((hanna king is, to put it mildly, unhinged and hellbent on revenge. she's fully self-aware of what she has done and will do in her life is wrong, but has not a single care about it. as it stands she will use this perception of her being off the rails to her advantage and even play it up on purpose for the hell of it. underneath the revenge streak is a lot of pain and depression of having lost everything, and the very little regard she has for herself these days. she just Cares Too Much and doesn't know how to stop caring even though she'll tell you she doesn't care. also she's a pyromancer, aka a pyro in her very fucked up world. don't ask me about her symbiote i haven't gotten that far))
what is you doin? [Hanna isn't exactly what you'd call Keeping Low. No, not with the way her tank top shows her distinctive hawk wings on the back of her arms, or the mottled bruises forming on her chest and chin. Pirates got on the wrong side of harassment tonight. Pirates got the right side of her now-scabbing fist.
Death comes in threes, so they say. And it's three pirates that start to loom about her. Along with another three. They seem to want to jump her. There's a bit of a tell in how stupidly they start to gang up in the middle of the neon-lit street, around the woman with blond messy hair and deadened green eyes.]
Why is it always the stupid ones that come after me?
[She throws a punch, straight into a pirate's jaw.
It's on now, it's on like Donkey Kong.]
congratulations you played yourself [As was and apparently remains typical of Hanna, she's on some kind of escort duty. Of her team, she'd always been the one-woman wrecking crew, the tank that could set herself on fire. She'd always play decoy and do the worst of the damage. Hanna was under no suspicion that she was smart.]
Hey, you think you could hurry it up there?
[Because time's running out.
Nope, it ran out. The alarms start to go off in the sterling white and silver compound. Whatever happened, didn't happen right.]
Fuck me.
[Without warning, she blasts fire at the doors with her bare right hand. Her left hand holds a compound bow (which she has named Lucy), and strapped to her back are two fighting sticks (aptly named her Dead Lead Sticks) and a quiver full of arrows (Diamonds, as it were).]
Start running unless you want to get covered in holes!
blanket burrito [By now Hanna's so tired she's given up on finding a destination to sleep. She's given up on the notion of a beer, and all she's got is one half-empty box of cigarettes that she's not really up to using at this moment.
There's a bandage wrapped around her right forearm, and a few wrapped around her fingers, but the bruises seem to be lessening now. She's tired. She wants to sleep. But the adrenaline in her body refuses to wear out. What she'd give to drink herself into a dreamless stupor.
With a heavy, resigned sigh, she drops onto something that might pass for a bed, might not. She stares up at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep, and failing. A hand goes up into the air front of her. A tiny flame lights up, dances across her tattooed knuckles. The link in her mind is a damn riot of rage, so it's no small wonder she can't calm down enough to sleep.
Eventually, she does fall asleep. And it's probably your bed. You can kick her ass out. You should probably kick her ass out.]
hanna king // original
what is you doin?
[Hanna isn't exactly what you'd call Keeping Low. No, not with the way her tank top shows her distinctive hawk wings on the back of her arms, or the mottled bruises forming on her chest and chin. Pirates got on the wrong side of harassment tonight. Pirates got the right side of her now-scabbing fist.
Death comes in threes, so they say. And it's three pirates that start to loom about her. Along with another three. They seem to want to jump her. There's a bit of a tell in how stupidly they start to gang up in the middle of the neon-lit street, around the woman with blond messy hair and deadened green eyes.]
Why is it always the stupid ones that come after me?
[She throws a punch, straight into a pirate's jaw.
It's on now, it's on like Donkey Kong.]
congratulations you played yourself
[As was and apparently remains typical of Hanna, she's on some kind of escort duty. Of her team, she'd always been the one-woman wrecking crew, the tank that could set herself on fire. She'd always play decoy and do the worst of the damage. Hanna was under no suspicion that she was smart.]
Hey, you think you could hurry it up there?
[Because time's running out.
Nope, it ran out. The alarms start to go off in the sterling white and silver compound. Whatever happened, didn't happen right.]
Fuck me.
[Without warning, she blasts fire at the doors with her bare right hand. Her left hand holds a compound bow (which she has named Lucy), and strapped to her back are two fighting sticks (aptly named her Dead Lead Sticks) and a quiver full of arrows (Diamonds, as it were).]
Start running unless you want to get covered in holes!
blanket burrito
[By now Hanna's so tired she's given up on finding a destination to sleep. She's given up on the notion of a beer, and all she's got is one half-empty box of cigarettes that she's not really up to using at this moment.
There's a bandage wrapped around her right forearm, and a few wrapped around her fingers, but the bruises seem to be lessening now. She's tired. She wants to sleep. But the adrenaline in her body refuses to wear out. What she'd give to drink herself into a dreamless stupor.
With a heavy, resigned sigh, she drops onto something that might pass for a bed, might not. She stares up at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep, and failing. A hand goes up into the air front of her. A tiny flame lights up, dances across her tattooed knuckles. The link in her mind is a damn riot of rage, so it's no small wonder she can't calm down enough to sleep.
Eventually, she does fall asleep. And it's probably your bed. You can kick her ass out. You should probably kick her ass out.]