Post by rosalie on Mar 4, 2011 22:58:37 GMT -5
{There is no definite plot here; it is up to the Players to shape it. 4 RPC's maximum}
The sky was a dark, mopey color, reminiscent of a dirty bowl of porridge. The clouds were bristling with unrestrained energy, hidden behind a benign layer of gray. A storm was brewing; even the human's, normally so busy with their lives, could tell that. They hurried along, shopping bags in their hands, casting nervous glances at the worlds ceiling. The mass of the crowd was moving away, away from the storm clouds, away from the beauty that can only be contained in the sheer destructiveness of nature. All of them, except for one.
A single girl, clad all in purple, with her hands in her pockets, was, too, casting glances at the clouds above; however, not ones of fear, but ones of reverence. She glanced around in annoyance at the crowd, her nose wrinkling in disgust. It was almost as if she was a part of a different world. She turned away and continued to float down the street, every inch better than the rats she left behind.
She flitted from place to place, window shopping, right under ground zero. Suddenly, with no warning, no time to prepare, the storm started. She whirled around, her hands up in the air. Water dripped down her arms. A thunderclap sounded and lightning stroked, collapsing a telephone pole right in front of her. The ground caved, the wind howled, sending paper and debris flying. And through it all, through this spectacle of the sheer power of nature, a look of purest joy was on her face. A look of joy one can only find when you are indulging in the richest part of your being. Her hair was wet; she was drenched through. Shivers were wracking her body. And she stood and bore witness to the massacre of this poor town.
The sky was a dark, mopey color, reminiscent of a dirty bowl of porridge. The clouds were bristling with unrestrained energy, hidden behind a benign layer of gray. A storm was brewing; even the human's, normally so busy with their lives, could tell that. They hurried along, shopping bags in their hands, casting nervous glances at the worlds ceiling. The mass of the crowd was moving away, away from the storm clouds, away from the beauty that can only be contained in the sheer destructiveness of nature. All of them, except for one.
A single girl, clad all in purple, with her hands in her pockets, was, too, casting glances at the clouds above; however, not ones of fear, but ones of reverence. She glanced around in annoyance at the crowd, her nose wrinkling in disgust. It was almost as if she was a part of a different world. She turned away and continued to float down the street, every inch better than the rats she left behind.
She flitted from place to place, window shopping, right under ground zero. Suddenly, with no warning, no time to prepare, the storm started. She whirled around, her hands up in the air. Water dripped down her arms. A thunderclap sounded and lightning stroked, collapsing a telephone pole right in front of her. The ground caved, the wind howled, sending paper and debris flying. And through it all, through this spectacle of the sheer power of nature, a look of purest joy was on her face. A look of joy one can only find when you are indulging in the richest part of your being. Her hair was wet; she was drenched through. Shivers were wracking her body. And she stood and bore witness to the massacre of this poor town.
