First is that oxblood tricorn hat.

Its wide-brim had long ago taken the best of sun and salt. There was no feather in the cap; no other embellishments really seemed necessary. The depth of color makes a statement all its own.

The tricorn leans on a tilt, hiding her eyes but exposing both a red bandana and a loc'd tuft of kinky brown hair. Below this hang gold hoop earrings and a sud place above full lips. Her nose is pierced as well, something more ornate. There's the subtle roll of prominent cheekbones as her jaw works away.

She's chewing. She's always chewing.

The rest of her - nine stones weight of a dancer's shape - remains still as a mountain peak. What skin can be seen is brown and hard as a cliff face in the shadow of the setting sun. There's a crystalline bronze sheen to her, as though she catches the light on a facet instead of flesh. Somehow there are tattoos there, pieced together like burnt-in filigree in all manner of colors. Her hands stand out the most, inked with art and glittering with the thin gold rings over every finger. Thin enough, in fact, to reveal the callouses across the knuckles and edges of the palm.

For now, she wears a white blouse embroidered with crimson. Atop this a black bandoleer, then her short russet leather jacket which is more fashionable that functional. Well-tailored trousers, the color of a deep abyss, are worn beneath form-fitting chaps. The ensemble is bottomed off with wine-colored boots and fits like a second skin.

Peeking out from a holster beneath her arm, like a cobra in their hole, is the ornate etching of a mahogany handle.

Before one can get a closer look, her eyes slip out from beneath the brim.



Topaz is the first word that tends to come to mind. Just as hard, just as likely to hold in the light with a brilliant glow. If it wasn't the unforgiving skin, or the stillness that suffuses her stance, its the eyes that remove all doubts that she is simply human.