ellie linton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reconnaissance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-03-03 11:45 am
reconnaissance) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-03-03 11:45 am
(OPEN)
Date & Time: Various! A few days around March 3rd?
Location: some options! Markets, training grounds, outlands.
Characters: Ellie Linton & OPEN.
Summary: Someone doesn't want to be stuck inside.
Warnings: Ellie being volatile and moody and... Ellie. (Probably mentions of PTSD, death and war, just because.)
A: MARKETPLACE.
After largely living off food shoved at her by Steph or Leonard, Ellie came to the conclusion that maybe she should try and provide a little more of her own. Going shopping for food, for anything seemed surreal, and she just stares at the prices, trying to work out what was reasonable and what was just a scam, before grabbing an apple and turning it over in her hands, as if it might somehow offer the answer to her.
B: TRAINING GROUNDS.
She had too many fluke shots. Wasting bullets, time, risking lives. Ellie knew all too well how effective a stray bullet could be; it could tear the life right out of someone. Hundreds of bullets could miss, but it just took one. God knew how many of her stray bullets had made their mark. Killed husbands, daughters, siblings, all in uniform, not even knowing their names or how they were feeling that day, what they thought of the war or the things that were happening. If they supported the bloody mess that Australia was being turned into, or if they had their doubts.
It didn't matter, because they had to die for herself to live. Her life had to come ahead of someone else's. She needed to by herself more time and more bullets, to stop needing lucky shots.
Gritting her teeth, she takes aim – and swears loudly at her poor shot.
C: OUTLANDS.
Pushing out away from the city proper felt more comfortable. Less people, less volume, less things that jerk her heart into her throat. Her rifle is slung over her shoulder (like almost always), knives strapped across her abdomen. It feels safer to be armed and alone than among the crowd. People drowned out the sounds of danger until they were too close.
She stops, slowly pushing open the door of an abandoned building, frowning at the loud creak of the hinges as is groans out a noisy protest. “Keep it down, can't you?”
Automatically, she shrugs the rifle into her hands, checks the safety and flicks it off.
Maybe she missed the adrenaline kick.
D: CLOSED to Stephanie Brown.
Waiting in a tree for an hour was probably unnecessary but she was curious. Most people never even looked above their line of sight and trees had saved her life pretty dramatically once or twice. Odds are, she reckons, odds are a vigilante is going to be a little better at finding people than your average conscript, but that doesn't stop her wanting to see if she can one up Steph. Just once.
So there is she, an hour early, just lurking a few meters above their meeting point on the outskirts of town.
E: CLOSED to Jim Kirk.
It was possible, just maybe, that she was getting too used to this routine. Dropping by Steph's place unannounced, crashing in her room. And if that didn't happen, then it might be because Steph was over at her place, instead. It made more sense to go to Steph's, though, because that was where Steph had all her stuff, and all Ellie needed to cart around was her rifle and her knives; she didn't have a small armoury hidden away.
From habit, she tests the door before she knocks. Quietly, cautiously, easing it open. Knocking and declaring her presence still felt so odd, the kind of pre-war habit that you dropped fast if you wanted to keep your skin. It swings open, and that's enough to lure out a little smile - maybe she could catch Steph by surprise, she briefly thinks, because God knows that every single failed attempt so far isn't evidence enough that it just won't happen. Ellie steps in, shoulders relaxing. This place is familiar. It's safe, and she's just going to sleuth her way along to see if Steph is in the kitchen before she tries her bedroom.
Location: some options! Markets, training grounds, outlands.
Characters: Ellie Linton & OPEN.
Summary: Someone doesn't want to be stuck inside.
Warnings: Ellie being volatile and moody and... Ellie. (Probably mentions of PTSD, death and war, just because.)
A: MARKETPLACE.
After largely living off food shoved at her by Steph or Leonard, Ellie came to the conclusion that maybe she should try and provide a little more of her own. Going shopping for food, for anything seemed surreal, and she just stares at the prices, trying to work out what was reasonable and what was just a scam, before grabbing an apple and turning it over in her hands, as if it might somehow offer the answer to her.
B: TRAINING GROUNDS.
She had too many fluke shots. Wasting bullets, time, risking lives. Ellie knew all too well how effective a stray bullet could be; it could tear the life right out of someone. Hundreds of bullets could miss, but it just took one. God knew how many of her stray bullets had made their mark. Killed husbands, daughters, siblings, all in uniform, not even knowing their names or how they were feeling that day, what they thought of the war or the things that were happening. If they supported the bloody mess that Australia was being turned into, or if they had their doubts.
It didn't matter, because they had to die for herself to live. Her life had to come ahead of someone else's. She needed to by herself more time and more bullets, to stop needing lucky shots.
Gritting her teeth, she takes aim – and swears loudly at her poor shot.
C: OUTLANDS.
Pushing out away from the city proper felt more comfortable. Less people, less volume, less things that jerk her heart into her throat. Her rifle is slung over her shoulder (like almost always), knives strapped across her abdomen. It feels safer to be armed and alone than among the crowd. People drowned out the sounds of danger until they were too close.
She stops, slowly pushing open the door of an abandoned building, frowning at the loud creak of the hinges as is groans out a noisy protest. “Keep it down, can't you?”
Automatically, she shrugs the rifle into her hands, checks the safety and flicks it off.
Maybe she missed the adrenaline kick.
D: CLOSED to Stephanie Brown.
Waiting in a tree for an hour was probably unnecessary but she was curious. Most people never even looked above their line of sight and trees had saved her life pretty dramatically once or twice. Odds are, she reckons, odds are a vigilante is going to be a little better at finding people than your average conscript, but that doesn't stop her wanting to see if she can one up Steph. Just once.
So there is she, an hour early, just lurking a few meters above their meeting point on the outskirts of town.
E: CLOSED to Jim Kirk.
It was possible, just maybe, that she was getting too used to this routine. Dropping by Steph's place unannounced, crashing in her room. And if that didn't happen, then it might be because Steph was over at her place, instead. It made more sense to go to Steph's, though, because that was where Steph had all her stuff, and all Ellie needed to cart around was her rifle and her knives; she didn't have a small armoury hidden away.
From habit, she tests the door before she knocks. Quietly, cautiously, easing it open. Knocking and declaring her presence still felt so odd, the kind of pre-war habit that you dropped fast if you wanted to keep your skin. It swings open, and that's enough to lure out a little smile - maybe she could catch Steph by surprise, she briefly thinks, because God knows that every single failed attempt so far isn't evidence enough that it just won't happen. Ellie steps in, shoulders relaxing. This place is familiar. It's safe, and she's just going to sleuth her way along to see if Steph is in the kitchen before she tries her bedroom.