woodsiequeen: (hating you to death)
Viktoria ([personal profile] woodsiequeen) wrote2010-07-08 05:29 pm

Seventh Vine

[If this is a joke, Viktoria does not find it very funny.

She's wandered off to an empty lot by herself because damn, is this humiliating. She's currently sitting on the cold ground huddled in a ball. You might notice that her head is wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage that's conspicuously covering one eye. She's also shivering, both from the cold and from blood loss.

At least she can take solace in the fact that an... old friend of hers isn't here to see this.]

[identity profile] bornwithskison.livejournal.com 2010-07-08 09:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[Just passing by when he spots her out of the corner of his eye.]

...Miss?

[identity profile] plantenough.livejournal.com 2010-07-08 10:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[Hunches over even more at the sound of the voice.]

What do you want, manfool?

[identity profile] bornwithskison.livejournal.com 2010-07-08 10:53 pm (UTC)(link)
You don't look well. What happened?

[identity profile] plantenough.livejournal.com 2010-07-09 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
[Laughs a very creepy laugh.]

I don't look well? Of course I don't! This place is slowly killing me.

[identity profile] bornwithskison.livejournal.com 2010-07-09 04:47 am (UTC)(link)
[Wordlessly pulling his sweater off to cautiously drape it around this strange person's shoulders. He figures a little warmth may help.]

You should get inside, Miss. If you don't have anywhere to stay, you're welcome at my house. If you're hungry, I have food there. It's not much, but it might help to get something in your stomach.

[identity profile] plantenough.livejournal.com 2010-07-09 01:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[Shrugs it off like it's on fire.]

I don't need your pity. If I want aid I will seek it in my own time.

[identity profile] bornwithskison.livejournal.com 2010-07-09 02:16 pm (UTC)(link)
It's not pity. [Picking it back up.]

[identity profile] plantenough.livejournal.com 2010-07-10 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
Is it? [She laughs again.]

Even without this false body that imprisons me, I would have no power here. This place is dead. It is built of death. Nothing but death for miles and miles and nothing I can do to stop it. I am a mouse, and the cat has me in its claws.

[Whoops, looks like she's lost it.]

Is that not pitiful?