#silverkuroh

I have more, I'm sure, if you want them.

" But can you tell me the difference between a pastor and a priest? "

"That's not a real sword ... is it?"

She was going to murder whomever recommended her for the late night shift. Dramatic, perhaps, but no less justifiable...in her mind, at least. Still, despite her silent mutiny at the person responsible...she took this patrol seriously. Hazel eyes swept through the throngs of people still bustling about in the after hours, when the bright illumination of the day was replaced by a swathe of black and luminous stars. Beautiful, yes, but not what she worried about. Her mind traveled back to the video of that unfortunate murder...that poor, foolish Red clansman shot in cold blood. Whatever the intent...war seemed to look over the horizon. Unless, of course, they caught the perpetrator, a task easier said than accomplished. This King...no matter how innocent he looked in the guise of a clueless high schooler...he was still a danger, especially when paired with the Strain and the person her fellow clansmen referred to as the 'Black Dog'. Perhaps the name was more common on the streets, but for now, she had not yet met the misfortune of meeting him. Although, she supposed, that could change at any time. Lost in her musings, she failed to notice two things- a cat, which she promptly tripped over, along with a nearby brick wall, which her head collided with. The sudden crash jerked her to an unwelcome reality. Groaning, the brunette tubed her head hesitantly, fingers taking gingerly through her tight braid as she checked for injuries. A trickle of wetness, and she pulled her hand away to discover blood. God damnit, why did this have to happen? Best to take a breather and get the cut patched up... However, the whisper of movement caught her gaze, and she slowly stood, eyes following the black coat disappear into the crowd. Her clansmen had sworn that this 'Yatogami Kuroh' traveled in a black, unbuttoned coat and dark jeans...so it could be him...or someone else, if she were considering fairness. Another few moments of rest, and then she edges forward, one hand cradling the rough spot on her head as she considers following, and declines the notion. Body first, pursuit...later. Feet wobble as she steps into a nearby convenience store, purchasing a pack of bandages and making small talk before departing. She races into an alley on unsteady legs, leans carefully against the wall, and applies the bandage to the cut on her head. This night is gonna be a pain, isn't it? Those are her exact sentiments as she groans again, stuffing the pack of bandaids into the flimsy bag. Finally, she is off, pursuing an unknown person in the dead of night, with frigid wings blowing in her face, whipping frozen cheeks mercilessly. Again, she promises to murder the person responsible for telling her to take the shift. Those thoughts dissipate soon though...when she notices a figure, lean and clad in black, with a ponytail and carrying a sword. "Oi, who are you?" An altogether sort of impolite greeting...but she can't help it.