Mar 31, 2020
*blows a kiss to the sky* for Drumbot Brian
Continuing my kick of Mechs covers! Tragically, I don’t have a banjo, so I tried my best with a guitar/mandolin blend.
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*blows a kiss to the sky* for Drumbot Brian
Continuing my kick of Mechs covers! Tragically, I don’t have a banjo, so I tried my best with a guitar/mandolin blend.
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Just that kid in the class drawing and yet still answering questions.
Running around healing wounds was not exactly an easy job. It was stressful, it carried a lot of emotional baggage that made you want to gag yourself and be done sometimes. Sometimes people die in your arms, sometimes you save someone’s life and they’ll be forever grateful by bringing you a six pack while you’re at work. You meet the range of alcoholics that exist in the world or the actually really thoughtful heroin addicts. You learn about the dark brilliance of drug creators who cut heroin with diesel fuel and call it crocodile. The rewards of being a young paramedic were astounding yet it was a physically fucked up job.
 Hjordis Dalgaard. Quite the name she had, but it was plausible. Both her parents were Scandinavian, Swedis to be exact. They both hailed from Stockholm and came to America to pursue dreams of having a healthy lifestyle that was able to support children. She knew a small amount of Swedish, nothing extensive. She could probably make her way around Stockholm for food and your general signs of life but that was about as far as it would get. Hjordis learned Spanish in high school, which became quite helpful in her line of duty. No one knew her legitimate first name, as she went by her middle name Kathe. She would never put herself through the hell of harassment that children have not quite to grasp yet as bad.
 Kathe was a tall girl at the age of 25. By the end of high school, she was five ten. She played sports and had a very athletic body. Her upper body strength grew as she began working as an EMT. Originally, she wanted to be a firewoman but seeing any type of blaze frightened her and flashed the memories of the childhood barn fire that scarred her hip. The scar tissue was still dark purple and the skin had a kind of puckered, rippled texture. It was disgusting to look at, she didn’t want people to see it at all ever. She never tells anyone about the fire, never wears a bikini, and never brings a man home because she’s too afraid and shy about it. During her teen years, Kathe got into heavy metal and had a growing fascination with body art and modification. Work allowed her to have ear piercings and subtle other piercings, which she translated to gauges and conches on both ears and a labret piercing in her lip. Before she got her paramedic certification, she marked her right arm up with Celtic knots. It had nothing significantly meaningful to her but she liked it, she thought it accentuated her paleness and muscular set up. Her mother didn’t agree but did she care? Not really.
the dance class across from my computer lit class is literally doing thriller right now.... and damn them fuckers be good!