She laughs, a loud and sharp noise that seems to practically fight its way out of her throat. Faith stands and opens her arms, to give Athos the ease of taking a real look at her.
Faith stands somehow more male than her form should allow. She takes up space in the opposite way she's supposed to, with legs splayed apart shoulder-width and ready to take any hit that might come her way. Her red low-cut tank top shows off the dangerous parts of her: muscled arms, plenty of cleavage, and a curved torso down to thick legs wrapped in torn denim. For all intents and purposes she is what the kids these days might call trailer trash, from the top of her unkempt hair to the worn combat boots that cover her feet.
"Do I strike you as the marrying type?" And the culmination of all that armor and facade: her words drip out with sarcasm. Faith Lehane is made for cutting. Not for taking home to dinner with mom, dad, and little brother.
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Faith stands somehow more male than her form should allow. She takes up space in the opposite way she's supposed to, with legs splayed apart shoulder-width and ready to take any hit that might come her way. Her red low-cut tank top shows off the dangerous parts of her: muscled arms, plenty of cleavage, and a curved torso down to thick legs wrapped in torn denim. For all intents and purposes she is what the kids these days might call trailer trash, from the top of her unkempt hair to the worn combat boots that cover her feet.
"Do I strike you as the marrying type?" And the culmination of all that armor and facade: her words drip out with sarcasm. Faith Lehane is made for cutting. Not for taking home to dinner with mom, dad, and little brother.