Zeijan trudged through the woodland, her trusty leather-strapped club dragged in the grass as she listened inattentively to the whoops and hollers of her psychotic juggalo companions as they romped through the forest on another exciting hunt, but she'd wandered far from them and their cries of jubilation as they slaughtered god knew who were growing fainter. Her own weapon was painted in brown, she'd done her peace for the evening.
She looked up, a grimace fissuring her makeup as the clown heard voices, sane ones. Between the trees she saw her. Shit, a limeblood. Armed, yes, but against a wild posse of high clowns? And what was she doing displaying her color so fragrantly?
"Hey!" She stepped out into a small semi-clearing, dropping her gorey bludgeon behind a trunk, no need to scare her. "What're you doing out here?" She rasped ambiguously.
