WHO: Rinoa Heartilly and OPEN (also to Jack S. if he wants to find her now) WHAT: Grieving, being lost WHERE: Unfortunately for her, wandering the streets in the general direction of the docks WHEN: Who knows, she doesn't... RATING/STATUS: PG-13 for likely gory descriptions, In Progress
This time, this time would be it, Rinoa decided, although without much enthusiasm. This time, she'd find the right way through the mist to the docks where Jack's ship waited. This time, she would succeed. She'd find the ship and leave this horried, wretched world behind. Hopefully, once she left Los Angeles' waters, the ship would sink and she could be done with all of this.
Jack was dead. She had no idea of the resurrection of those succumbing to the Apocalypse; she'd spent days trying to leave the confines of the city and failing, all the while Angelo kept her from giving up conmpletely. Still, when the fog had rolled in, some part of her self-preservation forced her to try and flee back to the ship. But no matter what direction she went in, she ended up back in this small square of neighborhood. It was as if the city had turned into one dead end.
When the dead started crawling towards her, with their grasping hands and unnaturally sharp teeth, she let them take her. Surely it was better than surviving in this shadow world, where nothing made sense anymore. She doubted no longer that she was being punished, that this was her hell, so why fight it? But Angelo drove them off, leaving her bitten and torn but alive. Kneeling, she looked into her oldest friends eyes and knew that she was all he had left...she couldn't abandon him now because of her own wish for oblivion. Dirty, with torn clothes and matted fur, they both searched on...
So now she was attempting to find the docks once more. The boat could be let from land, and likely these cursed creatures wouldn't swim to it, not when they had little drive to do anything but attack those who came too close. She was able to elude most, just by stealth and speed. Still, some caught the scent of her blood, dried on her skin and mixed with their own decayed saliva, and turned to trap her.
Her magick was still gone, as she had yet to find a place to replenish it since Tia Dalma left. So for now, all she had was her makeshift club, which drove them back enough for her to flee. And now, she could hear the lumbering gait and the groaning need following her as she darted down yet another misty street, Angelo on her heels...