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Those were some very interesting curse days. It's a miracle I was not hit by any of them; that's the first time since my first arrival that I was spared the entire string. I suppose it can happen, but I don't expect it to happen very often. Once a year is the likely occurrence. I've finally obtained a job—as a waitress. It's not the most ideal occupation for my skills, but it will have to do for now. Maybe I can pick up another one, a better one, later. Many people here are quite capable of defending themselves, anyway. Tayuya, are you still looking for work? Any luck? ... It's getting chillier here, and it's almost September, too. Nill, Badou-kun... let's go to the beach on the last day of the month. Tags: badou, nill, post-curse, work Current Mood: relieved
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I think I'd enjoy a bit of work, actually. Training in the forest is mundane and there is hardly anything of interest on the television. I've read all the books in my apartment and I doubt any of the usual pastimes in the deeper parts of the City will interest me. However, my abilities... If anyone is looking to hire a bodyguard, or needs that sort of skill, then I would be willing to work for a fee. If a cup of coffee is equal to one orange coin, I can't imagine a red coin would be at the top of the monetary scale; therefore, I'm guessing a reasonable price for my services would be two green coins. I fight with a katana, occasionally two, and a knife. I'm also capable of wind magic and very minor healing magic. [ooc: Okay! So. My guess is that one orange = one cup of coffee = ~$3.00 USD (if it's Starbucks), so one green = $30, and no professional assassin will sell herself for that cheap. $60 is a pretty nice deal for an assassin of her skill! Also: am looking to start a guild for hired guards/mercenaries, who else is interested?]Tags: work
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Darkness, and white-hot pain. A child, soaked in blood, lies entangled in the torn bodies of her parents. It's their blood. It's her blood.
And suddenly she's standing again, and there's light everywhere except for the man in dark colors in front of her. He gives her a knife—bright, gleaming, solid—and opens his mouth to speak.
"Cut me."
And suddenly he's slumped against the wall, fallen, broken. His legs are gone, his arm too. He's soaked in blood. She's older now, taller, her eyes darker. She's standing in the doorway too shocked to breathe.
Older still, taller still, and the weapon she holds is no longer a knife but a sword. There's so much light, and wind now—dry, cold—and her half-open shirt flutters around the jagged cross-shaped scar across her chest.
It's her voice now.
"Who do I cut now... Father?"Tags: affected, curse day
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