She smoothed the braid down, it was sleek, long, and fashioned with the fingers of a professional. After all, this (and a ponytail or a bun) were the main things she wore in her hair everyday, starting from the day her parents died.
She yawned and stood up, her black cracking from sitting down so long to braid the choppy lengths of her hair. She stretched her arms skyward for good measure and picked up her sword. It was strange to use these old fashioned weapons, when you had guns and everything. But it was nice, sometimes.
She studied the blade, the way the light reflected off of its silver surface. How the hilt felt in her hand, rough, grippy. She set it down on the floor with a clank. Duncan and Bishop had went out for one of their supply runs, and she was here, bored, doing nothing at all.
She crashed face first on a couch, and screamed into its worn padding. "SO. FREAKING. BORED. So of all people, Duncan chooses Bishop to go to the supply run? Well, OF COURSE he does! Bishop is his one and only loyal knight. Who made him boss of us all in the first place?" She complained to the couch.
"I've got a pocket full of poetry, got a head full of songs, a heart with wings. You couldn't tie me down to anything, and that's enough for me." -Pocket Full of Poetry
5000th post 8/3/13