Post by Magda on Aug 29, 2011 18:52:18 GMT -5
She raised the binoculars to her eyes and stared out across the Recharack desert, rolling a black olive around her tongue. She lowered the binoculars from her eyes, stuffed them back down the front of her hooded jumper, and made a mental note to herself that the sand dune furthest out could provide cover if she ever decided to trek across the desert; from Namaești's highest watchtowers, the shadow of the dune was still a blind spot.
Tonight, Magda wasnt just on duty. Usually she prowled rooftops, half-dressed or half-wolf, but tonight she enjoyed the luxury of a good pair of boots and her trusty old leather motorbike jacket. Most nights she stalked the outskirts and picked off a few people who crossed her path and rubbed her up the wrong way, but tonight she was happy as Larry. And Larry was happier than Spongebob Squarepants on Prozac.
She’d had a stroke of luck today, finding a plastic tub of olives in oil and an unopened bottle of fino sherry. Well, the sherry she didn’t care much about; it looked deceptively like white wine but smelled and tasted like petrol. Magda could almost imagine walking by the old petrol station, reading the faded, peeling words of the three petrol pumps, labelled 'diesel', 'unleaded petrol', and 'whatever's in Magda's bottle'.
On any other normal night Magda was a stoic, silent she-wolf who endured the warbound city far more than she ever enjoyed it. She once believed that this war, just like the last one, was meant to be suffered, but that was only because she’d suffered more than most two decades ago. Who had she actually lost this time round? Stramn was no great loss, he was an idiot anyway, Dane she was still angry at, sure, but only because he’d upped sticks and left without a word of goodbye, and Mich had simply decided the time was right to move on. There was no reason why she shouldn't enjoy life while she had it, because for all she knew this stupid conflict could last for another few decades and she'd be damned if she wasted all of it standing around waiting for battles that were evidently never going to happen. She had made her peace with the Vampires. She could easily make her peace with the war.
Magda was sat against the corrugated metal parapet of a warehouse roof, overlooking the desert across the small stretch of sea and eating olives. She stripped the olive flesh from the stone with her tongue then leaned over the parapet and spat out the pip so it shot away like a bullet.
Believe it or not, dear ol' Mag was having a blast. Not only was she calculating the best way to enter Angel territory by staying behind the sand dunes, kicking back and eating olives, but she was making a hell of a game out of the simple act of spitting the stones out. See, there was a smaller warehouse just across the road and through one of the broken windows Magda could see that a young Vampire male had made a little hideout inside it, and she kept spitting the olive stones so that they bounced off the window frame and ricocheted off at an angle all over his neatly made bed.
The thing was, the poor guy had absolutely no idea where they were all coming from. It was strangely hilarious to see the Vampire keep getting up and going to the window, stare out in completely the opposite direction, find nothing, and move away from the window again, clearly bemused.
Magda laughed to herself as the Vampire went back to bed and brushed olive stones off his pillow. She popped another olive in her mouth, took aim, and then did it again. This time it glanced off the window frame and hit him in the ear, making the man get up again and charge furiously towards the broken window only to stare in the opposite direction.
Tonight, Magda wasnt just on duty. Usually she prowled rooftops, half-dressed or half-wolf, but tonight she enjoyed the luxury of a good pair of boots and her trusty old leather motorbike jacket. Most nights she stalked the outskirts and picked off a few people who crossed her path and rubbed her up the wrong way, but tonight she was happy as Larry. And Larry was happier than Spongebob Squarepants on Prozac.
She’d had a stroke of luck today, finding a plastic tub of olives in oil and an unopened bottle of fino sherry. Well, the sherry she didn’t care much about; it looked deceptively like white wine but smelled and tasted like petrol. Magda could almost imagine walking by the old petrol station, reading the faded, peeling words of the three petrol pumps, labelled 'diesel', 'unleaded petrol', and 'whatever's in Magda's bottle'.
On any other normal night Magda was a stoic, silent she-wolf who endured the warbound city far more than she ever enjoyed it. She once believed that this war, just like the last one, was meant to be suffered, but that was only because she’d suffered more than most two decades ago. Who had she actually lost this time round? Stramn was no great loss, he was an idiot anyway, Dane she was still angry at, sure, but only because he’d upped sticks and left without a word of goodbye, and Mich had simply decided the time was right to move on. There was no reason why she shouldn't enjoy life while she had it, because for all she knew this stupid conflict could last for another few decades and she'd be damned if she wasted all of it standing around waiting for battles that were evidently never going to happen. She had made her peace with the Vampires. She could easily make her peace with the war.
Magda was sat against the corrugated metal parapet of a warehouse roof, overlooking the desert across the small stretch of sea and eating olives. She stripped the olive flesh from the stone with her tongue then leaned over the parapet and spat out the pip so it shot away like a bullet.
Believe it or not, dear ol' Mag was having a blast. Not only was she calculating the best way to enter Angel territory by staying behind the sand dunes, kicking back and eating olives, but she was making a hell of a game out of the simple act of spitting the stones out. See, there was a smaller warehouse just across the road and through one of the broken windows Magda could see that a young Vampire male had made a little hideout inside it, and she kept spitting the olive stones so that they bounced off the window frame and ricocheted off at an angle all over his neatly made bed.
The thing was, the poor guy had absolutely no idea where they were all coming from. It was strangely hilarious to see the Vampire keep getting up and going to the window, stare out in completely the opposite direction, find nothing, and move away from the window again, clearly bemused.
Magda laughed to herself as the Vampire went back to bed and brushed olive stones off his pillow. She popped another olive in her mouth, took aim, and then did it again. This time it glanced off the window frame and hit him in the ear, making the man get up again and charge furiously towards the broken window only to stare in the opposite direction.