Character Sketch #8

Long sleeves, leggings, knee boots: she carries an umbrella hooked over her arm as she walks across the squares of bright sunshine that come in the skylights. Her expression says determination, but her gait screams fatigue. 

His left hand clasps the waistband of his jeans. His belt is caught on the lower curve of his buttocks and refuses to let the pants rise any higher. At least his navy shirt matches his navy briefs. 

She walks slowly, eyes searching, searching for something happy and far away. The bag of goodies barely swings at her side. Her skin is clear and smooth as an unpopulated lake on a windless day. 

Her arms are folded, and her mouth is smug. She know that she is right and everyone else is wrong. The snap in her tone as she speaks to her companion is confirmation enough. 

The tail of his shirt is not quite long enough to conceal his carry, but he strides on, confident in the self-protection his ability can provide him. Or is it as-yet untested; will he freeze up or drop his weapon as he fumbles through his first opportunity to brandish it? May he never know.