Thread: A Small-Town Story [Back-Alley Shadow x ThomasRHellsing]

With a tired huff, Virginia Saenz had watched as the beautiful city lights of New York had faded in to the distance when her plane had taken off from the tarmac. The flight itself was relatively uneventful, and totally unenjoyable. Of course she had been flying before, on family vacations, so she had known what to expect, but that didn't mean she liked it. She had been stuck next to some overweight, white-collar business-type prick, who she was pretty sure had a nasal problem with the way he was breathing, and he had been rambling at her from the moment he said hello about what he did for a living. The exciting life of a lawyer. Just the kind of prick her mom and dad would have been happy to see her marry. She put up with it, though. She put up with a lot during that flight. Even the wining kids a few seats ahead of her who didn't seem to know when they needed to shut up . The worst part was that she couldn't even enjoy a cigarette. The airline had a smoke detector in the bathroom and, surprisingly, she didn't want to risk the trouble from tampering with it. Dressed in her usual attire, the attractive young seventeen year old girl had clothes and style that fit her personality. Her hair, raven black, was contrasted with dazzingly bright pink highlights, and the wavy and rebellious hair had been pulled back in to a ponytail that morninng because -- well, she just hated having it down most of the time. Her matte-black bra, too loose for her modestly sized C-cups, had straps that almost constantly needed readjusting, but the bra itself was kept in place by a white undershirt that was covered with a hot-pink shirt that she had gotten at a skating memrobilia store a year or two ago when she and her family had gone down to Florida. She had a simple-looking black leather belt holding up her pants, faded denim filled with a variety of holes as was usual for her, and a far more decorative black leather belt with polished metal square studs rested loosely about her hips. She had black and white skating sneakers, and her wrists were adorned with a variety of bands and jewelry collected over the years, as well as a pair of rings on her right hand. At the moment she was wearing a dusty and worn-looking black leather biker's jacket a gift from a motorcyclist ex-boyfriend that she had forgot to return that was decorated with an incredibly wide variety of patches. Not to mention the buttons across her jeans, the eyebrow lip and tongue piercings, or the aviator sunglasses hanging from the neck of her shirt at the moment. Of course, on the ground she would have had her skateboard with her, but that was stored in her carry-on luggage. Touching down in the airport in, appropriatelly, the state of Virginia she had found a comfortable seat in the terminal, set her bags down, and waited tiredly while waiting for her ride. The uncle she hadn't seen in a good year now. ----------- Hey! Uncle Slim called out, walking through the house, Are you ready yet? He called out for his one and only farm-hand, She's probably waiting at the airport right now. The large house on the ranch was, well -- large . Two stories, two guest bedrooms, a master bedroom, two full bathrooms, a half bathroom, a large kitchen, a dining room, and a large living room with fireplace and expensive entertainment center. Uncle Slim, a short, stocky fellow, with broad shoulders, snow-white hair, and a face with wrinkles of time and hardships of a ranch walked through the kitchen. His boots clicked on the tile floor as he pulled on his dark brown leather jacket and double-checked to make sure that he had his keys with him. As he entered the living room, he called out again for his farm hand. Are you even listening? He asked.