A Heart Like My Own (Open)

[Chamaeleon]

Spring 19th 512 A.V


She cut her hand the night before. She couldn't say what it was that she caught her skin on and spilled her blood for. What she could say though, with certainty, was that it hurt to feel pain.

She hadn't been cut yet before then. She hadn't been more than bruised by stepping wrongly. She didn't actually realise she could be physically harmed until she had sliced the rounded palm of her delicate Symenestra hand.

It was morning now, the sun tilting her radiant face over the world, masked by an overcast sky. Chamaeleon's blue eyes were fixated upon the long scratch that marred her hand, the skin around it speckled with dust and grime accrued from the tormented city. Voices clamoured somewhere in the tent encampment, but she paid them no heed, staring instead at her puckered cut with the scab and the intricate webbing of blue beneath it. She ran a forefinger over the red line and it tingled as she agitated the already excited nerves beneath.

Inwardly, Chamaeleon scolded herself as she removed her unmarred hand. She stood up and moved deeper into the tent city, still inwardly berating herself. After all she had been shown in Syliras, she seemed to have forgotten simple first aid and could have infected her hand with something. If she could get scratched and bruised, she didn't want to know about the darker things that could be in her blood.

She needed a strip of clean cloth. Some fresh water. Her clothes were worn, unwashed. She felt the need to get new ones and some actual medical supplies.

Someone in the mass of tents had to have something that would suffice, even in this place.

[Kale Sordonis]

Disaster.

The only thing that Kale could think about at this moment was this confounded little automata that had been by his side ever since his loss of memory as a child. His brother used to say that it was a creation of their father's for Kale, but that didn't seem right. It almost seemed like it had a mind of its own sometimes. A machination simply couldn't run off and do it's own thing. Such action would require more programming than was even possible. There was always the possibility that it had been brought to life via animation, but that went against Kale's faded, blurry memories of his father. Although that would explain why the little contraption seemed to understand limited amounts of speech. Now, however, it couldn't hear him, as it had suddenly burst forth from the tent and raced off towards the “tent city” in Sunberth. As much as Kale hated the hunk of scrap, it was his only tie to his father, and he wanted it back.

That was why he was now surrounded by people, looking for a small, metal crab.

Being surrounded by humans wasn't all bad for most people, but as your distaste for humanity grows, so too does your distaste for situations like this. All the run-down, dirty people (as if he were one to talk) disgusted him. Not by their appearance, but simply because he knew that there was so little effort in their lives. Most of the people he was seeing were laying about, doing nothing. Such laziness. Kale of course wasn't working per say, but he was at least DOING something. And soon, he would find his quarry.

Head down, and ears listening for the tell-tale sign of scuttling, Kale was moving a bit too fast through the tents. He had nearly tripped several times, and was not a fan of falling down. His frail body wasn't suited for a rough and tumble lifestyle, and he aimed to keep his body out of danger if he could. The last time he had been injured it took him a solid week to recover, and all the damage had been was a sizable bruise on his leg. Kale sighed to himself. Another flaw of fleshy beings. They were all too susceptible to injury, unless they spent years of training. Years. That was far too long to spend to simply avoid hurting one's self. A machination could be programmed to do so in less than a few hours. Or, so he had heard. One day, he thought, one day I will create something like that.

At that moment, his attention snapped abruptly to the sound of something small shuffling across the path to his left. Kale knew he was homing in on the runaway. Just as his ears picked up the sound of the little automata's legs scraping against the ground, however, disaster would find him again. As he rounded the corner of a tent, moving towards the sound, he looked up just in time to see a being in front of him, and it was far too late to avoid collision.

[Chamaeleon]

She wasn't paying attention to what was going on right in front of her. She was ignorant of the search of a man for his little automata. She was foolish, and so was he, and between them, they collided before a tent.

The daughter of the sun and moon stepped back, winded, and gasped, thouroughly shocked. She was surprised by him, and yet her smooth lips still curled upwards into a sleek smile. Her blue eyes crinkled as she slanted her head to the side, judging the man as politely as possible, before she finally spoke.

"I'm sorry. I didn't notice you there." She felt her hand throb in pain as she spoke idly. "Are you okay?" This question may have been directed at his physical well being or his mental. She probably wouldn't admit to the latter, although the former would have probably been preferred.

"What were you doing not paying attention anyway?" There. The question of the century. What was anyone even doing these days other than panicking, raging, or suffering?

[Mist]

Thread Grading! Chamaeleon XP/Skills: +1 Interrogation Lore: Realizing ones vulnerability, "Bumping" into a stranger, Blaming another Item/ Consequences: Additional Notes: A bit of a short thread. I wished it could have gone on longer. To bad the other person quit. I did enjoy seeing her mood shift. She went from caring and concerned, to accusatory and angry, in a blink of an eye. -If you have any questions about the grade, don’t hesitate to PM me.