White As Sour Cream [Drammor]

Rain pounded around Grundcull as he jogged through the forest. He instinctively ducked under low branches and jumped over several tree roots sticking up from the ground. The hood of his hoodie protected his head from the annoying rain but some soaked through. Grundcull sighed because with hair as long as his it took a long time to dry. He soon reached a clearing and in the middle sat a building made of gray stone. He pushed open the door and entered.

White. All white. If it wasn't warm Grundcull would think he was buried in snow. Wait, if he was buried in snow it would be dark. He shook away the thoughts and realized he couldn't find an analogy for the whiteness of the room. It smelled of vanilla and the sounds of rain hitting the roof bounced around the room. There seemed to be no doors, windows or any exits/entrances other than the door Grundcull had come in. The outside of the building looked like a small church but there was nothing to worship in the room. Unless people worshipped white. Grundcull's claws slid along the wall as he walked, not even making dents in the hard wall. His muddy feet left track and water drippe off him, though. He heard the large door open and spun around, his claws held up in a defensive position.

OoC: Sorry this took so long, my interwebs were robbed from me for a while, there. Although I admit, that may not have changed much.

BiC:

The rain drenched the soft earth around her feet and rustled the leaves and needles of the trees all around her. Somehow, she evaded the worst its night-cold lash. Half blind, she leapt from root to stone and then to root, swung from branch of tree and slid around fallen trunk. Her jacket trailed behind her in the night like a short cape, its silver titivations flashing under the moonlight, announcing her passing to the beasts and birds who called the wood home. She didn’t know where her foot would land next, yet found she did not need to – her intuition led the way. Where it was leading, it kept her dry, and that was her only wish.

A low hanging branch surged at her from the haze of the night and the rain and the wind. Closing her eyes in surprise, she ducked low, reached for the limb and snapped her body sharply around the left. She could feel the cushions in her shoes readjust themselves, their ankles tighten around her own, awaiting an impact of some kind. She opened her eyes, and found herself sailing through the air, beneath the boughs of the great and ancient canopy trees. Her soles met with solid argument beneath her, the body of a fallen woodland behemoth, and she began to slide toward its top – the side ironically at the bottom of the hill she descended. Sole softened and hardened, helping her feet to glide over the knothole and age-softened wood. At the swelling in her chest, she bounded free of its limb.

And landed through the door of a gray stone building. It had swung open in a blast of motion and she slid across the white stone floor inside. The bottoms of her shoes slipped fast at first, then adjusted as she slowed to a halt just thirteen feet inside the doorway. Kylie looked down at her feet, then back through the doorway she had come through. “Nice shoes,” she commented, brushing stray water from her brow and onto the floor. She looked up.

A tungsten-tipped dart was in her hand before she knew it, but the confident smile hadn’t left her face. No hint of shock or surprise. “Ugly monster,” she remarked. It wasn’t an insult, more like a declaration of her own observation. Like an idle topic for a genial game of poker.

"Hmmm... Ugly? Beaty is in the eye of the beholder. To me humans are animals such as a shark or lion would be to you... Except humans find lions to be graceful and beautiful... Humans are more of a pig-type animal. That's my opinion anyway," Gunrdcull paused for several seconds but the echos of his voice continued booming around him. He walked towards the person and realized if she wasn't there and he hadn't made tracks he wouldn't be able to tell if he was moving.

He reached the girl and cocked his head to the side slightly. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

The expression on her face hadn’t changed, but the spade of her right eye flexed, shrinking slightly with her surprise. The monster talked – eloquently, for as far as she could throw it – and now it was walking toward her. She wasn’t sure whether she should back away from it, or hold her ground. She decided on the former. She also decided that it might not be a monster. Perhaps that was what people looked like around here. If it was, she felt sorry for them, but decided not to voice her condolences.

“Who are you?” he asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

Very briefly, she considered not answering. That, however, would be rude. “Kylie Wild. And you are?” she responded as if her voice could genuflect for her. Despite her implied respect, she did not put away her dart.

Grundcull pondered how to answer the girl. There was always the truth... but that was rarely fun. He looked into her eyes and his reply caught in his throat when he saw the spade that was her pupil. He eventually calmed himself and replied, "My name is Sean Lorrin."

Grundcull looked at thr girl during the seconds of silence that followed. His eyes fell upon the dart she held in her hand. "You have a weapon. Do you think that's neccesary? By my appearance am I to be judged as a heartless murderer?" The question gave varied answers and usually told a bit about the person.