Snippet #2364152

A sharp string of curses rang through the air as the needle continued to weave in and out of her torn skin, paler than usual but also stained red with blood. The wind clawed at her long, dark hair, whipping it this way and that like paint splattering on a wall. Or, if you’re a darker type, like the blackened blood of a demon spraying as a slayer devours it. Of course, she wasn’t sure if demon blood was, indeed, black in color. She had never killed one herself. Did they even have blood? Where they even alive? This, she did not know. Of course they’re alive. They can die, can’t they? They appear somewhat humanoid in structure, as well, indicating they possess some substance comparable to blood. Such a stupid inquiry, to believe them dead. Honestly—

The curse words continued to pierce the surrounding atmosphere, jolting her from her tangent, and now being conscious she gritted her teeth as another stitch formed. Xavier continued to curse with each new stitch he stitched. She glanced down tiredly at his handiwork, eyeing the pitifully uneven stitches with some weak amusement. He was a terrible medic, despite his training. A doctor who can’t sew. How pathetic is that? She wondered why they even hired him.

“Can they drive any faster? I’m sure I’m late,” she said, voice strained but overall even. She was trained to tolerate and conceal pain, but it took concentration and she had her limits. “I’d rather them not drive any faster, at least not with us in the back,” he muttered, stitching the last stitch. He did have a point, actually. Their entire schedule had been decimated today, and she found herself unable to drive independently to the target area. They had to pick her up using the only spare company vehicle: a polished black truck with merely two front seats and a bed. She needed medical attention, and refused to go to the medical wing, so she and Xavier were stuck in the back, getting torn up by dusty projectiles and dry wind.

My, she hated the idea of being late. It would be a terrible representation of her agency. But, she did have a good excuse. You know, being caught in an explosion and all. One always prepares for the unexpected, for the mission that goes terribly wrong, but it always screws you over in the end. Always. Luckily, she only had one large laceration on her thigh, about 5 or 6 inches long, small cuts and bruises scattered throughout, a few minor burns, and a small gash on her forehead. The thing on her thigh was the only wound that needed stitches. He finished up, knotting the string tightly, and reminded her to keep the rag pressed firmly against her head. She only nodded in response. God, this all hurt like hell.

Making a mental note to sneak some pain meds later, even though it isn’t smiled upon, she heavily stood to look up the seemingly endless road. Her head felt light and the world seemed to spin at a greater speed than reality condoned, but she did not show it. She wouldn’t show it until she was alone. Hopefully her new acquaintances wouldn’t take long to greet so she could get the fuck out and not look weak. Her boss had told her she couldn’t show any weakness. Humans had to prove their strength to these creatures, and she was going to be the one to do it. Like hell she would. They’d probably kill her as soon as Nix was downed, if not before. God.

Squinting, she saw a small building somewhat on the horizon. As the vehicle moved closer and closer, the building grew, and she noticed a slight discoloration. They came closer. It wasn’t a discoloration, there was movement. Unless she was hallucinating or something. Sighing irritably, she shoved a hand in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her glasses. The left lense was substantially shattered, missing a few pieces, and the right donned a thin crack. They more or less worked, though. With their aid, she saw the discoloration was actually an overturned truck. Ducking behind it, there was a tall presumably male figure. That, or a very manish female. God, she hoped it was a guy. Emerging from behind the obstacle, he continued his blunt strides to the building. It wasn’t long before the truck slowed, and they came up close behind him. A file passed through her mind.

Connecting physical appearance to file data, she pegged him as DeKnight. The slayer. Oh, leave it to her to run across that one first. Not that it really mattered; all of them were against her kind. Her balance was interrupted as the truck came to an abrupt stop, well before the building. “What the hell?” she muttered unwittingly. The driver called back to her, saying something about letting her walk with her new playmate so she could better adjust and make friends. Skylar was obviously annoyed, more by the tone than anything, as the driver treated her like a kid being dropped off at kindergarten.

Glaring at the foolish agent with vengeance, she jumped over the side and landed with a generous thud on the dusted ground. Pain shot up violently at the impact, but the cringe lasted only a moment before her face was more or less blank. She took a large, green canvas bag with many pockets out of the passenger seat. It was fairly large, able to conceal a small child, and was obviously her ammunition bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she shoved her hands in her pockets and trudged on towards Gabriel and the building. She showed no discomfort in the slayer’s presence, no outward fear of his supposed superiority. Honestly, she didn’t care after the day she had.

Looking at her, she was a complete mess. Her jeans, already casual for an agent, were completely shredded to almost shorts on her right side, fully exposing her terribly stitched laceration. The left leg fared better, but was still torn and stuck to a minor burn on her calve. Her black tank top was also quite torn, though it wasn’t as visible under a fresh military jacket she had taken from Xavier. She walked with the slightest limp, trying to keep it unnoticeable, but it was there. Her hair was windblown and streaked with blood, though not matted in its deshelved bun. Dirt and blood both dry and oozing covered her in scattered areas, mingling with debris and the smell of fire. The truck backed away as she moved forward, turning and taking off swiftly back to base. She listened to the tires roll over the dirt road as she approached the slayer, appearing to have the goal of walking past him without a glance. Her vision wasn’t helpful in this moment anyway, as her dull grey eyes would suggest.