Post by Margaret Rosier on May 18, 2012 19:21:08 GMT 1
Her father had taught her that in war there were always sacrifices, you did what it took to get the job done and you didn’t look back. Maggie had done her fair share of dirty deeds but this made the meaning all too literal. There was a note of danger for her no matter where she went, be it that she stayed in New Vegas and was caught fraternizing , ventured out into the Wastelands to face zombies and far gone mutants, or lurking in the filthy sewers were werewolves and mutants lingered. Of her three choices Margaret went with the lesser evil. At least the werewolves and mutants the lived in the underground could be reasoned with- more so than vampires or zombies. She wasn’t without her training but Maggie had never pretended that she could take on any and all dangers, her confidence lay with a far more subtle approach.
It was eerie, the echoes in the tunnels, each step she took rang in her hypersensitive ears, water dripping, vermin skittering along the paths, even the faintest sounds of voice too distant for Margaret to coherently tell what was being said. In no way, shape or form did she blend in down there. Her smooth skin had an ethereal glow to it, too blue eyes wide and seemingly innocent, and a tall- yet petite frame that was swallowed by the darkness surrounding her. Everything about Maggie being in the underground seemed to be an abomination, but wasn’t that just one of her advantages. So many overlooked her as a threat because of the way she looked and Margaret had always used that against them.
So far she had managed to avoid any unsavory characters, ironic considering the man she was down there to meet wasn’t the most kosher of sorts. Maggie had been seven when her father whisked her away from Haven, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t heard the whispers- hadn’t been keeping track of the major players in the resistance. Jericho was a force to be reckoned with, even if he wasn’t all too right in the head, who was these days? Hugging her coat tight around her slender frame Margaret paid close attention, as best as was possible from the dim lighting available, to where she was going. The tunnels were a maze after all.
Pausing, Maggie turned around peering down the hallowed path letting her vision adjust. That particular sound hadn’t been a rat, too much weight behind the footstep, and only two feet rather than four. She was a little bit on edge, preferring to keep sharp versus allowing arrogance to cloud her judgment. Being alone for four years in a place like New Vegas had forced Margaret to apply all her father’s training. As her focus was honed on the opposite direction though she could feel that tingle on the back of her neck, like eyes burning into her skin. Whipping back around Margaret’s body reacted before her brain sent the signal of recognition to her- fist flying at Jericho’s face.
It was eerie, the echoes in the tunnels, each step she took rang in her hypersensitive ears, water dripping, vermin skittering along the paths, even the faintest sounds of voice too distant for Margaret to coherently tell what was being said. In no way, shape or form did she blend in down there. Her smooth skin had an ethereal glow to it, too blue eyes wide and seemingly innocent, and a tall- yet petite frame that was swallowed by the darkness surrounding her. Everything about Maggie being in the underground seemed to be an abomination, but wasn’t that just one of her advantages. So many overlooked her as a threat because of the way she looked and Margaret had always used that against them.
So far she had managed to avoid any unsavory characters, ironic considering the man she was down there to meet wasn’t the most kosher of sorts. Maggie had been seven when her father whisked her away from Haven, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t heard the whispers- hadn’t been keeping track of the major players in the resistance. Jericho was a force to be reckoned with, even if he wasn’t all too right in the head, who was these days? Hugging her coat tight around her slender frame Margaret paid close attention, as best as was possible from the dim lighting available, to where she was going. The tunnels were a maze after all.
Pausing, Maggie turned around peering down the hallowed path letting her vision adjust. That particular sound hadn’t been a rat, too much weight behind the footstep, and only two feet rather than four. She was a little bit on edge, preferring to keep sharp versus allowing arrogance to cloud her judgment. Being alone for four years in a place like New Vegas had forced Margaret to apply all her father’s training. As her focus was honed on the opposite direction though she could feel that tingle on the back of her neck, like eyes burning into her skin. Whipping back around Margaret’s body reacted before her brain sent the signal of recognition to her- fist flying at Jericho’s face.
