xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Green Dragonxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The vast frosted highlands of Scotland left an imposing aura on the young eighteen year old Spaniard, her sapphire eyes gleaming against the complexion of her rosy white cheeks. She was dressed warmly and snug; a crimson puffed jacket with faux beige fur outlining its hood. A plaid scarf of the same color gave warmth to her neck and gave a passage of escape for her icy breaths. The end of the scarf just barely hovered over her chest. She stood at the tip of a high mound of snow that loomed over the town beneath her. After long gritting years of fleeing from place to place, training vigorously in hopes to become a better person proper of caring and being a fortified shield for her younger sibling, she finally found a place her guardian deemed secure. Her bright pink lips curled into a gentle smile full of hope and promises. Something about this place put her at ease. Her eyes scattered and skittered around the shapes of the buildings and structures, her mind already forming images with her wandering the very roads constructed only moments away from her reach.
❝H-oy! Lovely snow, eh Eva?❞
The woman lowered her gaze back down to the sleek onyx pistol tucked in its holster under her jacket. Her name was Eva Mortus - as the voice dubbed her. The voice - surprising to the innocent minds of "normal sighted" people - belonged to the very gun she stared at intently. What came around to frighten people into a frantic state was discovering that the weapon was once a live woman and her mentor and guardian - long dead since her preadolescent years in the outskirts of Spain; now a lingering soul. Such things were unheard of! And it was for this very reason she made sure her teacher kept quiet which is a very difficult task. It was because of the massive uproar of a talking gun that led her to trouble with the average person. If her teacher's blabbering didn't cause enough trouble, the fact of her enhanced sight caused just about as much strain for her. For as long as she could remember, Eva was capable of seeing the souls of the deceased and the living, serving as a central neutral balance for the two worlds much like a bridge. As much as she enjoyed being able to interact with spirits that wandered about the world seemingly insignificant to the faint sighted, it was this very spiritual sight that enhanced her soul and its spiritual gifts, which in turn attracted horrid beasts and demons in hunger for a taste of shamanic flesh. As she aged the more they came in hoards, snarling with fanged sneers, jeering and urging for nourishment. If it was not for her mentor, she'd be long dead. She let out a long sigh out of pure relief, and gave a quick retort. ❝About time you spoke. We've been traveling for days now, probably even weeks, with nothing but a weary soul in sight. It's been maddening and lonesome with hardly a word coming out of your mouth. It's quite unbecoming of you, Alma. It's almost like you became a nun.❞ They laughed. They knew very well how unlikely that outcome would be with how Alma was. In fact, if she was here alive and in flesh, she would be wearing improper attire (for both the current weather and for any occasion mind you), simply wearing a pair of long blue combat boots, black shorts similar to that of a belly dancer's bottom attire, a thin black sports bra under a revealing black dress shirt. When she was alive, she wore assassin's gloves with a snow white fur trim around the ends of its blue sleeves that were banded with black cross straps and its tips around the hand were black; as well on her head would be her personal trademark bandana - she was always seen with it on, no matter the situation. If Eva were to describe this woman, it would be an impossibility. Even with the time she's lived with her and come to know her, Alma has always been a complete bewildering mystery to her. Other than the fact that she's extremely sexually active, an alcoholic connoisseur, and a hardcore extremist when it comes to her training, there is nothing much to say about her.
❝Eh, not my fault you were being so uptight. You're lucky I managed to come across this place during my strolls. Finally have some use for the money you've had stored up all these years. I know it's SUCH a HAZARD for me to just WANDER ABOUT but GOD ********' DAMN. YOU CANNOT EXPECT ME TO STAY STILL IN A ********' GUN for the rest of my afterlife?❞ Eva arched her brow, pursing her lips. ❝You do realize what could happen if you were to say leave to wander off one day and I were suddenly confronted by demons right? I would be in no way of calling out to you nor capable of really fighting much without a spiritual partner. Hand to hand combat with my soul is not within my range of ground . . .❞ Alma chimed in cheerfully, ❝Alas, but that has yet to happen. You underestimate the power of spiritual travel yet again. Besides, you forget two things. We are linked together by soul. Despite we are not related by blood in any sense we are related through your mother and our bonds. You also underestimate your own worth. You have extraordinary talents awaiting you beyond that of the common shaman or exorcist, perhaps even the best of all templars.❞ Eva scoffed at her defiantly, disregarding what she said. It was clearly her brown-nosing antics.
❝Oh shut your trap! It is true we are evidently bonded to each other by soul . . . however I am certainly not what you lionize me to be. I am still far behind. No where near our main goal, with hardly any leads. So please stop with the flattering, it never works. . . ❞ For a moment the two were silent. It was clear in Eva's tone that she was stirred by the mention of her mother. It was practical taboo to bring her up, although not because she hated her or anything. It was actually quite the opposite. She adored her mother. Admired her wholeheartedly. Before Alma, before the accident with her sister, before all the horrible things began to bloom, her mother and sister were all she had. She had faint memories of her father - she remembered the shape of his figure, but his face was but a blurred image incapable of configuring. The strongest and brightest of her memories were that of her mother. She remembered her gentle smile that seemed to make one melt into a calm, relaxed mood as if all was well even when things were grim. Now all that's left is a memory of agony and blood - her mother's blood - and the mystery of her murder.
Alma grunted to quell the silence in hopes to correct herself, to properly address her message, however was unfortunately interrupted by a yell. The snow collapsed where Eva stood, causing her to slip and tumble down in a swift skit. Her eyes widened frenetically when she noticed the sharp and grisly boulders she was heading right towards to. If she were to impact, the scene would be gruesome. Her blood would likely be splattered all over the snow - stripping it off it's serene innocence - and her body unrecognizable to the eye. The thoughts made her dither, immediately provoking her to grab at or grasp anything she could. But it was nothing but a thick layer of snow. It couldn't possibly end this way. No . . . Not without seeing her sister once more. There was too much at stake at hand, too many things left to be finished. She clasped her eyes shut, unable to accept her doom. Until she felt something clasp around her hand. Her body tingled all about. Her heart was beating fast - but not because she was afraid; she didn't understand what the feeling was. Suddenly she was being pulled forward into someone's arms. The person felt warm and made her feel safe. She clung to the stranger close, hiding her face against the person's chest - clearly that of a man's. Everything was strange. She told herself everything she was doing was wrong. She should be moving away from her savior, pushing herself away from him. She didn't know him. She hasn't even seen his face. For all she could know he could be a bandit or a lowly man ready to do her many wrongs. But this odd faint voice kept echoing. THIS IS RIGHT! THIS IS SO RIGHT! Time seemed to be passing by so slowly because despite the fact only a few minutes had passed, it felt like an entire eternity passed in which she was around this person's arms. Finally, despite her minor reluctance, the man let go of her, placing her on more secure grounds. She looked up at the man, finally having a good look at him. Her heart thumped. The man dressed in monochrome colors consisting of a long hooded grey vest that went over a black dress shirt with white tipped ends that rested against a pair of loose black pants with white strips of cloth wrapped around his knees. Around his waist was a sash-like belt with an hourglass insignia on it much like the one that dangled on a chain at the tip of his hood that obscured his face. In front of his eyes was a black belt for reasons unbeknownst to her. At his sleeves were black feather armlets attached to a silver band clamped firmly around his arms. The shirt he wore defined his muscular chest more, making it noticeable to the eye. She couldn't help but indulge the sight of his very appearance as her eyes examined the details of his body. Eventually she noticed his mouth had slurred out something. He was speaking... s**t! Eva woke up from her frivolous daze, and regain her focus. ❝Excuse me?❞ The man adjusted his position, pushing his hands into his front pockets for a classic laid-back image, and gave her a calm smile. ❝I said, are you alright? Or are you going to keep giving that zone out stare with that flustered face of yours?❞ She moved her hand to her cheek, finally noticing how warm they were. They practically made her hand seer slightly from the touch. She immediately took to attempting to hide it out of sheer embarrassment. ❝I- I'm fine, thank you. . . . I don't know what to say really other than I'm certainly grateful that you were around when you were or else - well I'd probably be long dead down there. . . . Not sure how I could ever repay you-- By the way . . . my name is Eva. Mortus.... and yours is?❞ The man stayed still for a moment, pushing his right hand out of its pocket and moving it over to his chin as if it was now his turn to examine her every detail. The thought of that made her shudder - though out of what intention she did not know. Her cheeks were beginning to burn furiously and were likely as red as tomato. He finally cleared his throat, keeping his warm as honey smile as he spoke. ❝Well, the name's Strom Fletcher, though everyone calls me Fletcher. Not sure why. As for how you can repay me . . . ❞ He began to lean forward, slowly inching over his steps over to her. She was frozen still like a rock. She simply watched as he came closer to the point their faces were only about a few centimeters away from each other. Her heart was pulsating. No... Don't ask for that. But it was evident, most men are like that. Go for the brain down there. She bit her lower lip, her hands tensing and clenching together. It took her a moment to realize he hadn't done anything yet. He simply leaned in, and whispered into her ear. ❝You know - you really shouldn't hide your blush. It's really quite obvious even if you try to.❞