[Unlike April, Misty is loving this. Loving the dirt on the soles of her feet, the heat of the sun on her skin. She's loving a chance to be free, to be anywhere but in Hell, but this is literally her ideal life. Just like this.
Even when she's suddenly verbally accosted by someone that is not having nearly as good a time as she is.
Though at the "accusation", Misty can't help but smile. Perhaps as she was, barefoot, with a velveteen shawl about her shoulders and fingerless gloves; her clothes suited much more for the late eighties she might well look like someone that feared ghosts and ghosts stories.
Except for the fact that, technically, she was one. At least back home.
But she does smile, wide and wicked, and speaks with a soft Louisiana accent.]
Me? Oh, well... I'm not sure about cryin', but I can tell you a story or two that might bring a shiver.
camping
Even when she's suddenly verbally accosted by someone that is not having nearly as good a time as she is.
Though at the "accusation", Misty can't help but smile. Perhaps as she was, barefoot, with a velveteen shawl about her shoulders and fingerless gloves; her clothes suited much more for the late eighties she might well look like someone that feared ghosts and ghosts stories.
Except for the fact that, technically, she was one. At least back home.
But she does smile, wide and wicked, and speaks with a soft Louisiana accent.]
Me? Oh, well... I'm not sure about cryin', but I can tell you a story or two that might bring a shiver.