05-25-2006, 09:22 PM
The hard wood of the pew was an atrocity on the soft flesh of her rump. The plain, white canvas bag with the number 16 painted in solid red sat beside the woman as she busily rummaged through the supplies she had been given. A compass, a map, two days worth of bread and water, a basic scouter, no upgrades at all, she noticed with a frown, and last but not least, her Ki Pistol. The sleek barrel of the fun glittered in the faint light spilling in through the stained glass windows.
Slung across her leg, the heavy suit of Bio Armor was folded; she was debating on putting it on already, whether it would help her get an advantage, or make her seriously nervous. Leather was a little kinky, but I guess it would make due. It was surely better than the clothes she had on, and by the sheer smell of it, she needed a change. Fritos was not her favorite smell.
Lying the armor to the side, Violet stood, and began to peel away the clothing; the shirt making some funky crunching noise, the pants, crinkly. She usually didn?t go this long without a shower, but she would just have to live with it until she reached some kind of water. Living in the forest for a few years, and you pick up on some stuff.
Finally, the light copper skinned woman stood in just her bra, panties and a big clunky pair of brown Timberlands. Size nines. It would have looked funny for someone of her height, but the long, lean curves of her legs and hips made her look more willowy as opposed to short and squished. Being a fighter all her life, it had paid off physically, and one of the only reasons she was glad she had taken the career path she had.
The only thing that really disturbed the almost perfect canvas of her flesh was the pale white scar shredding across her lower abdomen. It was the surgery scar from years ago, when her dead child had been extracted from her womb, the child she had made with her husband. She couldn?t remember when they did it, just when they told her months after the fact; she didn?t even know she was pregnant.
They said she was only a few months along, that it wouldn?t have really made a difference if they left the child in or not, it would still have died. It was the saddest day of her life, more so than when her parents and best friend were killed right before her eyes, before a shot gun shell finally ripped through her chest and abdomen, silencing any pleas she would have made to spare her precious existance. The metal plating in her back wouldn?t bring back what was lost, and would forever stand as a monument to her tragedies.
What really bothered her, was how come the child?s spirit visited her in her deepest of sleeps, coaxing her to become something she, in her waking hours, was so adamant against? She would never figure it out, and the fear of treading on such fragile ground of the child?s implications, was something Violet didn?t want to even think about. It was the past. All of it was the past.
Slipping through the open chest of the armor, her feet shot through the wide bottom cuffs of the pants, and pulled it up her hips. It was certainly snug, she thought to herself. But it was comfortable, and that is all that mattered. Heavy, without being too heavy, all in all, she was pleased. Pulling the sleeves over her arms, hands peeking from the wrist cuffs like bunnies from a black magician?s hat, she eased it the top half up over her shoulders.
The front was spread open, the swell of her chest spilling through the gap. Leather thongs hung from the silver brackets lining the sides, falling down almost to her knees. She knew the bra would look awkward under the open center of the armor, but she?d be damned if a wardrobe malfunction, as they deemed it on the television, would happen. Not good for her, nor did she want a distracted opponent to slip up and make her victory too easy because he was too busy gaping at a little titty.
After lacing the front, Violet walked around in a small circle, testing out the flexibility and maneuverability of the new suit. It was almost too perfect, the fit sliding over her skin, as if she brought a tailor in to sew it directly to her form.
?Hot shit.? She complimented herself. Stuffing the worn, dirty garb into her sack, the long haired woman slung the sack over her shoulder and hustled out of the large establishment, and out into the open night as it yawned its gentle spill of moonlight over her leather clad form.
Black was always a good color for night, easier to stay hidden when the need arose and a quick exit was needed. Hell, if she knew that things like this were made back when she was still an assassin, it could have saved her a bullet wound or two. That was just her though. She was prone to bullets, sharp objects and such jabbing their way into her in some way or another. There was a jagged brown scar on her left shoulder that could vouch for that.
Ah she moved out from the limestone steps, her eyes spotted three figures in the darkness approaching from every side of her that wasn?t protected by the building.
Thinking that an attack was soon to be had, the words dripped from her lips.
?Oh, fuck.?
Slung across her leg, the heavy suit of Bio Armor was folded; she was debating on putting it on already, whether it would help her get an advantage, or make her seriously nervous. Leather was a little kinky, but I guess it would make due. It was surely better than the clothes she had on, and by the sheer smell of it, she needed a change. Fritos was not her favorite smell.
Lying the armor to the side, Violet stood, and began to peel away the clothing; the shirt making some funky crunching noise, the pants, crinkly. She usually didn?t go this long without a shower, but she would just have to live with it until she reached some kind of water. Living in the forest for a few years, and you pick up on some stuff.
Finally, the light copper skinned woman stood in just her bra, panties and a big clunky pair of brown Timberlands. Size nines. It would have looked funny for someone of her height, but the long, lean curves of her legs and hips made her look more willowy as opposed to short and squished. Being a fighter all her life, it had paid off physically, and one of the only reasons she was glad she had taken the career path she had.
The only thing that really disturbed the almost perfect canvas of her flesh was the pale white scar shredding across her lower abdomen. It was the surgery scar from years ago, when her dead child had been extracted from her womb, the child she had made with her husband. She couldn?t remember when they did it, just when they told her months after the fact; she didn?t even know she was pregnant.
They said she was only a few months along, that it wouldn?t have really made a difference if they left the child in or not, it would still have died. It was the saddest day of her life, more so than when her parents and best friend were killed right before her eyes, before a shot gun shell finally ripped through her chest and abdomen, silencing any pleas she would have made to spare her precious existance. The metal plating in her back wouldn?t bring back what was lost, and would forever stand as a monument to her tragedies.
What really bothered her, was how come the child?s spirit visited her in her deepest of sleeps, coaxing her to become something she, in her waking hours, was so adamant against? She would never figure it out, and the fear of treading on such fragile ground of the child?s implications, was something Violet didn?t want to even think about. It was the past. All of it was the past.
Slipping through the open chest of the armor, her feet shot through the wide bottom cuffs of the pants, and pulled it up her hips. It was certainly snug, she thought to herself. But it was comfortable, and that is all that mattered. Heavy, without being too heavy, all in all, she was pleased. Pulling the sleeves over her arms, hands peeking from the wrist cuffs like bunnies from a black magician?s hat, she eased it the top half up over her shoulders.
The front was spread open, the swell of her chest spilling through the gap. Leather thongs hung from the silver brackets lining the sides, falling down almost to her knees. She knew the bra would look awkward under the open center of the armor, but she?d be damned if a wardrobe malfunction, as they deemed it on the television, would happen. Not good for her, nor did she want a distracted opponent to slip up and make her victory too easy because he was too busy gaping at a little titty.
After lacing the front, Violet walked around in a small circle, testing out the flexibility and maneuverability of the new suit. It was almost too perfect, the fit sliding over her skin, as if she brought a tailor in to sew it directly to her form.
?Hot shit.? She complimented herself. Stuffing the worn, dirty garb into her sack, the long haired woman slung the sack over her shoulder and hustled out of the large establishment, and out into the open night as it yawned its gentle spill of moonlight over her leather clad form.
Black was always a good color for night, easier to stay hidden when the need arose and a quick exit was needed. Hell, if she knew that things like this were made back when she was still an assassin, it could have saved her a bullet wound or two. That was just her though. She was prone to bullets, sharp objects and such jabbing their way into her in some way or another. There was a jagged brown scar on her left shoulder that could vouch for that.
Ah she moved out from the limestone steps, her eyes spotted three figures in the darkness approaching from every side of her that wasn?t protected by the building.
Thinking that an attack was soon to be had, the words dripped from her lips.
?Oh, fuck.?
![[Image: visigjune08_v2.jpg]](http://storm.novahost.org/mysigs/visigjune08_v2.jpg)
Fuck you, Photobucket.