Post by sasha on Feb 15, 2010 23:33:37 GMT -5
Snowflakes were a slow whir in the air, dipping and sweeping in a dizzying array of loops and turns that was almost hard for even a lycanthrope such as herself to concentrate on. The soft tufts melted on her skin, making her aware of her temperature but more cold at the same time. Her breath left puffs of grey in the clean air which triggered her addiction to nicotine - reminding her that she hadn’t had a cigarette in little more than an hour. “What a record,” she murmured, causing more tufts of air to spill from her lips.
Sasha’s fingers fumbled, numb, towards the front right pocket of her jeans. Her fingertips could barely feel the worn fabric as she attempted to jam her hand into the junk holder to fish out the pack she had been smoking on for the last week. A small grunt worked its way up her throat as her first and second fingers grasped the top of the thin cardboard and extracted it from the small confines of her pants. Slowly, she pried open the crushed up box, hoping that there was at least one left. A sigh of relief fogged the cold air around her mouth as she spied her last cigarette. Holding back a yelp and jump of glee, the she wolf grasped the cotton filter between her lips delicately, almost as if she were a mother carrying her pup by the scruff for the first time. Since her lighter was hidden within the confines of the empty pack, she simply lifted it from the multicolored paper inside and chunked the remains onto the dirty street. Quickly, she brought the lighter to the end of the smoke and clicked it - once, twice, three times and success.
“Nothing like your last cancer stick on a day that could freeze any woman’s tits off,” she muttered to herself, chuckling at the thought. The female took a slow drag - inhaling the toxins as deeply into her lungs as she could - and held it in, exhaling only when her body cried out for release and oxygen. One fourth of the cigarette was gone with that one hit and she pondered on savoring the last menthol she would probably ever have. “Nah,” she murmured again, her voice loud in the quiet of the area.
Sasha could hear the dead leaves rustling before she could feel the cold wind, and she turned her back the direction she assumed it would be to avoid as much cold as possible. She might have been a werewolf - which meant abnormally high natural body temperature - but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be cold in the dead of winter with nothing more than a tank top and a mans button down shirt on. Silently she cursed herself for turning down a free coat she had been offered earlier on in the cold months only to curse herself again for not bothering to look around the base or asking a pack mate for something warmer to wear on her morning walk. A slow and easy shrug bent her shoulders further inward as the soft blast she knew was coming slid along her back, causing goose bumps to rise along her paling olive skin.
With the gust of wind came the faint noise of footsteps, but the bitch didn’t bother to turn around as she awaited her oncoming company. Maybe they would have more cigarettes. And a fucking jacket.[/font]
Sasha’s fingers fumbled, numb, towards the front right pocket of her jeans. Her fingertips could barely feel the worn fabric as she attempted to jam her hand into the junk holder to fish out the pack she had been smoking on for the last week. A small grunt worked its way up her throat as her first and second fingers grasped the top of the thin cardboard and extracted it from the small confines of her pants. Slowly, she pried open the crushed up box, hoping that there was at least one left. A sigh of relief fogged the cold air around her mouth as she spied her last cigarette. Holding back a yelp and jump of glee, the she wolf grasped the cotton filter between her lips delicately, almost as if she were a mother carrying her pup by the scruff for the first time. Since her lighter was hidden within the confines of the empty pack, she simply lifted it from the multicolored paper inside and chunked the remains onto the dirty street. Quickly, she brought the lighter to the end of the smoke and clicked it - once, twice, three times and success.
“Nothing like your last cancer stick on a day that could freeze any woman’s tits off,” she muttered to herself, chuckling at the thought. The female took a slow drag - inhaling the toxins as deeply into her lungs as she could - and held it in, exhaling only when her body cried out for release and oxygen. One fourth of the cigarette was gone with that one hit and she pondered on savoring the last menthol she would probably ever have. “Nah,” she murmured again, her voice loud in the quiet of the area.
Sasha could hear the dead leaves rustling before she could feel the cold wind, and she turned her back the direction she assumed it would be to avoid as much cold as possible. She might have been a werewolf - which meant abnormally high natural body temperature - but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be cold in the dead of winter with nothing more than a tank top and a mans button down shirt on. Silently she cursed herself for turning down a free coat she had been offered earlier on in the cold months only to curse herself again for not bothering to look around the base or asking a pack mate for something warmer to wear on her morning walk. A slow and easy shrug bent her shoulders further inward as the soft blast she knew was coming slid along her back, causing goose bumps to rise along her paling olive skin.
With the gust of wind came the faint noise of footsteps, but the bitch didn’t bother to turn around as she awaited her oncoming company. Maybe they would have more cigarettes. And a fucking jacket.[/font]