Post by Deleted on Dec 1, 2014 18:07:01 GMT -5
We met as soulmates, on Paris Island.
We left as inmates, from an asylum.
We left as inmates, from an asylum.
Hybrids were never meant to be lethargic in nature or even grounded within their residence. Then again aren't all hybrids halflings both in name and identity; bound by the sense of their inferiority, though such a trait was what made them humans. The other part -the dark side- was the one more half which strove for the wanted level of superiority. In short, to make it simple, in order to avoid all the sophisticated philosophical tantrums which reverberated within Kitty's torn soul; the seven yours old half human-half vampire wanted an outing of sorts. Most unfortunately; she had no friends to call, confidants of whom she can trust as partners of crime, coworkers who lusted for some mischief.
Then again, Kitty never had true friends at matter of fact. Her late years were spent in Europe hopping from one school to hide the feral disposition known as vampirism, and she was new for the college there. Katherine's circumstances was albeit complicated; she wasn't strong enough to be banded in glory with a vampire father whom she never knew, or that weak to be considered human like her biological mother of whom she didn't know too. Mayhaps, she will find at least a friend, but this was not the true purpose behind this nighty excursion. Indeed, the inner-workings of her plan included training herself the art of archery. A bow and an arrow were silent and deadly in proper hands, and an arrow would never direct a finger to their mysterious owner unlike the other projectiles cousins of which they hammer dents of steel renowned and named as bullets.
Through bullets; a gun can be traced. Hoping to be lawyer; Kitty found herself paranoid with everything which might get her sued like someone afflicted with an obsession for being over immaculate; rubbing her hands every now and then with soap fearing for germs and stain. An arrow could be collected, thus no crime thence no evidence; indeed such was perfection, though there was none. Committing a felony was none of her interests; but fresh air, the sight of bare heavens naked of clouds, and the sensation of this crimson vitae coursing through her parched throat quenching her need for blood lust were quite tempting facts at the least.
Lake Mead was half an hour away from Las Vegas, a place meant for relaxation, a venue for some wild life, and a site crammed with necks begging to bitten. All in all, it was a win win situation; Kitty will be able to practice notching arrows, and perhaps find a game to feed on. After all; the packed blood won't satisfy you for long. Katherine left her rented bike -purple in color- behind in a parking lot, her boots left the asphalt to touch the dust, walking for a while within the sanctuary of the unknown.
She thought to herself; did I came to the wrong place? For a reason, she felt stupid. There was a plenty of water there, and you can't hunt fish with a bow. Some woods were out there too; the scent of green nourished Kitty's nostrils, and the jabbering streams of water chanted her ears like a soothing lullaby. Then there was a hissing which served as an admonition for a danger nearby; an event which demanded a cinematic turn of waist, a hand readying the bow for the other to lay the end of the arrow's shaft over the bow string. And there it was; an arrow sighing through the wind to completely miss the target hitting a tree instead.
”Shit,” the angry snake fled for it's life, and a gloomy Kitty walked the steps to collect her arrow. Perhaps, going back home for another bottle of blood was the best idea ever. The very alluring thoughts of returning back to the urban city didn't deter her from wandering yonder a bit.
Then again, Kitty never had true friends at matter of fact. Her late years were spent in Europe hopping from one school to hide the feral disposition known as vampirism, and she was new for the college there. Katherine's circumstances was albeit complicated; she wasn't strong enough to be banded in glory with a vampire father whom she never knew, or that weak to be considered human like her biological mother of whom she didn't know too. Mayhaps, she will find at least a friend, but this was not the true purpose behind this nighty excursion. Indeed, the inner-workings of her plan included training herself the art of archery. A bow and an arrow were silent and deadly in proper hands, and an arrow would never direct a finger to their mysterious owner unlike the other projectiles cousins of which they hammer dents of steel renowned and named as bullets.
Through bullets; a gun can be traced. Hoping to be lawyer; Kitty found herself paranoid with everything which might get her sued like someone afflicted with an obsession for being over immaculate; rubbing her hands every now and then with soap fearing for germs and stain. An arrow could be collected, thus no crime thence no evidence; indeed such was perfection, though there was none. Committing a felony was none of her interests; but fresh air, the sight of bare heavens naked of clouds, and the sensation of this crimson vitae coursing through her parched throat quenching her need for blood lust were quite tempting facts at the least.
Lake Mead was half an hour away from Las Vegas, a place meant for relaxation, a venue for some wild life, and a site crammed with necks begging to bitten. All in all, it was a win win situation; Kitty will be able to practice notching arrows, and perhaps find a game to feed on. After all; the packed blood won't satisfy you for long. Katherine left her rented bike -purple in color- behind in a parking lot, her boots left the asphalt to touch the dust, walking for a while within the sanctuary of the unknown.
She thought to herself; did I came to the wrong place? For a reason, she felt stupid. There was a plenty of water there, and you can't hunt fish with a bow. Some woods were out there too; the scent of green nourished Kitty's nostrils, and the jabbering streams of water chanted her ears like a soothing lullaby. Then there was a hissing which served as an admonition for a danger nearby; an event which demanded a cinematic turn of waist, a hand readying the bow for the other to lay the end of the arrow's shaft over the bow string. And there it was; an arrow sighing through the wind to completely miss the target hitting a tree instead.
”Shit,” the angry snake fled for it's life, and a gloomy Kitty walked the steps to collect her arrow. Perhaps, going back home for another bottle of blood was the best idea ever. The very alluring thoughts of returning back to the urban city didn't deter her from wandering yonder a bit.
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