Snippet #1917774

When Kamille watched his gun point in her direction she instantly froze in her tracks. She did a good job concealing her emotions, but inside she felt like hauling ass down the street, around the corner and into oblivion. Sucking in a tight breath, her collarbones visibly making an appearance while the rest of her remained absolutely still, Kamille questioned whether or not she should raise her own gun in defense. But this man who was taller, heavier, scarier and furrier obviously wielded more power and more experience than she did. The only other time she ever fired a gun was at the shooting range, and even then she's only gone a couple of times. Her knuckles were bone white as she held onto her own pistol, and only when the cursing mutt made his way around her and down to what she assumed was his bedroom, or maybe even his parents bedroom, did she let out a short and almost choked breath.

Suddenly, Kamille had the impulse to follow him and explain that she needed to get off the streets. This place, among all the carnage and other atrocities that festered in the city, was her safest bet. Her backpack and a few other necessities lay strewn about in the bedroom and she had an immediate fear that her belongings scattered about his home would make him snap - hell, make anyone snap in this situation. Taking a step in his direction, the young woman decided it would be her safest choice to stay put. After all, she had no idea what kind of people she was dealing with. And if she was able to make him that mad... No, he's probably just stressed out. Hell, we all are. But then again, what was the one rule she kept ignoring? Don't trust anybody.

Looking back at the female standing in the kitchen, Kamille didn't know whether it was alright to relax or to keep her guard up. She looked at her up and down, from the mop of blonde hair strewn about her face to her almost meanly angelic features, then to her attire and whatever weapons she was carrying. What did she get herself into? She always did manage to attract the most interesting of people. "Listen, I don't mean any trouble..." She started, giving the girl across from her an almost apologetic expression if it wasn't for her serious demeanor. "...but I guess if you want to shoot me, shoot me. I'd rather be dead than have to live through this nightmare anyway." She let her gaurd down, standing tall at 5'6". Slipping her gun back in it's holster on her thigh, she exhaustively let her arms collapse at her sides after running her hand through her dark, long hair. At this point, it was hard not to care. It wasn't like she really wanted to live, anyway. She didn't really have anything to live for.