fresh to death [burb]
Feb 22, 2015 22:09:43 GMT -5
Post by jake on Feb 22, 2015 22:09:43 GMT -5
Imogen can't decide where her home is. She can't decide if it's the warehouse or if it's the casino. The ragged, yet still reminiscently cigarette smokey and plush carpet of the casino... it was a good lifestyle, safe and comfortable and warm and... yeah. Safe. All the things a girl should want, especially in the winter. Safe. Safe, but she didn't think she liked that. Imogen found no excitement in these walls, but it was nice not to feel the bite of winter sinking into her bones from simply sitting to look at the world around her. Sometimes, things like this were okay.
She's an explorer by nature. Up on a broken down craps table, leaping from one to another, graceful as ever. Brilliance in the most fantastic way. Imogen adores what life is bringing her, what life is laying out at her feet. Thick and hot in her blood, tail wagging, crashing through the casino with a reckless abandon. This isn't her warehouse. This isn't the place that she can make a mess and not be looked at funny for it. There were others here. There were others that needed to believe that she was a put together young lady who may or may not be willing to rip their throat out at the drop of a hat.
The latter was true, regardless. Tail up and wagging, she tossed her body onto a roulette table. Tail wagging, taking in her surroundings. There was something catlike in the way that she always wanted to be high up, always wanted to look and see what was down around her. What Imogen did know, however, was that the roulette table wasn't high enough and her toes would get caught in the wheel. Confident that there was nothing on the floor with the table games that would eat her, she leapt down. It's graceful, easy, cutting through the air like she steps down the pavement.
Nothing can touch her.