The morning started like every other morning. A little more quiet, though. With a little less life glowing through her window. The sunrise was nonexistant among the lingering darkness. However, this wouldn't stop her. She all but rolled out of bed and her feet met the floor with the balls of her feet, running her fingers through her hair. Moments later, the shower knobs turned, and the hot water washed whatever groggy feelings she had down the drain. Out of the shower, she pulled on her usual breeches, and tanktop. The chilly feeling under her skin asked her to put on her turtleneck, but she knew that it wouldn't stop the cold feeling. Fiddling round in the vanity, she pulled out a worn brush and pulled it through her freshly washed hair. As she finished brushing, she peered behind the curtain with a single finger.
The Black Mist had receded the past few days, however, the darkness still lingered about. That doomed feeling still thickly coated the air. She waited. Oh, how she waited, and oh how she hated waiting. She waited for a call, for an announcement, or a knock on her door. She waited to hear about who was taken this time, who she had to go after now. The Winchester laid behind her door, loaded and appropriately cleaned, waiting along with her. She closed the curtains to her window.
Summertime for the Academy was meant to be...well, students enjoying themselves away from their studies. Not hiding away in their dormitories. Not cowering away from the sun that was obscured by the clouds of black. Checking her calender mounted on her wall with a black marker, she marked out yet another day, cooped up in this room. A look over to the wall and she sees her previous plastering of postcards and newspaper clippings, her only glnce to the outside besides her window. In a bit of a fit, she peels the collage off the side of the wall. The lieutenant wasn't about to let herself get sentimental. This was a prolonged time of crisis. She had to keep focused. She pulls open her dresser drawers, putting the folded up pasted together papers and photos into the drawer, and pulls the six shot on top of it to hide it's focus.
Maybe the comms were working. She opens the adjacent drawer to flick hers on. The small device lit up with life, and she scrolled up and down the contacts list.
First person writing sample:
[ In all her attempts to seem the least paranoid as possible, the Lieutenant appears on the comm with a stern look on her face. In her lap, a notepad and pad sit off screen. ]
Eighth day in, and the comms are back up. If you could check in with me or another staff member as soon as possible, we'll get a headcount, and see if anyone's missing. We want to be ready this time.
I hope you all are still in your respective dorms. Especially those of you on my floor.
Helga Sinclair 5/5
Third person writing sample:
The morning started like every other morning. A little more quiet, though. With a little less life glowing through her window. The sunrise was nonexistant among the lingering darkness. However, this wouldn't stop her. She all but rolled out of bed and her feet met the floor with the balls of her feet, running her fingers through her hair. Moments later, the shower knobs turned, and the hot water washed whatever groggy feelings she had down the drain. Out of the shower, she pulled on her usual breeches, and tanktop. The chilly feeling under her skin asked her to put on her turtleneck, but she knew that it wouldn't stop the cold feeling. Fiddling round in the vanity, she pulled out a worn brush and pulled it through her freshly washed hair. As she finished brushing, she peered behind the curtain with a single finger.
The Black Mist had receded the past few days, however, the darkness still lingered about. That doomed feeling still thickly coated the air. She waited. Oh, how she waited, and oh how she hated waiting. She waited for a call, for an announcement, or a knock on her door. She waited to hear about who was taken this time, who she had to go after now. The Winchester laid behind her door, loaded and appropriately cleaned, waiting along with her. She closed the curtains to her window.
Summertime for the Academy was meant to be...well, students enjoying themselves away from their studies. Not hiding away in their dormitories. Not cowering away from the sun that was obscured by the clouds of black. Checking her calender mounted on her wall with a black marker, she marked out yet another day, cooped up in this room. A look over to the wall and she sees her previous plastering of postcards and newspaper clippings, her only glnce to the outside besides her window. In a bit of a fit, she peels the collage off the side of the wall. The lieutenant wasn't about to let herself get sentimental. This was a prolonged time of crisis. She had to keep focused. She pulls open her dresser drawers, putting the folded up pasted together papers and photos into the drawer, and pulls the six shot on top of it to hide it's focus.
Maybe the comms were working. She opens the adjacent drawer to flick hers on. The small device lit up with life, and she scrolled up and down the contacts list.
First person writing sample:
[ In all her attempts to seem the least paranoid as possible, the Lieutenant appears on the comm with a stern look on her face. In her lap, a notepad and pad sit off screen. ]
Eighth day in, and the comms are back up. If you could check in with me or another staff member as soon as possible, we'll get a headcount, and see if anyone's missing. We want to be ready this time.
I hope you all are still in your respective dorms. Especially those of you on my floor.
[ That's not a tone to trifle with. ]
Have a good afternoon.