

She's sitting -- somewhere, private but not too out of the way -- leaning back in a chair just slightly, feet propped up on an empty desk in front of her. She's wearing her usual all black, but it's less immaculate than usual -- knee-length black leather stiletto boots, a blouse with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned just short of indecency, and a short pinstriped skirt. Her hair's down and curlier than usual, falling nearly to her waist -- she's playing with a strand of it absently, her expression closed.

She doesn't look depressed, exactly, or sad -- she doesn't tend to show either openly, nor is that precisely what she's feeling. But she does look distant, more so than usual, and deeply thoughtful, and it should be fairly clear that whatever she's contemplating may not be entirely pleasant, though she's very much lost in it.

She can be interrupted, bothered, or spoken to at will.

Seraphina P. Hades