[For a woman who only recently woke up on a forest floor, sprawled out in front of her wheelchair, surrounded by mysterious items, she is... actually pretty calm, really. It is the utter calm-angry-annoyance of someone as inconvenienced as humanly possible by their situation. She has no computers. She has one (1) batarang. She is mildly annoyed that she has it instead of her escrima sticks. At least sticks aren't in short supply around here. And she doesn't remember ever seeing a single ramp in any fairy tale ever filmed or illustrated.
It took her half a minute to collect the stuff and get into the chair, and a few to start looking for somewhere halfway decent to set up camp and survey the situation.
High ground. She'll need high ground, since she can't cover the chair tracks. A hill that isn't too steep, with trees thick enough she has to pull herself between some of the trunks to fit through.
And that creeping feeling of unseen eyes on her at all times has her wondering if she's died, and this Hell's Poetic Justice Department tailor-made for her.
And the first person who comes across her gets something heavy gets tossed just to the side of their head. She's not flinging a bladed weapon at a stranger when she only has one. So the warning shot is with just a plain old rock.]
Willows Whiten, Aspens Quiver The Wolf
The first thing it leaves is her father's pipe. The one she snuck down to smoke when she was 14. It smells like blood instead of tobacco.
After that, it's scraps of purple fabric. A ticket stub from Haley's circus, untorn but stained. It's the broken coffee cup that really sets her off. What's left of it shatters against a tree as she tosses it as far away from herself as possible.
You really think going there is going to scare me?! Seriously!?
Oracle-Babs | DC Preboot
[For a woman who only recently woke up on a forest floor, sprawled out in front of her wheelchair, surrounded by mysterious items, she is... actually pretty calm, really. It is the utter calm-angry-annoyance of someone as inconvenienced as humanly possible by their situation. She has no computers. She has one (1) batarang. She is mildly annoyed that she has it instead of her escrima sticks. At least sticks aren't in short supply around here. And she doesn't remember ever seeing a single ramp in any fairy tale ever filmed or illustrated.
It took her half a minute to collect the stuff and get into the chair, and a few to start looking for somewhere halfway decent to set up camp and survey the situation.
High ground. She'll need high ground, since she can't cover the chair tracks. A hill that isn't too steep, with trees thick enough she has to pull herself between some of the trunks to fit through.
And that creeping feeling of unseen eyes on her at all times has her wondering if she's died, and this Hell's Poetic Justice Department tailor-made for her.
And the first person who comes across her gets something heavy gets tossed just to the side of their head. She's not flinging a bladed weapon at a stranger when she only has one. So the warning shot is with just a plain old rock.]
Willows Whiten, Aspens Quiver The Wolf
The first thing it leaves is her father's pipe. The one she snuck down to smoke when she was 14. It smells like blood instead of tobacco.
After that, it's scraps of purple fabric. A ticket stub from Haley's circus, untorn but stained. It's the broken coffee cup that really sets her off. What's left of it shatters against a tree as she tosses it as far away from herself as possible.
You really think going there is going to scare me?! Seriously!?
You have so much more homework to do.