Post by Gwyneviere Pendragon on Feb 1, 2011 12:23:55 GMT -5
Gwyneviere wrinkled her nose.
(Mind, this was a very cute slightly-tanned well-powdered nose of the finest caliber.)
She gazed disdainfully at the shack she'd been unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon. Someone boarded up its dirty windows, but cracks and holes lied here and there in the frame. It was probably full of scattering mice, the filthy creatures.
A muddy sign hung down from the rafters, saying something about "berts... use... okes." Who cared who berts was, and what on Earth were okes?
Gwyneviere glared at the abomination and adjusted her bright red luxurious scarf in response. She wore this red material and a lovely mink cloak over her knee-length black-laced red lolita dress. Of course, a pair of black boots that rose a few inches below her knees matched the warm pair of black gloves that decorated her comely hands.
Her hair was held back partly up and partly down, and it was a masquerade of dark curls and spirals rather than her typical careless sultry waves.
She looked fantastic, and she wouldn't let anyone tell her anything different.
The nearly anorexic maiden clacked her heels on the cobblestone, gave a derisive snort at the dilapidated excuse for a shop, and turned to walk away.
Hail and freezing rain shot down from the sky like some Norse god's bad case of diarrhea.
The pureblooded witch squeaked, quickly darting into the nearest structure before her fabulous clothing could be ruined. As the rickety door bounced open-and-shut behind her like a slow typist at an old-fashioned typing machine click-erraaaaaaaaaa-tic, plumes of dust floated up from the ground, making her wince and then sneeze. She couldn't even tell if the ground was originally dirt itself or whether there were even floorboards beneath there.
She stepped a bit more inside the disgusting refuge as the violent storm slammed against everything unsheltered, her heels making distinct wet pen-like marks on the nasty floor.
"Helloooooooooooooooo?" she called out, not necessarily thrilled in this situation. "Is anyone there?"
Her pink lips grimaced at the building. She held her baggy purse to her side, quite certain she neither wanted to set it down or sit herself down in this dirty place.
(Mind, this was a very cute slightly-tanned well-powdered nose of the finest caliber.)
She gazed disdainfully at the shack she'd been unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon. Someone boarded up its dirty windows, but cracks and holes lied here and there in the frame. It was probably full of scattering mice, the filthy creatures.
A muddy sign hung down from the rafters, saying something about "berts... use... okes." Who cared who berts was, and what on Earth were okes?
Gwyneviere glared at the abomination and adjusted her bright red luxurious scarf in response. She wore this red material and a lovely mink cloak over her knee-length black-laced red lolita dress. Of course, a pair of black boots that rose a few inches below her knees matched the warm pair of black gloves that decorated her comely hands.
Her hair was held back partly up and partly down, and it was a masquerade of dark curls and spirals rather than her typical careless sultry waves.
She looked fantastic, and she wouldn't let anyone tell her anything different.
The nearly anorexic maiden clacked her heels on the cobblestone, gave a derisive snort at the dilapidated excuse for a shop, and turned to walk away.
Hail and freezing rain shot down from the sky like some Norse god's bad case of diarrhea.
The pureblooded witch squeaked, quickly darting into the nearest structure before her fabulous clothing could be ruined. As the rickety door bounced open-and-shut behind her like a slow typist at an old-fashioned typing machine click-erraaaaaaaaaa-tic, plumes of dust floated up from the ground, making her wince and then sneeze. She couldn't even tell if the ground was originally dirt itself or whether there were even floorboards beneath there.
She stepped a bit more inside the disgusting refuge as the violent storm slammed against everything unsheltered, her heels making distinct wet pen-like marks on the nasty floor.
"Helloooooooooooooooo?" she called out, not necessarily thrilled in this situation. "Is anyone there?"
Her pink lips grimaced at the building. She held her baggy purse to her side, quite certain she neither wanted to set it down or sit herself down in this dirty place.