Thread: Line of Sight (Survivor00 & ohstefyelectric)

It almost seemed picturesque, the sad sort of picturesque quite frankly, there was something about the aura of her surroundings that left her feeling angry and a bit annoyed. This was not supposed to happen, nothing was supposed to happen like this so why was it happening to her? She had just barely turned eighteen and this was happening! It just wasn't fair! She was a fresh mind just now released into the world and ready to do something brilliant and beautiful though she wound up here from her first symphony solo, it absolutely was not fair! God! Why was He doing this to her? She had gone to church as a younger girl, Roman Catholic and brought up in the school system of that same church, her fingers went faster, the cello string's sound coming out violent and rapid, this was not the second time for her to cry. No, there were no more tears willing to fall from her eyes because she wouldn't let them. Amadora was letting her mind become entranced in the sound of the vibrating strings rising into the air, so far no one had taken the time to hassle or bother her, which she was quite thankful for. No one had tried to ask her any questions just yet and she didn't think she could come to terms with speaking, however , when she was called out to in a manner that she found rude, her eyes narrowed just slightly and the music came to an abrupt stop. There were plenty of words that could be said and numerous phrases that could be used, however, there was nothing from the teenage girl with mismatched eyes. Batting her thick eyelashes down at her tamed monster, there had still been no response or no movements toward the other who was evidently Slavic and trying to get her to do something for her. She had not been the one to save her life, no, she wasn't, which also meant she did not know her name. That didn't matter! If this other female did not know Amadora's name then wouldn't the common thing, the polite thing, to do would be to ask? Yes, it would, just like the polite thing to do in this Slavic girl's mind was to just so rudely tell her to help. No. Her voice was soft, though there was nothing stopping that word from getting to her, even with the faint sound of something hitting the ground and exploding, the slightly shaking floor beneath her was starting to become disgustingly normal. . No, this was not normal, nothing here was normal, not even the washrag that that girl had just tried to get her to hold. She had always been raised in a privileged household, surrounded by the best knowledge that she could get because apparently things were planned at birth for this child to go far, however, this was not in the plan. Coming to a new place and getting bombed during a symphony performance was not in the plan. None of this was in the plan. Amadora was doubting God. Closing the case and scooting back against the wall with it, the Italian girl found her mind making mental comparisons of the two of them, the differences becoming like night and day. Judging by the way things were, this one was like the ones who had saved her, even if it was an unintentional savior, she was a rebel who had gotten some sort of wound or another. She was thin, not breakable thin, but thinner than her none the less. Amadora would like to blame it on genetics, when it was probably the home cooked food she was used to that caused her body to curve femininely the way it did. Her eyes were now staring at the blood that had been trapped and left to dry on her skin, obviously her own from getting nipped by a bullet, mentally noticing she wasn't wailing out as she had only recently heard a man go by screaming at the top of his lungs in pain. Pain often led to fear, and with a shiver going down her spine, the female shifted her fingers through her hair in light strokes, pushing it all to one side of her face and finding a clip hidden beneath her cello, she pinned the back just lightly before slowly standing to her feet. She felt like a child learning how to walk, using the wall to help her stand and leaning forward slightly, her legs felt like a jar of jam. Her eyes had settled for looking at the ground, the boots giving her a good inch or so of height, it didn't make her any taller, not that she minded being at her height anyhow. A soft breath causing her chest to rise and fall as she closed her eyes, a hand reached behind her and remained palm flat on the peeling paint, what was once a classroom becoming more and more visible to her. She could imagine children in here, running around and having fun after waking up from maybe a mid afternoon nap, ready and excited to play whatever game the teacher had in store. This just wasn't fair. Why was this happening? Her hand still flat against the wall, standing with the awkward position, her eyes moved to the topless female, not at all letting it render in her mind that she wasn't wearing a shirt. This was no time for any of that. Moving carefully though, her feet guided her slowly across the floor before taking the washcloth into her musically talented hands, she frowned at it being dirty before she even put it on her skin, doing what she had earlier said 'No' to and helping the rebel clean the blood off her skin.listu