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Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2009
Today had been long. And annoying. As well as frustrating, bothersome and, well, the list just went on, thought Lalaine Spencer as she kicked her booted foot against one of the Ladiesâ room stall doors. Turning in a huff she went to the porcelain sinks, a trail of rust leading from the steel spigot to the drain. Turning on the cold water she looked up into the mirror and reflected on what had happened, so far.
After waking up, and realizing she was half an hour late to her first day, Lain rushed around her tiny one room, one bath apartment in the Mission district. It wasnât bad, and though it wasnât high class, she lived in a good neighborhood and her neighbors didnât play obnoxious music at 2 in the morning. Rushing about as she pulled on her new Police uniform: a black pencil skirt that reached her knees with a small slit in the side, a white blouse, a long gray wool coat, pantyhose and black half boots with a small heel. Pulling her hair up into a severe bun she grabbed an cheese Danish and was out the door, before she realized she forgot her purse, and her gun. Swearing she rushed back in, grabbed her gun and put on the shoulder gun belt, gun on one side, clips on the other, and then grabbing her purse. All in all, she was only twenty minutes late, and she wasnât yelled at too much.
Then began her day of learning the glorious processes of paperwork. Exciting stuff, she thought sarcastically as she soaped her hands and then rinsed it off. Grabbing some brown paper towel she wiped her hands and sighed. Looking back into the mirror she tried to force her hair to go back into the severe bun, but the best she could do was a messy one. Sighing she headed out of the Ladies room, pulling her grey coat around her.
Now, during the late hours, was the time for hunting. To catch all of the infected bastards who were threatening the rest of the population. This is what she had signed up for. To save humanity and bring down the zombie scum. But, the thought of firing a weapon at anyone, was hard to swallow. Especially when these infected former humans couldnât help it. But what was society to do? They were going to infect all humans eventually if something wasnât done! Killing without remorse and all memories of humanity were burned from their mind.
Reaching into her coat pocket she takes out leather, rabbit fur lined gloves and puts them on. As she walked outside the cold night air drifted about her as the sun finally began to disappear behind the tall buildings, leaving the beautiful orange glow of the evening to evaporate into darkness. When Lalaine signed up she assumed was going to be in a car, but standard issue, even for partners, turned out to be a motorcycle. Not that she didnât like motorcycles but she was in a pencil skirt. A regulation pencil skirt. For a moment she wonders if the Z.F.U. really wanted women to stay inside and do only paperwork. Their clothing and vehical choice certainly made that a possibility. Looking down at the rows of bikes she wonders how this is going to work. For a moment Lalaine immaigined getting on a bike behind her new mentor, both legs to one side, pressed against his own back and thighs, and wrapping her arms around his frame, meeting and holding onto him just above the waist. All in all, it was a secure position that let her also keep her modesty. Though if he were handsome or well built she'd probably get hot just sitting like that next to him. The thought made her shiver. Then again he could be ugly and dorky but somehow Lalaine doubted it. She doubted it intensly.
Walking down the stairs Lain notices a man, who seems to be waiting. Maybe her mentor. She had been told to expect him out here at this time, though she hadnât been told who he was, or just how he planned on training her for this job. Maybe he was just going to let her jump right in. The only thing she really knew about him was that he was often the beat cop for the Industrial Sector, an area that was often plagued with zombies due to the large area, large buildings and access to equipment and the underground sewers and tunnels that chewed up the ground below the city.
This city was as grey as her Z.F.U. regulation uniform.
After waking up, and realizing she was half an hour late to her first day, Lain rushed around her tiny one room, one bath apartment in the Mission district. It wasnât bad, and though it wasnât high class, she lived in a good neighborhood and her neighbors didnât play obnoxious music at 2 in the morning. Rushing about as she pulled on her new Police uniform: a black pencil skirt that reached her knees with a small slit in the side, a white blouse, a long gray wool coat, pantyhose and black half boots with a small heel. Pulling her hair up into a severe bun she grabbed an cheese Danish and was out the door, before she realized she forgot her purse, and her gun. Swearing she rushed back in, grabbed her gun and put on the shoulder gun belt, gun on one side, clips on the other, and then grabbing her purse. All in all, she was only twenty minutes late, and she wasnât yelled at too much.
Then began her day of learning the glorious processes of paperwork. Exciting stuff, she thought sarcastically as she soaped her hands and then rinsed it off. Grabbing some brown paper towel she wiped her hands and sighed. Looking back into the mirror she tried to force her hair to go back into the severe bun, but the best she could do was a messy one. Sighing she headed out of the Ladies room, pulling her grey coat around her.
Now, during the late hours, was the time for hunting. To catch all of the infected bastards who were threatening the rest of the population. This is what she had signed up for. To save humanity and bring down the zombie scum. But, the thought of firing a weapon at anyone, was hard to swallow. Especially when these infected former humans couldnât help it. But what was society to do? They were going to infect all humans eventually if something wasnât done! Killing without remorse and all memories of humanity were burned from their mind.
Reaching into her coat pocket she takes out leather, rabbit fur lined gloves and puts them on. As she walked outside the cold night air drifted about her as the sun finally began to disappear behind the tall buildings, leaving the beautiful orange glow of the evening to evaporate into darkness. When Lalaine signed up she assumed was going to be in a car, but standard issue, even for partners, turned out to be a motorcycle. Not that she didnât like motorcycles but she was in a pencil skirt. A regulation pencil skirt. For a moment she wonders if the Z.F.U. really wanted women to stay inside and do only paperwork. Their clothing and vehical choice certainly made that a possibility. Looking down at the rows of bikes she wonders how this is going to work. For a moment Lalaine immaigined getting on a bike behind her new mentor, both legs to one side, pressed against his own back and thighs, and wrapping her arms around his frame, meeting and holding onto him just above the waist. All in all, it was a secure position that let her also keep her modesty. Though if he were handsome or well built she'd probably get hot just sitting like that next to him. The thought made her shiver. Then again he could be ugly and dorky but somehow Lalaine doubted it. She doubted it intensly.
Walking down the stairs Lain notices a man, who seems to be waiting. Maybe her mentor. She had been told to expect him out here at this time, though she hadnât been told who he was, or just how he planned on training her for this job. Maybe he was just going to let her jump right in. The only thing she really knew about him was that he was often the beat cop for the Industrial Sector, an area that was often plagued with zombies due to the large area, large buildings and access to equipment and the underground sewers and tunnels that chewed up the ground below the city.
This city was as grey as her Z.F.U. regulation uniform.
