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towerofanimus2013-11-04 11:40 am
provenworth) wrote in towerofanimus2013-11-04 11:40 am
Entry tags:
A Turk's Day is Never Done
Characters: [ou] Elena + OPEN
Setting: Various
Format: Brackets
Summary: Elena is doin' her Turk thing by training, and makin' herself a proper uniform before taking a breather at home.
Warnings: None yet.
[Floor 51]
[Elena was pretty decent with a needle and thread, able to close wounds and tears with little effort. Creating an outfit totally out of scratch was another thing, trying to find the right placements for different bits and pieces to come together. Add in the fact that the mannequins had an annoying affinity of taking away her machine and, well, you've got a very stressed-out Turk.
Anybody passing by would see her seated at one of the stations hunched over her machine. There's a jacket pinned and prepped on one of the mannequins, working on the stitching the inseam of the pants, uttering a creative string of obscenities.]
[Floor 39]
[Since her last training with Reno where they'd focused on incorporating her ballet background into her fighting style, Elena was determined to figure the best combination and integration of both styles into a single, powerful, fluid motion. With a metronome nearby, soundings its audible 'tick tick tick' at the predetermined speed, she's a series of movements that's part dancing, part fighting and all potentially lethal with the right speed.
Balanced on the ball of her left foot, her body turns, leg extended, twisting while bending at the knee and her upper body drops, foot kicking skyward. Hands then press into the mat and she's in a fast moving cartwheel before feet meet on the downward arch, body pushing up and she's changed into a back flip, landing solidly with knees bent, her stance wide, ready for the next movement. If anybody knew Capoeira, her movements would look pretty damn close to it.]
[Room 1-03]
[The little child was gone - the one called Wriggle - and she's not entirely sure if she's happy or sad about it. Elena had a special fondness for children and an even stronger hatred for the Tower that it would even bring them here. Siting on the edge of her bed, she's reading and re-reading the letter that Reno had left her. About wanting distance. She'd responded in kind - though she was beginning to wonder if she'd said to much in it, had put too much emotion into her words. She was trying to be strong for the both of them, but she could feel something was different. He was different, changing before her very eyes. Withdrawing. Or maybe that was just her overactive imagination.
Folding the paper, she laid it on the small bedside, eyes moving to the roughly made Turk uniform. It wasn't the expensive, professionally made suits she'd owned in the past, but it was hers. She'd feel good wearing the familiar, protective layers. She ought to probably make another for Reno, just in case. Maybe the kids too. It was something to do versus what she was doing now - listening for the opening and closing of his room's door.]
Setting: Various
Format: Brackets
Summary: Elena is doin' her Turk thing by training, and makin' herself a proper uniform before taking a breather at home.
Warnings: None yet.
[Floor 51]
[Elena was pretty decent with a needle and thread, able to close wounds and tears with little effort. Creating an outfit totally out of scratch was another thing, trying to find the right placements for different bits and pieces to come together. Add in the fact that the mannequins had an annoying affinity of taking away her machine and, well, you've got a very stressed-out Turk.
Anybody passing by would see her seated at one of the stations hunched over her machine. There's a jacket pinned and prepped on one of the mannequins, working on the stitching the inseam of the pants, uttering a creative string of obscenities.]
[Floor 39]
[Since her last training with Reno where they'd focused on incorporating her ballet background into her fighting style, Elena was determined to figure the best combination and integration of both styles into a single, powerful, fluid motion. With a metronome nearby, soundings its audible 'tick tick tick' at the predetermined speed, she's a series of movements that's part dancing, part fighting and all potentially lethal with the right speed.
Balanced on the ball of her left foot, her body turns, leg extended, twisting while bending at the knee and her upper body drops, foot kicking skyward. Hands then press into the mat and she's in a fast moving cartwheel before feet meet on the downward arch, body pushing up and she's changed into a back flip, landing solidly with knees bent, her stance wide, ready for the next movement. If anybody knew Capoeira, her movements would look pretty damn close to it.]
[Room 1-03]
[The little child was gone - the one called Wriggle - and she's not entirely sure if she's happy or sad about it. Elena had a special fondness for children and an even stronger hatred for the Tower that it would even bring them here. Siting on the edge of her bed, she's reading and re-reading the letter that Reno had left her. About wanting distance. She'd responded in kind - though she was beginning to wonder if she'd said to much in it, had put too much emotion into her words. She was trying to be strong for the both of them, but she could feel something was different. He was different, changing before her very eyes. Withdrawing. Or maybe that was just her overactive imagination.
Folding the paper, she laid it on the small bedside, eyes moving to the roughly made Turk uniform. It wasn't the expensive, professionally made suits she'd owned in the past, but it was hers. She'd feel good wearing the familiar, protective layers. She ought to probably make another for Reno, just in case. Maybe the kids too. It was something to do versus what she was doing now - listening for the opening and closing of his room's door.]
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