(*cracks knuckles* Let's see if I can make some muse here. P :< )
As the sun rose higher in the sky, small rays of light flickered unsteadily through the thick misty canopy of the Whisper Forest. What heat did reach the lingering mist provided a less than comfortable humid stickiness to the area. It was enough to make the already irritated woman clench her teeth impatiently as she shook her dangling foot anxiously. For what seemed like forever she'd been camped out here, waiting for that damned man. If it wasn't for the promise of something exciting and rare, and the small chance she'd come out with some profit, then she wouldn't of humored him - their relationship was barely mutual.
"I swear if he doesn't show...", she growled as she shifted slowly on the jagged rock, regretting her choice in clothing as the sharp edges rubbed against her bare thighs. Her blue jean shorts protected little of her legs, only covering the bare essentials, as did her flannel tank top she'd worn over a white spaghetti strap, the bottom tied loosely to give her midriff freedom to twist and turn easily without sticking to her already damp skin. It perhaps wasn't the most appropriate attire to sport while meeting strictly for business with a man but Tara never was one for common decency as defined by society. The outcast lived by her own rules, did things her own way, dressed how she wanted. Little care was given for how people chose to perceive her. After all, that was their hangup, not hers.
[1]
As the sun rose higher in the sky, small rays of light flickered unsteadily through the thick misty canopy of the Whisper Forest. What heat did reach the lingering mist provided a less than comfortable humid stickiness to the area. It was enough to make the already irritated woman clench her teeth impatiently as she shook her dangling foot anxiously. For what seemed like forever she'd been camped out here, waiting for that damned man. If it wasn't for the promise of something exciting and rare, and the small chance she'd come out with some profit, then she wouldn't of humored him - their relationship was barely mutual.
"I swear if he doesn't show...", she growled as she shifted slowly on the jagged rock, regretting her choice in clothing as the sharp edges rubbed against her bare thighs. Her blue jean shorts protected little of her legs, only covering the bare essentials, as did her flannel tank top she'd worn over a white spaghetti strap, the bottom tied loosely to give her midriff freedom to twist and turn easily without sticking to her already damp skin. It perhaps wasn't the most appropriate attire to sport while meeting strictly for business with a man but Tara never was one for common decency as defined by society. The outcast lived by her own rules, did things her own way, dressed how she wanted. Little care was given for how people chose to perceive her. After all, that was their hangup, not hers.
[1]