Anddddd...just a little ficlet I did because I haven't put anything up in too long. ;D Tell me what you think peeps.

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Lata talked loudly, making elaborate gestures with her hands. Small, dainty hands. Soft, pale, dimpled. A diagonal pink line across the back of her right one, from the time she fought that werecat at Sarah's mansion. Her nails were short and squared. She uses her hands for many things. Rarely a soft pat or a gentle caress. More likely a slap, a punch, an accusing pointed finger. Occasionally she acts on a feminine whim and paints her nails. Bright red, dark purple, or every color she can get her hands on. Dots, stripes, and butterflies she'll paint on those nails. She'll wield a sword with them, sink a dagger in, pull a trigger.

She uses them to convince people, to threaten people, to hurt people, and sometimes, to reassure people. This morning she used them to wield a butter knife at her toast. She's disgustingly picky about how much butter goes on the bread. She can pick a pocket like no one else alive.

My Lata. With her new, improved looks. The soft rich light brown hair. The big copper eyes. She wields those looks with as much deadliness and precision as she would a knife going into someone's heart. It's her very cruelty, her ruthlessness, that eventually draws like moths to a light all of her old victims. You just can't help but adore someone that strong, that self-centered.

She's a force of nature, a tornado, a rock slide. You may not want her to arrive, but come hell or high water, there's no stopping her. And she's coming to a town near you.