It takes approximately no time at all for Clarice to volunteer to search for the missing hunting party. She's not Search & Rescue by training, but her skills should transfer without too much difficulty; if nothing else, she'll make good backup for the real experts.
The woods are, to avoid mincing words, creepy as hell. She's noticeably more cautious as she goes, gaze sharp as it sweeps the ever-shrinking pool of light around them.
a.
"How're you doing?" It's pure professional courtesy, moving closer to someone looking jittery. "There's no shame in turning back, if you need to."
b.
The spider drops suddenly, bigger than a coyote and twice as mean. "Your left!" she shouts, pulling her sword from her sheath. It's awkward to hold, makes her miss her Smith & Wesson.
c.
"Fuck," she mutters under her breath, and, "Shit." Louder, directed at the person approaching her with a blade - "Drop your weapon. I'm on your side here. I'm not the one you wanna attack."
It's a steady, deliberate demand, the voice of a woman who's had practice with trying to deescalate deadly situations.
d. nota bene: animal death
She can hear screaming, inhuman and terrified, and it cuts straight through her exactly the way it did when she was ten. It's worse than her nightmares were - the immediacy of it, made more believable by the reek of soiled hay and blood in her nose, catches her up short. Clarice freezes, an almost childlike terror passing over her face.
wildcard.
[ If you want to do something else, let's do something else. I'm happy to screw around with Summertide or monster transformations as well. Feel free to PM this journal or PP hellzapoppin if you want to discuss any details beforehand. ]
clarice starling | the silence of the lambs | wilk
The woods are, to avoid mincing words, creepy as hell. She's noticeably more cautious as she goes, gaze sharp as it sweeps the ever-shrinking pool of light around them.
a.
"How're you doing?" It's pure professional courtesy, moving closer to someone looking jittery. "There's no shame in turning back, if you need to."
b.
The spider drops suddenly, bigger than a coyote and twice as mean. "Your left!" she shouts, pulling her sword from her sheath. It's awkward to hold, makes her miss her Smith & Wesson.
c.
"Fuck," she mutters under her breath, and, "Shit." Louder, directed at the person approaching her with a blade - "Drop your weapon. I'm on your side here. I'm not the one you wanna attack."
It's a steady, deliberate demand, the voice of a woman who's had practice with trying to deescalate deadly situations.
d.
nota bene: animal death
She can hear screaming, inhuman and terrified, and it cuts straight through her exactly the way it did when she was ten. It's worse than her nightmares were - the immediacy of it, made more believable by the reek of soiled hay and blood in her nose, catches her up short. Clarice freezes, an almost childlike terror passing over her face.
wildcard.
[ If you want to do something else, let's do something else. I'm happy to screw around with Summertide or monster transformations as well. Feel free to PM this journal or PP