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Sarah Green

A girl with the same look of dread in her eyes, no matter where she is.

0 · 287 views · located in Alaganda

a character in “Alaganda”, as played by Ticky Toe

Description

Sarah Green

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GENERAL INFO
Full name: - Sarah Green
Alias/Nicknames: - Green , Winter
Gender: - Female
Nationality: - Syrinia
Birth Date: - December 14th
Age: - 17
Descendent(of): - Sex slave
Current Residence: - On the run towards KC
Job/Profession: - Slave (House worker)
Title: - None
Political Stance: - Slave/nothing
Personal Alignment: - Neutral

APPEARANCE
Height: - 5'11"
Weight: - 116 Lb.
Build: - Scrawny with some upper-torso muscle
Eye Color: - Light Green
Hair Color: - Natural: Black Dyed: Blue/Pink
Handedness: - Left
Skin Shade/Color: - Pale
Scars/Tattoos/Piercings: - Scars on her wrists and some on her upper arm
Description: - No matter where she is, Sarah always has the same look of depression and hopelessness on her face. She walks with no pep, almost like a reanimated corpse.

MENTALITY
Sexuality/Preference: - Heterosexual
Relationship/Marital status: - Single
Family/relatives: - None
State of Mind: - Depressed
Friends/Allies: - None
Education: - Very basic
Likes: - Flowers , music
Dislikes: - Slavery , old people , knives
Hobbies: - Singing
Personality: - Closed off
Habits/Quirks - Nail biting
Debilitating Fears (If any) - Sharp objects , spiders



EQUIPMENT
Weapons: – A small shank concealed under her sleeve and a rifle slung around her back
Accessories: – A silver necklace with a cross on it
Miscellaneous: – N/A

FIGHTING STYLE(S)
General/Preferred Style: – Stealth, tries to avoid combat.
Hand-to-Hand: – Inexperienced
Weapons Style: – Distraction

HISTORY
Relationship Status: – Single
Family: – A brother, sold to a different slaver at the age of seven
Known Languages: – Small amount of English (Never properly taught)
Proficiency(Specific Skills/What are they good at?): – Stealth
Personal History/Background: - Since the age of four, Sarah has been moved across several homes as a slave. She has no freedom that she can remember. Her entire life has been laboring without any form of pay in return. She made many attempts to escape, but they all fell flat with her owner always catching her. No, not this time. She wouldn't let it happen again. She was going to kill her 'owner' and escape. And she did. She stabbed him in the back of the head in his sleep, grabbed his old, rusty hunting rifle, and ran out the door in the dead of night. She ran from SanFran to LA, and now moves towards KC.

ANY OTHER INFORMATION:
Because the majority of her life was around old people who served as her 'master', she figures all old people are cruel, and feels nothing except dislike towards them. Her most recent owner, who drove her to finally escape, slit her wrists and made fun of her for being depressed. Her wrists are permanently scarred because of this.

So begins...

Sarah Green's Story

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The shank that Sarah held in her trembling hand had never before seemed so powerful. She had fashioned it with a rusty piece of tin she had seen found a ways off the 'farm'. She had practiced with it in the time she could manage to fit in. Which was rough, given that she was always serving her master. Master. Pfft. As if. She'd never bow to another human. And she proved it. What she had always saw as a poor, pathetic excuse of a weapon, became what single-handedly freed her.

The image was still fresh in her mind. Not just the image, but the feel, smell, sound, and even the taste. She had managed to pick the lock to her quarters, which in it's self was a stroke of luck. But the luck didn't stop there. It continued with her as she crept into the living room, where her 'master' slept in an old rocking chair.

The feeling. Her body was trembling, and she could feel the fear coursing through her veins. The fear that he would turn around with an eerie smile, the same smile that he wore when he beat her.

She took a step closer, the fire on the other side of him transformed his body into a menacing silhouette.

The smell. It smelt damp and smokey. Damp because it had been raining all that night, and smokey because of the fire. There was some other smell that Sarah recalls, but she couldn't quite pin point it. It smelled... like memories, in an odd way. Like home. But she hated this place, why would that ever be the case?

She took another step, the floor boards squeaking with tension as she steps on to it. She froze, staring at the man who was only a few steps away now. If he woke up now, it was game over. She had caused so much trouble before, and if he saw her standing there with that shank, he'd kill her. Or worse.

The sound. A crackling fire that seemed to flicker with excitement as Sarah drew near to her target. The rain patting on top of the roof, oddly relaxing despite the situation. The snores of the old man. The last snores that he would ever take. Or at least, she hoped.

Another step, she was close enough to touch the man now. her heart raced, pumping pure adrenaline into her blood. She was going to do it. She was going to escape this hell hole. And she was escaping now.

The taste. People say that when you're truly terrified, you can practically taste the fear. This was one of those moments for Sarah. But that wasn't the only thing she tasted. She also tasted the blood of her 'master' as the dagger was sent straight into the back of his head. This wasn't intentional, of course. She had stabbed him so many times and with such force that the splatter had landed in her mouth and all over her face.

And that was it. The shank was covered in blood, and her owner lie dead in front of her. The world froze. And Sarah just stared at it, and let the scene soak in. This was the day she became free. There aren't enough words in the English vocabulary to describe the feeling that Sarah had that night. All she knew, was that she loved it.

~~

A SVT 40 rifle in hand, stolen from the now-dead master, Sarah sprints through the dark in the general direction of KC. She passes a few travelers, but doesn't dare slow down in fear that they may know she's an escapee. What if someone recognizes her as a slave? Was there something about slaves that made them stick out? She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to know.

She stops every few minutes to catch her breath, making sure the no one is within eye-sight when she does. She keeps the safety off and her finger on the trigger, constantly shivering and trembling. Partially from the cold, and partially from the adrenaline. The smallest noise would cause her to fire off a clip into the dark without a pause in between the shots.

She notices a light in the distance, and as much as she wants to stop, she knows that she can't. She can't risk it. She has to at least get to LA. That was priority number one. From there, she would go to KC. She chose KC because it was, from what she had heard, the producer of Syrinia. She draws near to the light, but turns to an angle, keeping it at her right side.

After a few minutes, the light has switched positions to her back, and she continues to add distance between her and it. The amount of exertion was unbelievable. Being a slave, she thought that this would have been easier since she runs like this all the time. Though, it's usually for a few hours on end. Or at least, she thought it had been hours. There was really no telling. So she ignores her own thoughts and focuses on one thing. Run.

~~

That was all Sarah could remember. She had blacked out not too long after that, and woke up in an inn a few miles away from LA. She had woke up dazed and covered in mud. But she was in a warm bed with a pair of clean clothes, a few sizes larger than she wore, and she was grateful for it. She slid on the clothes, thankful for the clean change of garb. She had only two pairs of clothes back at the farm. One for Monday through Thursday, the other for Friday through Sunday.

With the fresh clothes on, Sarah walks out of the room to find herself on a small wooden balcony over-looking the inn from the side. She walks down the stairs and to the counter. A black woman with curly, shoulder-length brown hair stands behind it, cleaning a mug. She hadn't paid any attention to the rest of the inn, only on the woman she figured owned the place. She sat on the stool somewhat nervously, looking carefully at the woman.

"It'z all right darlin'. You can sit where eva' you like, huney. Mah husban' found ya' on his routes. Better be glad gurl, he hadn't showed up when'e did, you'd be a dead gurl." She raises her eyebrows and gives a nod. "Mah name is Rochelle, but you'can call me Roach." She set the mug down and gave Sarah a long stare. After a while she spoke. "You gon' thank us, or you just gon' sit there like rot on'a log?"

Without proper education, Sarah new very basic English. She pondered for a moment before speaking. "T- thank... y- you." She nods a little, then continues. "W- where... g- gun?" She asks a bit uncertainly, pretending to hold the rifle to help Roach understand.

Roach raises a slight eyebrow. "Ya' welcome hun'. Do ya' not properly speak tha' good lord's language?" Sarah nods slowly, not fully understanding who this "lord" was. Hopefully it wasn't another slave owner. "Ya' rifle's right here unda' mah counta'. Eat a little somethin' and then I let you be on ya' way, along wit' ya' rifle."

So she did, fully enjoying every bite of the soup she had. Roach wished her safe and returned her SVT 40, as promised. The woman had inquired as to why Sarah was even out there to begin with, but she had remained silent, and Rochelle didn't ask about it again. She thanked her once more before leaving, the sun already half-way up to the top of the sky. She had burnt alot of time while sleeping in that inn. Though, she could take her time now, for it doesn't seem like anyone recognizes her here. How far had she ran?

She wasn't sure, but even now, she felt tired. Nevertheless, she trudged on, towards the unknown obstacles that lay in between her and KC.

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Character Portrait: Sarah Green Character Portrait: Alexander Shaw
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As Sarah continued forward, she began to realize that she should have brought some water. The rain had slowed down to a trickle, and just barely, through the dark of the night, she could see storm clouds in the distance. She could hear the thunder in the distance, which made her jump every time. She always figured it was a gun. And every time this happened, she clutched her gun tighter.

She began to feel tired again, for she had been traveling all day. She didn't run this time, but she was just as alert as she was the previous night. She needed to find shelter, or she would be out in the freezing cold all night. The only reason she hasn't caught a sickness is because of Roach. Roach was a nice woman, and Sarah would miss her.

But Sarah has learned to not become attached to anyone. If she did, she ran the risk of becoming devastated when she lost them. She knew of the feeling far too well. Her brother had been departed when Sarah was but seven years old. There was also a kind old woman by the name of Tory. She was seventy eight, too old to work. And regardless of the pleas and cries from them both, they shot her. Right in front of the twelve year old girl that was Sarah. She will never forget the way Tory's blood splattered against the wall and floor. It was forever scarred into her mind. The final breath she took, the tears, the drip of the blood. The completely unphased expression of the owner. Nothing would move his cruel, iron heart.

But Sarah killed him. For her brother, and for Tory. Just thinking of this made her tear up, but she tried desperately to hold them back. But her eyes were by no means a dam, and her tears flowed freely, as she stopped trying to keep it in. Maybe this is what she needed. To cry. She kept walking as if nothing was happening, but she cried all the while.

Then she saw something in a clearing of trees, that even after all this time, still had barely any green to them. It was a farm house, some what similar to the house she had escaped from, except this one looked in better shape. And there was a field full of... some sort of plant. Maybe wheat? No, it was corn. Corn?, she thought, I freaking LOVE corn! She walked over to it. Judging by the color, this corn was going to be good.

She drifted off in her thoughts for a second, then turned to face the house. Was anyone in there? Had to be, this corn doesn't come naturally. Gripping her SVT 40 tighter, she stalked towards the door and up the porch. It was a two story house from the looks of it, and as she got closer to the porch, she could see the rocking chair setting next to the screen door.

Using the muzzle of the gun, she slowly pushed open the door. The door made a loud squeak in response, which cause Sarah to grimace. There went stealth.

"H- Hello?" She shouts, waiting for a response. She stays in the door frame of the house, aiming the gun into the dimly lit house. "Anyone there?"

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Character Portrait: Sarah Green Character Portrait: Alexander Shaw
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Dreaming wasn't ever easy for Alex. Seeing the past in such long intervals surely was some kind of divine punishment. But the realization is so much worse. He loved them, his family. But even when he dreams about them, he can't remember what their faces looked like. It's been far too long, and Shaw is far too tired. But what kind of excuse is that? He has this ever-present feeling of guilt in his stomach, but he can't remember the faces of the ones he feels guilt toward. ”I'll give you a choice...” A familiar voice began to speak in his head. This is where his body begins to sweat. And that realization comes back again. Shaw can't remember the faces of his loved ones for the life of him, but he will remember the face of that man until he chokes on the poisonous air around him.

Fortunately, the dream ends before he can see what happens next. The sound of the screen door slams open, and he wakes. Shaw's first thought was that Stanley had returned to the house and drunkenly pushed open the door, but then the voice of a girl rang out through the house and he immediately jumped out of bed. He slipped into some pants and put on a flannel shirt without buttoning it. The voice sounded like a teenager's, so Shaw didn't believe she was a criminal or anything suspicious like that. He was going to grab his bat hanging by his bed, but decided to leave it. After all, he didn't believe a rogue would announce they're arrival so openly.

However, as soon as he walked downstairs, he could tell his decision wasn't exactly a correct one. The girl was holding a rifle and pointing it in the doorway. He didn't really see an end to this that would result in him keeping his life as he was unarmed and not even wearing shoes to run away in. So with that in mind, Shaw may as well appeal to the girl casually. Rubbing some strands of hair in between his fingers, he began to speak. β€œHello, it's nice to meet you. My name is Alexander Shaw, but you can call me Alex.”

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Sarah tensed up as she saw the young man come down the stairs. He couldn't have been much older than her, which gave her an odd sense of safety. But she knew better, and she kept her tight grip on her gun. Examining him carefully, she noted that he was rubbing his hair. Curious. She continued to examine, stopping on his exposed muscles this time. She got a weird feeling that she couldn't explain, and even blushed a little. She didn't want to look away, but felt compelled to. So she did, and then looked back up to his face, keeping the gun held up to him, finger on the trigger..

"I am Sarah, c- can I stay here for the night? It is... cold outside." She asks as if she hadn't just bust into someone's home. Keeping the gun at a relaxed state (but still pointed at him), she waits for a response.

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Character Portrait: Oaklie Alex Kross Character Portrait: Sarah Green Character Portrait: Alexander Shaw
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#, as written by Lucky
...Oaklie Alex Kross...

The clouds were twisting and turning, the sky giving little hints at what was to come. Pulling her hood lower over her face, Oaklie Kross remained in the shadows. She'd been given a mission. Apparently one of the local shop keepers was hiring bandits to raid his suppliers before they reached the shop. The rather rich father of one of those caravanners discovered the unjust death of his son, deciding to get revenge. Oaklie didn't really care about the reasons. It was a job, and she was good at it. Why are you doing this? She didn't react to the voice that had been plaguing her life for the past year.

The little trading post was actually well guarded. Seemed that the keeper had enough profits to buy off a gang of misfits... well, misfits with guns. Adjusting her sunglasses, Oaklie laid out under the cover of the woods. She set her rifle up, propping it against the ground as she set her sights on the door. She had followed a few of the bandits back from their raid, knowing the exchange would be made. For the father, this was about revenge. But for Oaklie... it was just business, work. It just had to be done. Why?

Shaking her head, Oaklie rested her cheek against the gun, breathing in softly as she watched the door open. A large man with a gruff beard chuckled loudly, patting his hand on the bandit leader's shoulder. Just as he leaned backwards, a little kid ran out of the house, chasing after a large dog. Stopping her breathing, Oak lined up her sights and fired. One shot rang out, a second later the man fell to the ground, red painted on his door. Shouts could be heard as the bandits, just a clan of hired rogues really, spread out in search of her. The dog also barked and growled.

Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, Oaklie disappeared from her vantage point. Her employer requested that she take back the horse that was his son's. It was a black and white paint, luckily it was tied up behind the house. Having planned everything out before hand, it was easy to slip passed the guards and cut the horse loose. A few hours later of hard riding, Oak rode into a small town and straight up to the house. Even though the sun was setting, peeking out just below the storm clouds, Oak took comfort in her sunglasses.

"You've returned. Very good Kross. Here is the rest of your payment." He tossed her a bag of coins. Oaklie caught it effortlessly, hiding it in her pack. She didn't converse with him, just turned around and walked away. She wanted to get as far from town as possible. Her destination was NYC, but she knew she was a long ways. She still needed to pass through KC.

"Aye there, it too bright out here for ya, darlin'?" A young guy grinned as he circled her. Oaklie didn't react, instead mapping out how far she was from the tree line. The small town was worthless to her, and the steady rain just began. "Aye, I'm talkin' to ya!" The pistol in his face shut him up fast, and his hands shot up in surrender. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see people taking notice. One of the self appointed guards grabbed his own gun. Clenching her jaw, Oaklie tensed her muscles.

"There trouble here?" The guard questioned, and she could feel his gun trained on her. The young guy stepped back, trying to put distance between himself and Oaklie. "Wait... aren't you--" Oaklie swung around, hitting the guard upside the head with the butt of her pistol in the process. A second later, she was bolting into the woods, hearing gunshots go off behind her. The rain was pounding now and thunder rolled through. She ran for a couple miles, barely making progress due to the muddy and tough terrain. A stinging finally caught her attention, and she realized that a bullet had hit her in the right shoulder. Ignoring the burn, she continued on until she saw a farmhouse in a clearing. With a heavy sigh, she limped up to the house in her drenched clothing, leaning heavily against the front door to catch her breath.

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Character Portrait: Oaklie Alex Kross Character Portrait: Sarah Green Character Portrait: Alexander Shaw
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She needs a place to stay, huh. That's not really surprising, considering the tired look on her face. Shaw had thought to himself. He took note that Sarah had still been pointing her gun at him, though she may not be as tense as a few moments ago, she still held up her guard even when asking to stay. β€œThe rain is coming down out there, isn't it.” Shaw brought back his attention from outside to the girl standing before him. β€œIt's not really my say though. I don't own this house, and am actually just a drifter myself. You'd have to ask-” Alex was then cut off mid-sentence by an older woman's voice.

β€œWhat're ya doin' makin' the poor girl wait?” Shaw was surprised to see that Miss Harris had gotten up as well. Although he really shouldn't be that surprised, considering all the noise Sarah made coming in. β€œShe must be freezin'. Just 'cause you like walkin' 'round with yer shirt off don't mean other people are as hot blooded as ya.” Miss Harris knocked the man on the back with her fist and began to lead the girl inside.

Shaw could feel his face warm up a bit at the woman's comment. He began to rub strands of hair in between his fingers once again. β€œMiss Harris, you really don't have to criticize me on what I wear to bed-” The man was cut off again, but not by any person's speech this time, but by the all the red in his vision. Looking toward the door a young woman could be seen with crimson spanning a lot of her leg. She was leaning on the door, obviously in pain. β€œMiss Harris, do we have room for one more?” Shaw asked turning around to look at both Miss Harris and Sarah.

β€œOh good lord.” The woman left the side of Sarah and turned her attention to the new girl. Leading her by the hand, she pulled the girl over to Shaw. β€œA little help here, boy?” Miss Harris looked at him expectantly.

β€œR-right.” The man took the woman's arm and pulled it across his shoulders and began to lift her up a bit, taking pressure off her legs to help her move more easily without moving her wounded leg too much. He walked the woman over to the couch and gently set her down.

β€œNow, I'm gonna get some towels to dry these two off. So Shaw,” Miss Harris looked at the man and couldn't really come up with anything to say. β€œYou just watch 'em.”

Watch them? And what else? I don't really know what I'm supposed to do. Shaw looked after the woman quizzically as she hastily walked away.

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Character Portrait: Oaklie Alex Kross Character Portrait: Sarah Green Character Portrait: Alexander Shaw
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#, as written by Lucky
"I don't need help..." Oaklie clenched her jaw, sitting stiffly on the couch. By the looks of it, the three people didn't seem too dangerous, but one could never truly tell. Obviously the older lady was in charge, but Oak didn't quite know whether she should stay. The house seemed too... too cozy... too domestic. The guy standing there seemed also unsure of the situation. With a heavy sigh, Oaklie glanced at her shoulder, seeing that it wasn't bleeding too much. In fact, the sting in her arm wasn't as painful as her leg. For the first time since her escape, she glanced down, seeing the blood covering her leg. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, only to wince and lean against the couch's arm for support. Out of breath, Oak reached into her pack and pulled out the pouch of coins she got from her job.

"I'll be gone tomorrow." She dropped her pack to the floor, holding the pouch that rattled with coins. "I don't want to hurt you or your family. When I leave, it'll be like we never met. Deal?" Oak bit back a whimper at the pain from standing on her leg, refusing to seem weak in front of these strangers. She'd pay them... it'd just be business, right? Oaklie hoped the guy... Shaw would take her offer. Although, by the look of the other girl in the room, with a rifle, Oaklie wasn't too sure about this group.

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Character Portrait: Oaklie Alex Kross Character Portrait: Sarah Green Character Portrait: Alexander Shaw
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Sarah lays the gun on it's side across her lap, sitting in a perfect up-right position, remaining still. Her eyes scream of exhaustion, but she stares straight ahead, sparing the occasional glance towards Alex. What was it about him that she liked? It was weird. She just met the boy. For all she knew he could be a murderer. Which was unlikely of course, given that he appears to live with the sweet old lady. It was an odd thing to see a kind elder, all the old people she knew were rotten to the core, and would be doing the world a favor by hurrying up and dying already, but she was kind and helped me, and... her.

She glances over at the other side of the couch, where the injured woman sits. Who was she? She came out of nowhere and had appeared to have been shot. Though, she can't say much about her, given that she had just broke into someone's home and asked for shelter at gun-point. She didn't mean offense of course, she had just spent the majority of her life with cruel people. The two exceptions being Roach and her brother, who she barely knew.

But as far as she could tell, she could add Alex and the sweet elderly woman to the list. She wished she could just stay in this cozy little house forever, but she still needed to head to KC, and even if she didn't, chances are these people would help her and send her on her way, come morning time.

Without a second thought, she blurted out a question, but didn't look over to Alex as she did so. "How much time before I have to leave?"