Post by Bastille Amtrum on Dec 31, 2009 18:45:12 GMT -8
(original title- a new master)
Bastille smashed her sword into him but he didn’t budge. Eyes widened and her crimson hues diminished. Her face was locked in the utter shock. Would nothing work on this opponent? The man, a few feet taller then her, simply lifted a finger and flicked her forehead – sending the poor girl flying. Skidding she felt the edge of the sky scrapper touching her toes. The wind whipped at her legs which held the boot, blood spilling out from over top the edge from where the skin on her legs had literally split from the strain. Strained, her breath showed in the cold night air. Opening her eyes she turned to look up at the figure walking towards her. A noise hit over the high wind.
Applause?
“Bravo Bastille, you are as they say…and strong too…you gave me injuries, first person to do so in a decade.” He chimed with the voice of a snake.
Bastille couldn’t say anything, only lay there motionless. Suddenly he drew back his leg and kicked her in the stomach. Lurching forward she coughed, luckily no blood came out that way too. With one hand he grabbed her by her throat and held her up.
“The Princess … yes the knowledge you hold in that brain of yours is very valuable…and I shall have it. With Trisha dead you are the only one left who holds this knowledge…”
Yes. Trisha had died, committed suicide by burning herself in a building. At least that was the story…Bastille personally did not believe it. But the hunt for the Assassin Princesses was heating up, and now Bastille was the only known survivor Princess. Clinging to his arm, or trying to, she twitched at his strong hold on her.
The man was tall, lean, and was covered from head to toe in bandages. His tight black shirt and equally tight pants accented his muscular body and the trench coat he wore was white and obnoxious with its high collar. Stands of his hair poked out from his bandages on his head, and he wore leather gloves that seemed to burn Bastilles skin. He leaned in and smirked.
“A prize…but I have to test you first…we shall see- just how valuable you are”
He said leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. Her eyes widened again, not because of the kiss- which for some reason every man who ever beat her seemed compelled to do, but because drugs laced his lips and his mouth was full of a strange liquid that Bastille was forced to swallow do to her nose having been broken earlier. Coughing, she was released. But she didn’t hit the ground, instead she kept falling. With quick reflexs she gripped the small metal bar that kept people from walking straight off the top of the building. Her fingers where slipping…swallon and broken, she felt her arm snap just hanging there.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH” She screamed but bit her lip half way through the cry, causing that to bleed again. Whimpering she hid her face, however anger quickly took its place and she glared up at the mummy of a man who smirked and simply crushed her fingers…and her hand let go.
She continued to glare up at him falling at least 20 feet down before hitting a window washing lift. It only took a feel seconds before her eyes went fuzzy and she passed out.
_ _ _
Soft, the bed was soft and comfortable. The room was pastel colored and she felt stiff. She wondered how long she had been asleep. Trying to sit up she looked around the room her crimson eyes scanning the room. For a long moment she sat there just staring at the room, a frown on her lips. She looked in the mirror…she resembled that man she had fought, covered in bandages. Both arms completely covered, her legs completely covered, her chest and neck wrapped in various places. One arm had a full cast on it and was in a sling. Neck and right shoulder where wrapped up and her face around her nose was wrapped as well, slinging up to wrap around the head. Her hair hung around her shoulders having been cut to the right place where the man last night had cut it unevenly.
Sighing she got up grabbing her boots, her sword, and her jacket and walking out of the hospital with no regard to the nurses following her. She walked all the way to school, ignoring anyone who gave her looks or asked about her condition. Walking onto grounds, she had put on her bomber jacket her gloves, as well as her sword however carried her boots along side her sticking to the slippers.
Looking around she found the clock in the middle and realized she was late for class….slowly she began to walk towards her class.
Bastille smashed her sword into him but he didn’t budge. Eyes widened and her crimson hues diminished. Her face was locked in the utter shock. Would nothing work on this opponent? The man, a few feet taller then her, simply lifted a finger and flicked her forehead – sending the poor girl flying. Skidding she felt the edge of the sky scrapper touching her toes. The wind whipped at her legs which held the boot, blood spilling out from over top the edge from where the skin on her legs had literally split from the strain. Strained, her breath showed in the cold night air. Opening her eyes she turned to look up at the figure walking towards her. A noise hit over the high wind.
Applause?
“Bravo Bastille, you are as they say…and strong too…you gave me injuries, first person to do so in a decade.” He chimed with the voice of a snake.
Bastille couldn’t say anything, only lay there motionless. Suddenly he drew back his leg and kicked her in the stomach. Lurching forward she coughed, luckily no blood came out that way too. With one hand he grabbed her by her throat and held her up.
“The Princess … yes the knowledge you hold in that brain of yours is very valuable…and I shall have it. With Trisha dead you are the only one left who holds this knowledge…”
Yes. Trisha had died, committed suicide by burning herself in a building. At least that was the story…Bastille personally did not believe it. But the hunt for the Assassin Princesses was heating up, and now Bastille was the only known survivor Princess. Clinging to his arm, or trying to, she twitched at his strong hold on her.
The man was tall, lean, and was covered from head to toe in bandages. His tight black shirt and equally tight pants accented his muscular body and the trench coat he wore was white and obnoxious with its high collar. Stands of his hair poked out from his bandages on his head, and he wore leather gloves that seemed to burn Bastilles skin. He leaned in and smirked.
“A prize…but I have to test you first…we shall see- just how valuable you are”
He said leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. Her eyes widened again, not because of the kiss- which for some reason every man who ever beat her seemed compelled to do, but because drugs laced his lips and his mouth was full of a strange liquid that Bastille was forced to swallow do to her nose having been broken earlier. Coughing, she was released. But she didn’t hit the ground, instead she kept falling. With quick reflexs she gripped the small metal bar that kept people from walking straight off the top of the building. Her fingers where slipping…swallon and broken, she felt her arm snap just hanging there.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH” She screamed but bit her lip half way through the cry, causing that to bleed again. Whimpering she hid her face, however anger quickly took its place and she glared up at the mummy of a man who smirked and simply crushed her fingers…and her hand let go.
She continued to glare up at him falling at least 20 feet down before hitting a window washing lift. It only took a feel seconds before her eyes went fuzzy and she passed out.
_ _ _
Soft, the bed was soft and comfortable. The room was pastel colored and she felt stiff. She wondered how long she had been asleep. Trying to sit up she looked around the room her crimson eyes scanning the room. For a long moment she sat there just staring at the room, a frown on her lips. She looked in the mirror…she resembled that man she had fought, covered in bandages. Both arms completely covered, her legs completely covered, her chest and neck wrapped in various places. One arm had a full cast on it and was in a sling. Neck and right shoulder where wrapped up and her face around her nose was wrapped as well, slinging up to wrap around the head. Her hair hung around her shoulders having been cut to the right place where the man last night had cut it unevenly.
Sighing she got up grabbing her boots, her sword, and her jacket and walking out of the hospital with no regard to the nurses following her. She walked all the way to school, ignoring anyone who gave her looks or asked about her condition. Walking onto grounds, she had put on her bomber jacket her gloves, as well as her sword however carried her boots along side her sticking to the slippers.
Looking around she found the clock in the middle and realized she was late for class….slowly she began to walk towards her class.
