08-11-2020, 12:07 PM
[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]
[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]Paola hasn't settled. Since her arrival at the Typhoon, she'd spent a large majority of her time exploring the island's many nooks and crannies, bickering with its sole semi-sentient raccoon, and trying to tail Devland for something fun to do. She hasn't exactly found the time to find a place to sleep; instead, she often conked out on the beach, or on a tree, or on the roof of somebody's hut, and it's not like that's new for the teenager—she can't even remember how long she's spent sleeping under the stars... then again, that might just be the memory loss again.
The huts don't particularly appeal to her. They're cute, sure, but every time she tries to set foot in an empty one, she feels her pelt prickle with discomfort. The tavern isn't something she'd like to stay in, either. Sure, she loves the lively atmosphere, but even teenagers need some peace and quiet, and she trying to sleep in such a bustling place would drive her mad faster than she could even catch some shut-eye.
So she keeps searching, wandering, browsing her options. She thinks maybe she can just make a den in the jungle, a little nest between some twisted roots, and it's what she's after when she dives into the undergrowth one morning, desperate to find a place she can call home. It isn't long, however, until she stumbles across a large tree with gnarled roots tangled across the jungle floor—but that isn't what catches her attention.
Looking up, a cabin sits upon its many branches, with forgotten rope bridges linking it to several, smaller others. "What the fuck..?" She thinks there might have been a staircase spiraling around the trunk once, if the hanging bits of rope and planks are any indication, but it's clear they've since rotten away and fallen, resting instead on the soft earth. Not that it matters. Paola gives her rump a little wiggle before launching herself at the trunk, slowly clawing her way to the top.
When she reaches it, she finds a hole where the staircase would have ended, and she slips through it to reach to the deck surrounding the treehouse. For a moment, the wooden planks groan, warning that they might give way, but they hold under her weight after a breath or two, stilling from their complaint. Sighing with relief, Paola picks her way to the opening of the treehouse—door-less, like the rest.
"Whoa," she manages under her breath, looking around at the abandoned interior and marveling at the remains. A table, some couches, a bamboo swing facing a long window—how anybody had managed to bring it up, she isn't quite sure, but she's thankful nevertheless that they'd left it behind.
On the far wall, across from the doorway she'd entered, she finds something carved on the wall, partially obscured by a curtain of vines. She latches onto them, carefully pulling them away, pushing them to the side or tearing them down until she can see the rest of what's carved on the surface—a stylized V, etched into the wood. A pair of paw prints are painted on either side of it, canine from the looks of it, and a single black feather is taped underneath the point of the letter, collecting dust but miraculously intact.
"V? For Victory?" She rises up to her hindlegs, reaching for the painted pawprint but coming up short—whatever creature had left it must have had longer legs than her. "Visitors? Is this some old guesthouse?" Paola circles around, eyeing the other doorways, each one painted or decorated a different way. Each one looks about as empty and abandoned as the main room. "I wonder if I can move in here..."
[table][tr][td]The huts don't particularly appeal to her. They're cute, sure, but every time she tries to set foot in an empty one, she feels her pelt prickle with discomfort. The tavern isn't something she'd like to stay in, either. Sure, she loves the lively atmosphere, but even teenagers need some peace and quiet, and she trying to sleep in such a bustling place would drive her mad faster than she could even catch some shut-eye.
So she keeps searching, wandering, browsing her options. She thinks maybe she can just make a den in the jungle, a little nest between some twisted roots, and it's what she's after when she dives into the undergrowth one morning, desperate to find a place she can call home. It isn't long, however, until she stumbles across a large tree with gnarled roots tangled across the jungle floor—but that isn't what catches her attention.
Looking up, a cabin sits upon its many branches, with forgotten rope bridges linking it to several, smaller others. "What the fuck..?" She thinks there might have been a staircase spiraling around the trunk once, if the hanging bits of rope and planks are any indication, but it's clear they've since rotten away and fallen, resting instead on the soft earth. Not that it matters. Paola gives her rump a little wiggle before launching herself at the trunk, slowly clawing her way to the top.
When she reaches it, she finds a hole where the staircase would have ended, and she slips through it to reach to the deck surrounding the treehouse. For a moment, the wooden planks groan, warning that they might give way, but they hold under her weight after a breath or two, stilling from their complaint. Sighing with relief, Paola picks her way to the opening of the treehouse—door-less, like the rest.
"Whoa," she manages under her breath, looking around at the abandoned interior and marveling at the remains. A table, some couches, a bamboo swing facing a long window—how anybody had managed to bring it up, she isn't quite sure, but she's thankful nevertheless that they'd left it behind.
On the far wall, across from the doorway she'd entered, she finds something carved on the wall, partially obscured by a curtain of vines. She latches onto them, carefully pulling them away, pushing them to the side or tearing them down until she can see the rest of what's carved on the surface—a stylized V, etched into the wood. A pair of paw prints are painted on either side of it, canine from the looks of it, and a single black feather is taped underneath the point of the letter, collecting dust but miraculously intact.
"V? For Victory?" She rises up to her hindlegs, reaching for the painted pawprint but coming up short—whatever creature had left it must have had longer legs than her. "Visitors? Is this some old guesthouse?" Paola circles around, eyeing the other doorways, each one painted or decorated a different way. Each one looks about as empty and abandoned as the main room. "I wonder if I can move in here..."
10 MOONS
[/td][td]BETA
[/td][td]TYPHOON
[/td][td]SHE/HER
[/td][td]© AUDACITY
[/td][/tr][/table] BABY'S GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER: