Post by ceedee on Jun 25, 2009 19:59:39 GMT -5
Giselle sneered at the little Moscow boy in her way. She retracted the claws in her right hand, pointed one at him, and growled a, "Move," in Russian. The boy's eyes widened upon realization of her species, but he immediately vacated the premises.
In retrospect, strutting down one of Moscow's busiest streets in broad daylight without discretion toward her werecat attributes wasn't the best of ideas, but Giselle had always been a rebellious one. She sure as hell didn't want to be here, and she warned her mother, Darla, that if she had to come, she wasn't going to make an effort to conceal her eyes or claws.
Moscow disgusted her. People in general disgusted her. Damn the Russians and their damned genetic experiments. The world didn't need a race of super-humans, they were doing just fine without werecats for centuries. Werecats were an unnecessary problem, and a growing one at that. Giselle was a werecat by default. She could have been a perfectly normal human, but no, she was a werecat. She refused to allow bad DNA to ruin her life. She was prepared to fight for her rights to live as a normal human, and if that meant risking her life so she could walk down a street, then so be it.
She looked forward to returning to Paris. Her mission here was a simple one: locate Darla's cousin and bring her back to Paris. So far Giselle was having no luck, and she already managed to get herself spite bitten, which she still wasn't completly recovered from. Luckily for her, she'd befriended another werecat who was able to pull her unconscious body underground. The said werecat friend was discreetly sweeping the other side of Moscow for her. It truly amazed her, the capacity of kinship from werecat to werecat in even the grimmest of situations.
Presently, Giselle's desire to not die in this particular city outweighed her boldness. As she stalked down the busy road, she kept an eye on the boy she revealed her identity to. He ran to an older man, presumably his father, and pointed out Giselle. The werecat appropriately spat some profanity in French and changed her direction to a side street.
She walked at a steady pace until she heard consistent bootfalls behind her. Once again, she managed to make herself a target. As soon as she fell into place amidst a crowd, she made a break for it. The claws came out involuntarily. Then there was mass hysteria, pounding bootfalls, and screams to stop.
Giselle darted through the chaos and dove into a back alley. she lurched for the fire escape on the side of the alley, climbed to the window, and peered in. No one was home. Giselle broke the glass, and slinked inside.
She raced out of the room, down the hallway, and to the stairwell. She went up to the roof, looked over the edge, and watched officers attempting to calm the crowd.
"Turn around!"
Giselle's blood went cold. Slowly, she turned with her claws behind her back to a lone officer...
In retrospect, strutting down one of Moscow's busiest streets in broad daylight without discretion toward her werecat attributes wasn't the best of ideas, but Giselle had always been a rebellious one. She sure as hell didn't want to be here, and she warned her mother, Darla, that if she had to come, she wasn't going to make an effort to conceal her eyes or claws.
Moscow disgusted her. People in general disgusted her. Damn the Russians and their damned genetic experiments. The world didn't need a race of super-humans, they were doing just fine without werecats for centuries. Werecats were an unnecessary problem, and a growing one at that. Giselle was a werecat by default. She could have been a perfectly normal human, but no, she was a werecat. She refused to allow bad DNA to ruin her life. She was prepared to fight for her rights to live as a normal human, and if that meant risking her life so she could walk down a street, then so be it.
She looked forward to returning to Paris. Her mission here was a simple one: locate Darla's cousin and bring her back to Paris. So far Giselle was having no luck, and she already managed to get herself spite bitten, which she still wasn't completly recovered from. Luckily for her, she'd befriended another werecat who was able to pull her unconscious body underground. The said werecat friend was discreetly sweeping the other side of Moscow for her. It truly amazed her, the capacity of kinship from werecat to werecat in even the grimmest of situations.
Presently, Giselle's desire to not die in this particular city outweighed her boldness. As she stalked down the busy road, she kept an eye on the boy she revealed her identity to. He ran to an older man, presumably his father, and pointed out Giselle. The werecat appropriately spat some profanity in French and changed her direction to a side street.
She walked at a steady pace until she heard consistent bootfalls behind her. Once again, she managed to make herself a target. As soon as she fell into place amidst a crowd, she made a break for it. The claws came out involuntarily. Then there was mass hysteria, pounding bootfalls, and screams to stop.
Giselle darted through the chaos and dove into a back alley. she lurched for the fire escape on the side of the alley, climbed to the window, and peered in. No one was home. Giselle broke the glass, and slinked inside.
She raced out of the room, down the hallway, and to the stairwell. She went up to the roof, looked over the edge, and watched officers attempting to calm the crowd.
"Turn around!"
Giselle's blood went cold. Slowly, she turned with her claws behind her back to a lone officer...