The first thought that Kara has upon waking is that she’s hung-over, which happens occasionally enough that she doesn’t feel too concerned about either her unfamiliar surroundings or the roiling in her stomach. She had no plans to get drunk, but it’s possibly she ran into someone toting around brews strong enough to affect her, and there’s no way she would have turned it down.
It takes her a while to fully wake up, not being used to feeling quite so spectacularly hung-over (the light headedness is new), but slowly memories of sand and metal come to the surface of her thoughts, and that’s all it takes to get her to her feet.
The sudden movement nearly results in her losing the contents of her stomach on the metal floor, but she manages to fight down the wave of nausea as she reaches for the familiar sight of her bag. Finding her sword is the first priority, and she calms down instantly as soon as her fingers curl around the hilt; she can deal with most things, but her sword is one of her last connections to home. It also means that whoever dragged her here is either an idiot, or not her enemy, since only one of those two would leave her so well armed.
(She should probably look at the piece of paper, but it’s already fallen off the table in her eagerness to get her sword, and is promptly forgotten.)
They did, apparently, undress her, which probably puts them firmly in the ‘idiot’ category, though she isn’t as concerned about propriety as some people are, it’s just annoying that she has to get changed. The uniform is stripped off and left on the bed, replaced by Kara’s raggedy jeans and tank top, both of which have seen better days. Her boots and jacket are in better shape, with the latter is just big enough to hide the holster and gun she’s decided to put on. More obviously, her sword hangs from its scabbard on her hip, a slight anachronism amongst her modern clothing.
It should probably look odd, a young woman wandering the corridors as if she’s just arrived from a Sex Pistols concert, carrying a sword, but she wears the weapon like she was born to.
Arriving in the bar takes her a little while, after she’s spent some time exploring all the empty hallways and closed off doors. It’s unsettling, not being able to see outside, especially when the thought comes that she might be underground. Kara isn’t claustrophobic, but not being able to fly if she needs to makes her skin itch. It makes ‘find an exit’ even more of a priority, but it becomes clear to her that it isn’t happening any time soon, which is why she ends up in the bar.
At least there’s booze.
Booze that she takes a sip of, then promptly spits out when it tastes more like tires than champagne.
“The fuck is this?”
Apparently they can’t even get alcohol right, leaving Kara flopped on a couch smoking a cigarette, ignoring whatever social rules there might be about smoking in indoor settings. If someone has a problem with it, they can tell her, if only because it might be an excuse to get into a fight. She could use a good punch up right about now.
Once the screens come on, she’s probably going to want to punch those.
Kara Styrdoyttir » Original
It takes her a while to fully wake up, not being used to feeling quite so spectacularly hung-over (the light headedness is new), but slowly memories of sand and metal come to the surface of her thoughts, and that’s all it takes to get her to her feet.
The sudden movement nearly results in her losing the contents of her stomach on the metal floor, but she manages to fight down the wave of nausea as she reaches for the familiar sight of her bag. Finding her sword is the first priority, and she calms down instantly as soon as her fingers curl around the hilt; she can deal with most things, but her sword is one of her last connections to home. It also means that whoever dragged her here is either an idiot, or not her enemy, since only one of those two would leave her so well armed.
(She should probably look at the piece of paper, but it’s already fallen off the table in her eagerness to get her sword, and is promptly forgotten.)
They did, apparently, undress her, which probably puts them firmly in the ‘idiot’ category, though she isn’t as concerned about propriety as some people are, it’s just annoying that she has to get changed. The uniform is stripped off and left on the bed, replaced by Kara’s raggedy jeans and tank top, both of which have seen better days. Her boots and jacket are in better shape, with the latter is just big enough to hide the holster and gun she’s decided to put on. More obviously, her sword hangs from its scabbard on her hip, a slight anachronism amongst her modern clothing.
It should probably look odd, a young woman wandering the corridors as if she’s just arrived from a Sex Pistols concert, carrying a sword, but she wears the weapon like she was born to.
Arriving in the bar takes her a little while, after she’s spent some time exploring all the empty hallways and closed off doors. It’s unsettling, not being able to see outside, especially when the thought comes that she might be underground. Kara isn’t claustrophobic, but not being able to fly if she needs to makes her skin itch. It makes ‘find an exit’ even more of a priority, but it becomes clear to her that it isn’t happening any time soon, which is why she ends up in the bar.
At least there’s booze.
Booze that she takes a sip of, then promptly spits out when it tastes more like tires than champagne.
“The fuck is this?”
Apparently they can’t even get alcohol right, leaving Kara flopped on a couch smoking a cigarette, ignoring whatever social rules there might be about smoking in indoor settings. If someone has a problem with it, they can tell her, if only because it might be an excuse to get into a fight. She could use a good punch up right about now.
Once the screens come on, she’s probably going to want to punch those.