Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on May 1, 2013 21:06:36 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:430px; width: 350px; height: 210px; overflow:auto; margin-left:8px;][style=margin-top:-10px; padding-left:1px;]
Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, a slow rhythmic beat.clack clack clack clack. There was a sort of precision about the movement, an exactness to it. If one looked closely enough, they would see that the woman’s shoes never descended upon a crack. Perhaps it was superstition. More likely, it was simply the way she had always done things. The heels themselves were black and lacked anything flashy or unique. They were plain, but elegant in their simplicity. Long lean legs, wrapped in black nylon ascended up from those unostentatious shoes. The nylons ascended up, past the knee and towards a thigh where they disappeared beneath a swirl of quiet fabric. The dress, simple cotton, fell at her thighs. It cinched tight at the waist, highlighting her narrow waist. The dress, like the majority of this woman’s attire, was quiet in nature. The only reason any of this was relevant to the present situation, was simply that they illustrated the woman beneath. For this woman moved and existed in the exact same manner in which she wore her clothing. It was strict, structured, yet seemingly unostentatious in nature. It was utter and simple perfection. It was also, unfortunately, the outwards signs of severe Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. But this strayed from the point.
The woman’s name, who walked down the street with such precision, was Thaddea Aryn Melantha. She had many titles to follow that name, though rarely used any of them. At this exact moment, she was walking quite purposefully down the pathway towards the Academy’s Library. She moved at a brisk pace, weaving expertly through the various crowds that populated the sidewalks. If those very people had even suspected her thoughts, the very preciseness with which she moved, they would be stunned. They would have stopped her, perhaps recommended some form of counseling. In essence, her task would have been forcibly halted. It likely would have even brought the unwanted attention of Academy administrators. And being what she was, this was the last thing Ms. Melantha desired. For Ms. Melantha was a thing with a label, a person with a single title she would shrug off if given the chance. She was a thing hunted, a thing feared, a threat in certain aspects. She was, strangest of all, supposedly legally dead. But that didn’t matter, her vital status. It could have, in a different life. But not now. Now there was something much more important. She would have plunged a city into chaos.
Because she had gifts.
The thin line of business that formed on her lips didn’t even twitch towards a smile as she thought of those gifts. It was those gifts that had set her on her current task. For even among those like her, she was referred to as “mechanical” or “detached”, she was an oddity. She possessed what, in her lifetime, she had never seen in another. Thaddea ran a hand through her hair, pushing it quickly away from her face.Her favorite trench coat fell over her shoulders, open down the middle. She was almost happy, at least satisfied. Perhaps efficient was a better word. She was about to round a corner, quickly approaching her destination, when a she happened to glance askance at a shop window. She saw herself reflected –professional and admirable as always, the near image of perfection. But there was always something that just wasn’t quite right. She pushed the thought away, flicking her eyes from the reflexive glass. She pushed open the double doors of the Library, passing through with an echoing clack of heels. Her eyes sought out an empty table, quickly claiming it as her own. She pulled out a stack of papers. As always, she had work to do.
