I'll post later on. I just wrote a giant reply and then my stupid computer deleted it all so I'll get to it later for a second try. I don't want this to die so c'mon people!
I must admit, being dark and mysterious is a little boring when we're walking through the forest aimlessly, looking for things that will probably kill us. I fell back to talk to the kid, George, I think, lagging behind the rest of the group who had come off as a shy kind of guy. I just nodded, hoping maybe he would start conversing with me. After minutes of more silence, I sighed softly and opened my mouth to ask a question when there was rustling behind us. A shadow formed in the foliage. Glancing at George, I asked quietly, "What is that?"
I burst through the foliage and crashed to the ground, my heart racing ten miles per second. Most of the crew gasped but it only widened when our lovely government agent also stepped through the bushes and crushed by spine in the process. She squeaked once she realised she was standing on top of me.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, her breath smelling like coffee. Oh how I missed coffee!
"That's fine just get off of my spine before you break it!"
She jumped off of me and quickly began to pick me up off the ground. Using her as stabiliser, I turned and stared at the people who had left me to my death earlier this morning.
"Well it's nice seeing you all again," I said with a false cherriness. "Did you miss me whilst you were walking away from harm's way? Did you even think about me when you were tracking away from camp and possibly with one man short?!" Oh I was pissed and they were going to sit there and listen to me scream!
To bad fate didn't agree with me because before I could say anymore, the tell tale signs of a Mortal could be heard behind us.
I blinked once in reply, a habit formed from my earliest instructor in the military.
"What way?" I asked the woman who was obviously in authority. She indicated a direction and I followed.
My mindset was now totally geared for battle. I went into detail anlyzation overload, programming myself to be able to fight in this setting.
I can use that as an extreme emergency weapon, that rock is just the right size for me to bombard the enemy telekinetically...
It was an endless stream of thoughts that adhered to a rigid process that had been incessently drilled into me by my mentor. I chuckled even as I was focused on the battle, but I hardly recognized it myself. It was my subconscious, it seemed, laughing at its conscious counterpart's futile efforts to exert control.
I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
