First Person (entry type): [It's that time of the day for training. In an adobe-like interior, there's many young girls, well between the ages of eleven to fourteen, all moving about. They literally almost look the same -- blonde hair, silver eyes, and in white uniforms that look almost like leotards. One girl in particular slowly walks in the room, long pale blonde hair, and holding her gaze downwards, not trying to draw attention to the other girls around her. She is definitely the youngest, not even at least eleven years old. Apparently, it looks as if they were called. So they all gather around a man, in the most ratty clothing at all possible, his scarred face covered. They appear emotionless and peer back up at him as a silence falls.]
Listen up, girls! We had this talk before and we won't have it again. The claymores are for a certain number of you, not all of you. We have the practice swords for a reason. [He stops and points to the youngest girl in the center.]
Especially you, Clare.
[There is a snicker in the back, and one girl turns to this Clare and Clare back to the adult. Without any shame whatsoever, she bluntly replies-]
If you didn't like us using the claymores, then don't leave them out. I don't care if my shoulder was dislocated. It's back in, isn't it?
[Some of the girls give her leery look, but the one beside her looks a little perplexed. He gives a dismissive wave and exits from view. Clare proceeds, anyway.]
no subject
Nothing in particular? Just as I said, she's pretty much coming in as a novice to the organization.
Additional Links:
http://claymore.wikia.com/wiki/Clare
First Person (entry type):
[It's that time of the day for training. In an adobe-like interior, there's many young girls, well between the ages of eleven to fourteen, all moving about. They literally almost look the same -- blonde hair, silver eyes, and in white uniforms that look almost like leotards. One girl in particular slowly walks in the room, long pale blonde hair, and holding her gaze downwards, not trying to draw attention to the other girls around her. She is definitely the youngest, not even at least eleven years old. Apparently, it looks as if they were called. So they all gather around a man, in the most ratty clothing at all possible, his scarred face covered. They appear emotionless and peer back up at him as a silence falls.]
Listen up, girls! We had this talk before and we won't have it again. The claymores are for a certain number of you, not all of you. We have the practice swords for a reason. [He stops and points to the youngest girl in the center.]
Especially you, Clare.
[There is a snicker in the back, and one girl turns to this Clare and Clare back to the adult. Without any shame whatsoever, she bluntly replies-]
If you didn't like us using the claymores, then don't leave them out. I don't care if my shoulder was dislocated. It's back in, isn't it?
[Some of the girls give her leery look, but the one beside her looks a little perplexed. He gives a dismissive wave and exits from view. Clare proceeds, anyway.]