Post by Pavlinka Eileen Kasparkova on Jul 26, 2009 2:30:48 GMT -6
It took several hours for Pavlinka to determined the safety of the area surrounding her hiding spot, eyes cutting sharply from corner to corner as she tried to hold the blood supply back from the bullet hole in her left upper arm. A fixed job – that’s what it had been, a plan to get her out of the way “real quiet-like”. Those dogs had tried to eighty-six her in the worst kind of way, and if she ever found the ones responsible, their heads were first on her platter-list. They’d pay one way or another; of that she was dead certain.
She walked rather precariously out of her concealment when she was certain that the coast was clear, her right arm holding to the wounded one, where her famous briefcase dangled from one hand. By now, she was relatively certain that none of the wrong people had seen her, and now that she felt safer in exposing herself, the jilted espionage agent made her way quickly to the bus station to catch the next circuit to the local medical center. Not that the wound was by any means lethal, but it was simply a pain in the ass to have to lug one’s supplies around with one’s bad arm in order to keep access to one’s gun, not to mention just a pain in general. How inconvenient it was to be her right now.
What she really needed was some way to change appearances – and fast. After all, a woman in a black leather jumpsuit wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. It seemed to be one of those moments when it would have been halfway better to have been carrying a suitcase with several changes of clothes rather than a briefcase with several types of guns and magazines safe within. Maybe a pinstriped suit like she wore out on the town – now there was a good look. Nothing suspicious about a business woman with that kind of baggage. The cat suit, though, seemed to change everything.
Happening upon the bus terminal and finding a lonely bench seemingly standing in wait for her presence, Pavlinka moseyed over to it and sat down on it with ginger ease of weight onto the boards, crossing her legs as soon as she had settled half-comfortably and pulling the case atop the upper knee as she looked around. She couldn’t help but notice that things seemed rather quiet right now in the general vicinity, and it was in that unsettling peace that she knew some disaster was about to go down, even if it was not technically in the immediate area. Cloudy, dark, near impossible to see without a flashlight or night-vision goggles – perfect for a murder of some sort.
After all, it had almost been hers.
She flinched when a small, sharp pain struck directly at the wound, Pavlinka drawing a hiss tightly through her clenched teeth when she was bestowed the unwelcome reminder of the deep burn. Right. Medical attention. She needed it. Preferably soon before she had to dig the blasted bullet out herself and sew the hole shut with a pine needle and her hair. That was always ugly when she didn’t have vodka. And where was the damned bus? She twisted her good arm around to eye her watch. Four-sixteen in the morning – she should have been in bed hours ago, sleeping up for her next engagement.
“Screw this…” the agitated woman muttered to herself, her thick Russian accent even heavier with her impatience. “He can wait.” Pavlinka sat back to wait, eying both directions hawkishly for signs of her query.
She walked rather precariously out of her concealment when she was certain that the coast was clear, her right arm holding to the wounded one, where her famous briefcase dangled from one hand. By now, she was relatively certain that none of the wrong people had seen her, and now that she felt safer in exposing herself, the jilted espionage agent made her way quickly to the bus station to catch the next circuit to the local medical center. Not that the wound was by any means lethal, but it was simply a pain in the ass to have to lug one’s supplies around with one’s bad arm in order to keep access to one’s gun, not to mention just a pain in general. How inconvenient it was to be her right now.
What she really needed was some way to change appearances – and fast. After all, a woman in a black leather jumpsuit wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. It seemed to be one of those moments when it would have been halfway better to have been carrying a suitcase with several changes of clothes rather than a briefcase with several types of guns and magazines safe within. Maybe a pinstriped suit like she wore out on the town – now there was a good look. Nothing suspicious about a business woman with that kind of baggage. The cat suit, though, seemed to change everything.
Happening upon the bus terminal and finding a lonely bench seemingly standing in wait for her presence, Pavlinka moseyed over to it and sat down on it with ginger ease of weight onto the boards, crossing her legs as soon as she had settled half-comfortably and pulling the case atop the upper knee as she looked around. She couldn’t help but notice that things seemed rather quiet right now in the general vicinity, and it was in that unsettling peace that she knew some disaster was about to go down, even if it was not technically in the immediate area. Cloudy, dark, near impossible to see without a flashlight or night-vision goggles – perfect for a murder of some sort.
After all, it had almost been hers.
She flinched when a small, sharp pain struck directly at the wound, Pavlinka drawing a hiss tightly through her clenched teeth when she was bestowed the unwelcome reminder of the deep burn. Right. Medical attention. She needed it. Preferably soon before she had to dig the blasted bullet out herself and sew the hole shut with a pine needle and her hair. That was always ugly when she didn’t have vodka. And where was the damned bus? She twisted her good arm around to eye her watch. Four-sixteen in the morning – she should have been in bed hours ago, sleeping up for her next engagement.
“Screw this…” the agitated woman muttered to herself, her thick Russian accent even heavier with her impatience. “He can wait.” Pavlinka sat back to wait, eying both directions hawkishly for signs of her query.