She wakes up to a maddening ringing in her ears, and her head pounds, keeping her subdued for a moment longer than she'd like. Everything feels like a dream; her thoughts are, for a moment, incoherent and disorderly. The warmth of the sun touches upon her feathers, the smell of salt water floods her senses, and the coarseness of the sand confuses her. It had been snowing at Allerdale Hall, after all, and it had been dreadfully cold.
Eventually, she manages to sit up, but not without starting at her scaled limbs. Oh, but it doesn't take long at all for her to remember the changes, and the agony that came with them. She wonders how long she's been asleep; anger boils up inside of her, if only because she remembers her dream, and in that dream, the butterfly kills the moth when it should have been the other way around.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly pulls herself up and onto her feet. Her feathers stand on end and they make her look bigger than she actually is, betraying the fact that she'd agitated.
"I am... famished," she says, straightening her back and looking directly ahead of her; she feels as though she hasn't eaten in years, and she's furious enough to take her rage out on some poor, hapless soul. And, after some deliberation, she begins her hunt.
2. Scenario 2
She can't help but watch the humans as they busily hand out pamphlets to the poor, hopeless newcomers. It's difficult to tell what Lucille is thinking; her unblinking gaze is cold and expressionless, and her stance, tall and rigid, makes her look both elegant and imposing. The feathers, talons and wings don't exactly help. Blending in isn't exactly an option, but being a monster makes it much easier for her to dispose of those who slight her, without consequence. All she has to do is feign remorse and spin stories about how she was so very hungry. Those terrible urges make for a spectacular excuse.
She continues to watch, lightly fanning herself with a black lace fan, while trying to decide what she ought to do with herself. She can see that the humans are quite insistent on handing out their brochures; she almost feels frustrated, watching them fawn, gawk and thrust their papers onto people. the harpy finally steps out from the shadows, causing one of those humans to gawk at her, surprised by her presence.
"I'm afraid no words can prepare these poor creatures for what they are to experience," Lucille says, taking a brochure, her claws digging lightly into the thin paper. She looks to whoever stands beside her, and she smiles politely; it lacks warmth.
"However, I suppose insufficient information is better than a complete lack of it."
She reads over the words, continuing to casually fanning herself, and it's still so hard to tell what she's actually thinking.
"It would be better to ask a monster, than to rely on something like this."
Lucille Sharpe | Crimson Peak | Harpy
She wakes up to a maddening ringing in her ears, and her head pounds, keeping her subdued for a moment longer than she'd like. Everything feels like a dream; her thoughts are, for a moment, incoherent and disorderly. The warmth of the sun touches upon her feathers, the smell of salt water floods her senses, and the coarseness of the sand confuses her. It had been snowing at Allerdale Hall, after all, and it had been dreadfully cold.
Eventually, she manages to sit up, but not without starting at her scaled limbs. Oh, but it doesn't take long at all for her to remember the changes, and the agony that came with them. She wonders how long she's been asleep; anger boils up inside of her, if only because she remembers her dream, and in that dream, the butterfly kills the moth when it should have been the other way around.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly pulls herself up and onto her feet. Her feathers stand on end and they make her look bigger than she actually is, betraying the fact that she'd agitated.
"I am... famished," she says, straightening her back and looking directly ahead of her; she feels as though she hasn't eaten in years, and she's furious enough to take her rage out on some poor, hapless soul. And, after some deliberation, she begins her hunt.
2. Scenario 2
She can't help but watch the humans as they busily hand out pamphlets to the poor, hopeless newcomers. It's difficult to tell what Lucille is thinking; her unblinking gaze is cold and expressionless, and her stance, tall and rigid, makes her look both elegant and imposing. The feathers, talons and wings don't exactly help. Blending in isn't exactly an option, but being a monster makes it much easier for her to dispose of those who slight her, without consequence. All she has to do is feign remorse and spin stories about how she was so very hungry. Those terrible urges make for a spectacular excuse.
She continues to watch, lightly fanning herself with a black lace fan, while trying to decide what she ought to do with herself. She can see that the humans are quite insistent on handing out their brochures; she almost feels frustrated, watching them fawn, gawk and thrust their papers onto people. the harpy finally steps out from the shadows, causing one of those humans to gawk at her, surprised by her presence.
"I'm afraid no words can prepare these poor creatures for what they are to experience," Lucille says, taking a brochure, her claws digging lightly into the thin paper. She looks to whoever stands beside her, and she smiles politely; it lacks warmth.
"However, I suppose insufficient information is better than a complete lack of it."
She reads over the words, continuing to casually fanning herself, and it's still so hard to tell what she's actually thinking.
"It would be better to ask a monster, than to rely on something like this."