Mina_rrat’s Comments (group member since Jul 27, 2014)

Mina_rrat’s comments from the Medieval Times (Rp Group) group.

Running towards the exit, she saw Carwen fall through the door in slow motion. Cyra barely managed to stop herself from falling too, instead she grabbed hold of the girls arm, tugged her up rather forcefully, the fire did not leave time for kindness, and dragged her with her, leaving the raging fire behind them.

Cyra could read people perfectly, she knew this girl had an attitude but she way scared to. In her position she would be too, though now was not the time to chat and think about the past whilst drinking tea, now was the time to burn down a house and she would enjoy every second of it. Never said she was a saint.

She tipped the wooden log onto the other wooden surfaces until smoke erupted, charring everything. Scattering the rest of the fire in the room, she told Carwen to wait at the door, she scurried there in a hurry, the fire was gaining ground fast. There was one thing Cyra yet had to finish, not wanting almost innocent Carwen to see: Leaning over the madmans body she struck down with the burnt tip, pressing it into his flesh until the air was tinged with burned meat, "You got what you deserved. Hope you rot nicely." she whispered to the corpse. As soon as the last word was spoken, she turned around and fled, yelling, "RUN" to Carwen as her feet were already dragging themselves over the hardwood panels.

This girl would be just fine, she thought. The way she grinned, told her that she would take on anything, and even have delight in mean actions - she might even start to like Carwen. Might.
Turning to the log, Cyra took stock of the furniture, all made out of wood. perfect. She knew how to build a fire, kneeling down in front of the fire place she got one going, immediately enjoying the warmth it gave her. Cyra picked one log out, which was glowing softly at the end; "If I start this we have to leave as soon as we can, okay? I do not want to be responsible for your death, these fumes are toxic in mass. Are you ready to run when I tell you to?"

she snorted, "Right. They sure do not. All of your options have a short fuse, but if the house reall doesnt mean much to you and as I am not your decisionmaker," Cyra rubbed her hands together"may I ask whether you have a fireplace nearby? or even better, a log of wood?"

Guess we both are not the fastest in replying ;) Don't worry about it.
Yes, if you think my character is suitable. Where and do you have an idea what it shall be about? inputs?

I could if you want to?

“Depends on the value you give this house. If you chose a then it might cause too much attention, option b) I mean, come on, who are we kidding – the police does not care about the body of a landlord. Personally, I would chose option c.”

(sorry for taking so long.)

Cyra simply snorted very unladylike, the thought of getting caught were minimal to non-existent. Nor would Carwen be accused of anything as in a town like this, with people swarming all over the place, leaving one victim after another on the streets, one body more or less wouldn't make a difference. But before the woman had a panic attack, she sighed, “Three options: a) you either burn down the house b) you get the police yourself and say it was self-defense or c) you could simply leave him and fend for your honor. What will it be?”

For me? What was there to do for me?, she thought. She was content with the way she lived at the moment, she could not undo her past or her mistakes, and she did not want to either as they made her who she was now. So instead of asking something for herself, she wanted Carwen to receive the best, “No, thank you. Though steer clear of men like this guy here and come to the old church at the outskirts of town tomorrow at noon.”

Looking at Carwen, Cyra felt a familiar pang in her heart – she never ever met with her clients again after they gave her the job, it would be too suspicious, besides why would she when she got paid up front normally? She forced herself to be social, despite the situation, “Nothing to thank me for. He had to be taken care of some time.” An angry glint was in Cyra's eyes, she knew. This glint always awakened when she felt strong emotions, but would Carwen notice it?

Cyra thought the girl was strong and had the will to push him off, but she simply lay there, frozen like a pack of peas. Deciding to help, she pulled Williams body of her, letting it thump to the floor, she could care less what the body came to use as: cockroaches' food, flies feast meal or the victim of cannibalistic organ dealers. She only wanted to be assured of Carwen's safety, as stupid as it sounded to her own ears.

Curling her throwing dagger into her left hand, her dominant one, she could not watch this theater any longer. This bastard who had raped so many women, and young girls that she could not even say a number, had to die. Pulling her cape low over her eyes, she balanced the metal on her fingers, making it an extension of her arm. With one pull, she threw back her arm and let go of the knife, embedding it with pure precision into his ribcage, piercing and penetrating his heart.

When William marched his body through the door, she immediately felt a sharp pang of hate twist her heart. Back then she was too young to do anything against the things she had seen, but now, oh now she wanted nothing more than revenge and when she saw Carwen's face, a mask of fear and blant acceptance, she was done. She went around the front, no need to jimmy the lock as he did not lock his door that idiot, and moved towards the room, she could hear his voice the nearer she got, after all the house was not large.

Cyra was wrapped in a long dark coat, giving her the advantage of molding in with the shadows and hiding the weapon of her choice: this time she decided for a throwing knife and a thin almost needle-like dagger. Striding brusquely into the inner part of town, she cleaned her mind – creating enough calm for the act she was about to do, it was pure training to space out in the span of a few seconds, but when you fought you deftly needed the eerie blankness in your brain to coordinate your moves and act on instinct instead of pure thoughts. Ah, there it is, she said after a time. Before she stormed in like the army, she wanted to watch through the side window, in order to check whether he had not moved.……

unlocking the door of her small cottage which she shared with three other students of university, she went inside and found it empty. Not that it was surprising, most of her colleagues did not bother spending the night here, as they easily slept elsewhere - god knew where. Right now, she liked their absence, as it made accessing her weapons so much easier. Cyra set one foot in front of the other until she reached the far left corner of the small room, dragging away her mattress she looked underneath to find the wood sprinkled with dust just as she left it. The less suspicious it looked the better, she knew it was not ideal to store the last and only weapons of hers in the same house she lived in, but there was not another choice as leaving them outside would be acting on the risk of getting stolen. Here, under the watchful eye of her matress, they were partly safe.
The scholar put away the wooden planks to reveal the chamber underneath - two katanas, her weapons of choice, two daggers and a handful of throwing knifes lay scattered in front of her. Hm... which weapon would be the choice of the day?

After having met her contact Cyra was more than willing to call it a day, or night, however one saw it. However, as soon as she vanished in the depths of the wood, she made her decision: It was time for that sick person to pay his price. Such arrogant pricks needed to be taught a lesson, which hand was better to elect this than hers. Her mind was working overdrive as it always did, though this time it tried to come up with the connection of William Howard. There was something and it annoyed the hell out of her that she did not know – She almost faltered when she remembered him again! Oh what a funny coincidence, she knew exactly where he lived. He'll get a funny surprise. She decided to drop by her house to get her weapons, and then she would be off to have a nice 'chat' with him

William Howard?...Hm. somehow she was familiar with this name, but she could not put her finger on where she knew it from. Not bothering with her client anymore, she said, "Thank you. I will take... care of your issue and leave a note if I hear anything." Standing here in the open, without real cover aside from the shadows made twitchy. unknown rustling always made her uneasy. Even if those days laid way behind her, she had to help her. After all, she DID know what the woman was talking about. Thinking about her philosophic streak, and her upcoming task, she quickly grabbed her coat and hurried on. Cyra didnt want to be seen with someone at the dock from some town people.

Carwen looked ready to drop dead of nervousity, Cyra mentally checked herself - she did not look THAT scary after all. Sure, she had short hair and dark features, but it did not make her a criminal. Well, technically she was one ... oh forget it she thought, that thought is not going to get me anywhere.
she grunted, "You look like I would demand to slice out your liver, Carwen. I wont hurt you. Just give me the name of your landlord and we are even."

In the flowers. How original. She could not stop her mind of being sarcastic, after all, she was made of honesty.
"Okay. I will do as you say, but you certainy have heard that I have a price, have you not?" Cyra was not thinking about money, she could get away with stealing some, however being a well-known philosophy scholar she earned quite well with giving tutoring lessons. Even the higher folk wanted to learn about poetry, haikus and poets. some even wanted private lessons, which she always declined as she knew what these private lessons included. One of the reasons why she did not like her landlord from the start, should she force her to give her his name or would that be too cruel?

Thousand scenarios ran through her head at the moment, stories of women telling her the same line over and over again. Why could men NOT be assholes for once? Why did especially landlords have to be dirty scumbags?! She was angry beyond reach, nobody deserved to be treated like this. Everybody was a normal human being!
Cyra was not sure whether she admired me the woman for still continuing her job, or pity her for not asking for help sooner. She opted for the first one.

”Hello Carwen, I am Cyra. I will try to give you a job as a maiden if that is what you wish to be. Although it might not be in the castle,... my connections there are limited. Is there a way to contact you when I have found something?”