Thread: Line of Sight (Survivor00 & ohstefyelectric)

She had been stared at, but nothing past that 'No' had been said on her part. In Italy, this girl, and it had taken her the time from sitting on the floor and noticing the other's presence to realize this, would be clean. She would be clean and she definitely wouldn't be as thin as she was. No, Amadora wasn't exactly pudge with legs, but again, she had a figure that was thanks to heritage and wonderful culture. Perhaps this place had those things before all this happened, but perhaps she just was trying to be optimistic. Yes, that was optimism speaking, and she wished that this optimism could carry she and her cello away, back home to the calm streets and the warm confines of her bed. This was a dream, it had to be. Deciding she would give herself a pinch after doing the mixture of both pulling the dirt and blood off her skin with the rag, the thank you in her terms was expected a few minutes ago, perhaps when she had started to 'help' her anyway, so obviously, Amadora felt she had little to no manners. A brute. TO put it plainly, the brand had been slapped on the other girl's forehead since she had demanded that she get the blood off her back anyway. Why had she been bleeding like that in the first place? Chewing on the soft, full flesh of her bottom lip, she pushed away the question and figured that something smart and ungodly snippy would shoot out of her mouth like the bullet that had obviously clipped her. Your Welcome. Pay no mind to her crude tone. She obviously has a complex. There were footsteps that caused her head to turn carefully, taking note that they looked familiar, or at least they looked like the one beneath her, in the sense of what they were wearing. After finding that she was finished, or at least she had gotten most of the blood and quite secretly the dirt off from the spot, her head turned again and found a male actually enter the decaying room, looking between the two of them then over to the cello case with a vague striking of curiosity. The rag was handed back to the brute girl and her eyes followed the male as he reached out to touch the case, Don't touch it. Her voice was unwavering, mentally satisfied that his hand had stopped in mid strike against running his fingers over the clasps of her cello case, crossing the distance rather fast for someone of her lack there of height, there was a look on his face that she so plainly ignored. And who are you to stop me from- His hand was trying to fill in that foot distance from opening the cello case, and Amadora was not having it. The sound of a hard thud and a sharp intake of breath, followed by, WHO THE FUCK GAVE HER BOOTS? The female snatched her case up and raised the heel of her foot off his toes, thankful that his boots weren't steel toed or protected by any other hard surface, Don't touch it. She repeated half silently, her feet moving swiftly and snatching up a chair on her way to an opposite corner, sitting politely with several mumbles of the man being 'hard headed' and numerous other words in Italian. That was another thing on her list that she could take note about these people For what they were, they did not listen. Or at least, this one surely didn't. One light hazel eye and the other brown eye narrowed all the while she watched the soldier hobble out, angered and furious that not only had his toes just probably got broken, but he STILL hadn't gotten to touch the cello. If he would've come with a different approach, she wasn't sure if she would've let him touch it anyway, her arms wrapping around the neck of the case, her slitted eyes looked to the wall for a bit of comfort. listu