[The ship rolled and pitched violently, entirely at the mercy of the great waves and winds amidst the storm at sea. Talia Al Ghul was on one of the yardarms, determined to follow the captain's orders to furl the sails. She was on the last tie, gripping the wooden extension with full force with her thighs as her hands worked to knot the rope. She was barely used to the rigging at all, let alone in these conditions, but she'd done what was expected of her.
It was, after all, nothing compared to the climb of the pit.
The last knot secured, she scurried down the shroud, leaping onto the deck. At that moment, the ship rolled starboard, which meant her carefully chosen footing shifted as she landed, and she slid, down onto her knees from the pitch aft and slid into one of the starboard guns, which she used to haul herself up, soaking wet but grinning.
At least it wasn't a dull life.]
B)
[As the vendors hawked their wares, Miranda Tate glided through their stalls. She tested the spices, tried small samples of offered fruits, breads, and cheeses. Being on her own as long as she had and having as refined a palette as she claimed (she could eat gruel, when it was all she had to survive, but she did prefer good food) meant she'd learned to cook. Learning to cook meant she had a valuable, marketable skill.
Her other skills were best kept quiet.
So, she was doing the shopping for her crew. Enough to last her galley for two or three months. She had a list, though it was much more of a 'suggestion' than anything concrete. After all, this wasn't her world. Things weren't always going to line up easily, but that was why she tasted everything, hunting up possible substitutes and asking the name of anything she didn't know.]
C)
[Running water was a luxury, and privacy was even more of one. Luxuries were something she could do without.
So, the woman was on deck with a bucket of sea water, a clean rag, a bar of soap, and a jar of oil. Her hair was bound up with a thin piece of cordage, and she had stripped almost entirely. What little she had left on were garments of her own stitching: boxer-like shorts for underwear and a kind of strapless bra, fabric wrapped around her chest and stitched to hold its shape.
Crude works, but what she had come in had worn out months ago.
Without the barest hint of shame, she rinses the dirt away with the water, soap, and rag before applying the oil to her skin.]
Miranda Tate / Talia Al Ghul - The Dark Knight Rises
[The ship rolled and pitched violently, entirely at the mercy of the great waves and winds amidst the storm at sea. Talia Al Ghul was on one of the yardarms, determined to follow the captain's orders to furl the sails. She was on the last tie, gripping the wooden extension with full force with her thighs as her hands worked to knot the rope. She was barely used to the rigging at all, let alone in these conditions, but she'd done what was expected of her.
It was, after all, nothing compared to the climb of the pit.
The last knot secured, she scurried down the shroud, leaping onto the deck. At that moment, the ship rolled starboard, which meant her carefully chosen footing shifted as she landed, and she slid, down onto her knees from the pitch aft and slid into one of the starboard guns, which she used to haul herself up, soaking wet but grinning.
At least it wasn't a dull life.]
B)
[As the vendors hawked their wares, Miranda Tate glided through their stalls. She tested the spices, tried small samples of offered fruits, breads, and cheeses. Being on her own as long as she had and having as refined a palette as she claimed (she could eat gruel, when it was all she had to survive, but she did prefer good food) meant she'd learned to cook. Learning to cook meant she had a valuable, marketable skill.
Her other skills were best kept quiet.
So, she was doing the shopping for her crew. Enough to last her galley for two or three months. She had a list, though it was much more of a 'suggestion' than anything concrete. After all, this wasn't her world. Things weren't always going to line up easily, but that was why she tasted everything, hunting up possible substitutes and asking the name of anything she didn't know.]
C)
[Running water was a luxury, and privacy was even more of one. Luxuries were something she could do without.
So, the woman was on deck with a bucket of sea water, a clean rag, a bar of soap, and a jar of oil. Her hair was bound up with a thin piece of cordage, and she had stripped almost entirely. What little she had left on were garments of her own stitching: boxer-like shorts for underwear and a kind of strapless bra, fabric wrapped around her chest and stitched to hold its shape.
Crude works, but what she had come in had worn out months ago.
Without the barest hint of shame, she rinses the dirt away with the water, soap, and rag before applying the oil to her skin.]