Kraaraag'raiv'temilr aka Graiv (Grave) ~ former doctor on csilla for the secret police turned cipher twelve. She and Tove travel together and go through the agent bs at the same time.
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Looking through things still sitting in my in-progress folder. This is one of the first pics I did of Caspira almost two years ago but I'm still remarkably happy with it =3 Cas rocking the stealth/circuit suit and a nice little smirk.
Datapad balanced in one hand and pistol in the other, Caspira sighted in on the target down the range and focused. Her late night perusal of the instructional documents was helping with her ability to compensate for the change in sight, and now she was able to keep herself from dropping accidentally into infrared or night vision. But there was still a lack of comparison.
Somewhere in the space between her eyesockets and her ears was a slight vibrating whirr that made her want to vomit.
Her finger drifted to the trigger and the pistol slid to the left as she focused on the target pinned between the metal dip of the sights. The target was pocked with blaster burns and notations from a day’s worth of frustration and rage as she attempted to realign herself.
Sixty-eight percent.
Seventy-three percent.
Barely even jumping when she pulled the trigger, the pistol was a comfortable familiarity. Her grouping was getting closer together; the waver in her sights less as the adjustments advanced. Again the whirr sounded between her ears.
Eighty-two percent.
What did she have now? Her finger tightened on the trigger and she pulled automatically to the right just before the blast left the barrel, slamming into target off-center and adding another small crater to it. Breath hissing between clenched teeth in rapid and shallow puffs, she steadied a hand against the firing shelf. In a moment would be her heartbeat, after that her muscles would knot.
‘Easy, easy…’
The thoughts that had been circling her were difficult to banish, they’d wormed into her bones and her brains, down behind reasonable thought and lodged where the rest of her anxieties slumbered. There was no more freedom, the leash was tighter now, shorter. First her eyes, next would be her thoughts, her will. Her everything. Cyra’s voice whispered to her in the slumbering shadows. Pet. Slave. Toy. Tool. Dog.
Ninety-seven percent.
Caspira swallowed hard, pushed it all down. One step after the other, that was the way it had always been and the way it always would be. A step ahead, a half-step ahead, she would take whatever distance was afforded her and continue to widen the gap the best she could. Only lately the gap seemed to be narrowing in sharper and sharper increments. One more slip and she might lose something else.
One problem at a time. Turning the blaster in her hands, she waited for the slow whirr to abate, fixed her sights on the target downrange.
Ninety-nine percent.
Breathe. Closing her eyes, she hefted the blaster in her hand and opened them once more, cybernetics locking in on the target down the range and outlining the humanoid-shaped silhouette in a sharp red cast. Centering herself, she lifted it and spared only a moment to sight in, squeezing the trigger in the lull between inhale and exhale. The shot cratered in at center mass, still smoking in as she lowered the blaster.
