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Sherman Firefly

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[break][break]"You would think otherwise but warriors must look sharp, it's quite critical. You can wear the furs, the bones, the entrails if you so choose, but what would that communicate to me about your interests, your awareness?" said Sherman, adjusting her slim, matte garments and running the flat side of a bent blade to smooth any missed creases. "Interests can be extrapolated to tendencies, tendencies can be extrapolated to tactics, and awareness, well; awareness is fairly forthcoming already as information." She crouched next to a cut snare wire as she completed her thought. The less-worn end of the broken wire would make an excellent reserve hairtie. Her power of estimation placed hairtie-R at 40% capacity and hairtie-L at 89% capacity. Upon further scrutiny, the snare fragments appeared too short to double over themselves in the interest of properly supporting her blonde pigtails. At a straight-on angle, the wire bits almost vanished against the emerald-green eyes inspecting them. "Fine enough." Sherman tied the wire into the bristles of her carved hairbrush. Satisfied, she plucked her precious implement from atop the crudely-fashioned Lunarisclan-marked chest. Even at 170 cm tall, lugging a chest this large failed to pose a problem to the stalwart Sherman, nor did the weight of the prisoner inside the chest.

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[break][break]Sherman adjusted the wide-brimmed leaf further, and the rain plunged onto the rocky soil to her left as a result. As the downpour had increased in strength, she calibrated her makeshift shelter as followed. In the dry shade beneath, singed twigs and quarter-charred leaves lay strewn near her ankles. As was her luck, the rain had begun just before Sherman could send a smoke signal reply to her associate, one Amy Faye. Tea brewed too strong and biscuits left to grow stale failed to fluster her, unless someone had it out for her. Her light meal routine, that is. Faye flustered, however. Between the relentless teasing by way of referring to Sherman as merely 'Fly' and the unfettered disregard for both decorum and protocol, it was enough even a mild-mannered functionary like Sherman a touch daft. Save for the smoke signal ribbing her surname, Sherman had yet to hear necessary details from Faye, such as location or concealment circumstances. The odour of Amy's disreputable picnicking kit had wafted through the forest until the rain shut down most olfactory communication, both intentional and unintentional. Sherman had hoped Amy's devil-may-care stance would shift to be the exception among the retinue of Solarisclan warriors, yet Yomi existed as the sole counterweight, along with Sherman of course, against such lax attitudes. That being said, Yomi, bless, was a good bit more grim than Sherman tended towards. Come to think of it, Yom-. A flash of lightning chased by leaping thunder dashed her concentration for a moment, enough to derail petty thoughts about good form. "Mmmphbt..!" Wriggling, and attempting to protest in spite of the vine bindings silencing them, Sherman's captive strained in several different directions. "Right, I suppose you're as gutted as I am about this decorum business," she shrugged, slicing some pork loin for them with the 'flat' edge of her chisel blade. "But chin up, I'm sure it'll catch on, in time. Ah, actually chin down, for you, keep your chin down now, will you? I fear keeping your chin angled upwards would make it rather simple for your party to spot the whites of your eyes and, by extension, spot where I am. D'you think the clan children would appreciate such rigidity? Those who want to be warriors to begin with, of course. There's no better way to keep sharp than by keeping sharp company, is there?"

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[break][break]Join the warriors! How can't you? The family inanity oft-repeated to a younger her ran through a rained-out recollection. "If it were up to myself, and I shall hope you won't take this to be a personal slight, I'd rather be in the Territory. And it's not the rain, mind you, though it makes for some part of it, I suppose." Sherman checked the fasteners of her cloak before wrapping up the remainders of pork loin supper. "They always say 'someone has got to stay and count the arrows', all I've tried to do is reason against the 'stay' aspect. We're certainly capable of doing both. Well, this sounds more thespian than both how it is and how I feel it is." she said, letting rain dribble off her blade in a torpid attempt at maintenance. Fragments of light glinted from the distant brush. With her sleeve, she wiped the remaining water from the weapon before sheathing the thin, squared-off sword. "I am nothing if not doing right by my clan. Maybe you're similar. But here I say clan to mean the people I protect, and likewise who protect me. Faye, Maware, name them, I'm absolutely standing alongside them. I just wish they'd harness their heedlessness and channel it into a more proper 'contempt for danger'. The crackling of torches emerged around her and her prisoner, the logical conclusion of the faint hints of light earlier. Sherman Firefly deposited her captive back into the chest and sat atop it. Petite dirks and daggers reflected the light from their impressive anti-rain torches. Surrounding the position, the raiders stared down the warrior Firefly. "Well, this is not ideal. I have not the proper equipment to take you all prisoner!" she contemplated upon drawing her chisel blade.