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Description
Faber-Castells!

Vespyr runs through a storm drain tunnel during a rainstorm, the day after the city was destroyed. (One should never, ever find herself in that situation unless she has urgent reasons, of course.) Needless to say, her plan backfires.
Long before she ever reached the mouth of the tunnel, the bones of Vespyr’s legs were seized by a terrible ache. She forced the pain from her mind and denied its hold on her limbs, determined not to let her expeditious pace falter by a single step. Several times she was almost shoved forward into the acrid water by a minor flash flood, but the running never paused for a moment longer than she needed to regain her balance, for the sake of not being forced to swim like a sewer rat. When at last her widely dilated eyes beheld the dim grey light of the clouded pre-dawn at the end of the tunnel, her entire skeleton throbbed with strange pain. And then she was overtaken by a sanguinary swell of frigid water that reached nearly to the arching roof.

Everything was silent for a moment.

Putrid water filled Vespyr’s mouth and throat at once. She choked on the foul taste of festering decay, gagging violently and silently into the fluid that engulfed her. She stared disgustedly at unfathomable darkness, blurred red bubbles, swirling wisps of unnatural glow that suddenly reminded her that she needed to reach the surface. She clawed furiously at the distant lights to no avail—her hands struck only cement or nothing at all but the same wet nothingness. For several moments—an eternity spent in underwater Hell—Vespyr was dragged along through the dark deluge like a drowning rat, her angry struggling futile against the vicious current. As helpless as every other bit of dead debris.

FUCK, she thought, as she was vomited out of the mouth of the tunnel in a massive surge of rancid, ruddy water. Her thin body went limp as she was suddenly more weightless than weightless, a moment for her mind to blank in relief before she felt her sore bones smash against the rocks.

This rat was lucky to have been spat so far. Had she landed but a few feet short of the rough wet stones, she would have been swept along a steep bank of mud and dumped into the ocean, only to be sucked into the nearest mass of wave and subsequently crushed against the jetty of jutting rocks in its storming rage.

Lucky.

The foul-smelling water was still pouring heavily over Vespyr’s body as she lay limp on the rocks with her eyes closed. She could not feel a thing, couldn’t bring herself to move or think. Numb and frozen. It wasn’t until she involuntarily coughed up a mouthful of the bitter fluid that she appeared to be not dead; her thin body contorted into a tight curl as she violently emptied her lungs, and then suddenly her long arms shot out, hands clenching until she felt an outcrop of stone, which she pulled herself toward on pure instinct. The girl dragged her torso up from the ground, her head emerging with a gasp into the relatively free air. She swallowed rain and clambered further onto the outcrop, until at last she was crouched upon it, staring at the horrendous outpour of the storm drain with a clouded look of dull rabidity in her eyes. Vespyr spat in disgust and raised a shaky hand to move the dangling strands of mucky reddish grey hair away from her face.

In passing minutes, the cold rain had nearly washed her hair clean again, as well as the rest of her drenched body. The reek of rot gradually slipped away. The trickles of water that came off of her were tinted slightly black where they flowed across her newly acquired wounds; all scrapes and a few gashes, nothing more. She could have broken a bone and she wouldn’t have felt anything more than the persistent ache that was still there and steadily awakening.

Description
Faber-Castells!

Vespyr runs through a storm drain tunnel during a rainstorm, the day after the city was destroyed. (One should never, ever find herself in that situation unless she has urgent reasons, of course.) Needless to say, her plan backfires.
Long before she ever reached the mouth of the tunnel, the bones of Vespyr’s legs were seized by a terrible ache. She forced the pain from her mind and denied its hold on her limbs, determined not to let her expeditious pace falter by a single step. Several times she was almost shoved forward into the acrid water by a minor flash flood, but the running never paused for a moment longer than she needed to regain her balance, for the sake of not being forced to swim like a sewer rat. When at last her widely dilated eyes beheld the dim grey light of the clouded pre-dawn at the end of the tunnel, her entire skeleton throbbed with strange pain. And then she was overtaken by a sanguinary swell of frigid water that reached nearly to the arching roof.

Everything was silent for a moment.

Putrid water filled Vespyr’s mouth and throat at once. She choked on the foul taste of festering decay, gagging violently and silently into the fluid that engulfed her. She stared disgustedly at unfathomable darkness, blurred red bubbles, swirling wisps of unnatural glow that suddenly reminded her that she needed to reach the surface. She clawed furiously at the distant lights to no avail—her hands struck only cement or nothing at all but the same wet nothingness. For several moments—an eternity spent in underwater Hell—Vespyr was dragged along through the dark deluge like a drowning rat, her angry struggling futile against the vicious current. As helpless as every other bit of dead debris.

FUCK, she thought, as she was vomited out of the mouth of the tunnel in a massive surge of rancid, ruddy water. Her thin body went limp as she was suddenly more weightless than weightless, a moment for her mind to blank in relief before she felt her sore bones smash against the rocks.

This rat was lucky to have been spat so far. Had she landed but a few feet short of the rough wet stones, she would have been swept along a steep bank of mud and dumped into the ocean, only to be sucked into the nearest mass of wave and subsequently crushed against the jetty of jutting rocks in its storming rage.

Lucky.

The foul-smelling water was still pouring heavily over Vespyr’s body as she lay limp on the rocks with her eyes closed. She could not feel a thing, couldn’t bring herself to move or think. Numb and frozen. It wasn’t until she involuntarily coughed up a mouthful of the bitter fluid that she appeared to be not dead; her thin body contorted into a tight curl as she violently emptied her lungs, and then suddenly her long arms shot out, hands clenching until she felt an outcrop of stone, which she pulled herself toward on pure instinct. The girl dragged her torso up from the ground, her head emerging with a gasp into the relatively free air. She swallowed rain and clambered further onto the outcrop, until at last she was crouched upon it, staring at the horrendous outpour of the storm drain with a clouded look of dull rabidity in her eyes. Vespyr spat in disgust and raised a shaky hand to move the dangling strands of mucky reddish grey hair away from her face.

In passing minutes, the cold rain had nearly washed her hair clean again, as well as the rest of her drenched body. The reek of rot gradually slipped away. The trickles of water that came off of her were tinted slightly black where they flowed across her newly acquired wounds; all scrapes and a few gashes, nothing more. She could have broken a bone and she wouldn’t have felt anything more than the persistent ache that was still there and steadily awakening.