She was dressed in black from head to toe, waring a short-sleave T-shirt, a vest with many pockets that had a milliray look to it, pants of durable cloth, black leather boots that came almost to her knees, and over it all a heavy black leather trench coat that hung to just above her ankles. Even her hair was black, pulled back into a tight braid. Her eyes are deep shade of teal, but hidden behind dark sunglasses. Her silm but strong build told anyone looking that she was an elf, and they'd be half right, for she was also half human.
Her black gloved hand grips the lead of a very large horse, an unknown breed of large draft horse that managed to servive through the chaos of the nearly dead planet. The woman was just beyond average hight of about six feet, but the top of her head bearly stood above the horse's back. The stallion's coat is a shining silver-gray, with a white mane and tail, and large white feathered feet. His gray hooves clatter ominously on the ground as the two move through the underground city.
Curare paused to scout the path ahead. Things seemed well enough, but one could never be to sure of anything, not in these times. Tensions were higher than ever, and you could never tell what might set someone off. She prefered to avoid a fight where she could. It was a pointless wast of energy better spent elsewhere, but it wasn't always up to her. She receives an impatient nudge from behind by the gray stallion who had decided she had stalled long enough. She smiles and putes her hand up and rubs his soft white nose. "Pushy old nag." She says softly to him with a week laugh. But if he wasn't bothered by anything it was more likely than not that the area was clear. Animals always seem to know these things. So they continues on up the street and through the city, but she never let her guard down.
