<div class="floatleft">(http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g194/daxionsfire/RP%20Girls/ChrissaBlindFaithSmall.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Chrissa Williamson<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Balcony, Jack's Apartment<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>See picture, plus a black ball cap, hair in a ponytail.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><br/>Despite the various cries and warnings not to commit violence, or some sort of act she might later regret, Chrissa meant every word she'd said. If she saw whoever was messing with the vehicles, she intended to shoot him. There was a difference between wanton violence, and making it clear that this group was not a group to be messed with. Chrissa firmly believed her actions fell in the latter category. If they wanted to survive for very long, they could NOT allow miscreants to casually ruin any of their chances for survival. If this guy was such a punk--and she was inclined to believe everything Jack had said about him--then she didn't mind poking a hole in him to let everyone else in the area know they shouldn't mess with her or her group.<br/><br/>Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on whose point of view--by the time Chrissa reached the balcony, all she could see was Dean's back as he ran for it. She brought her rifle up, settling her scope's crosshairs between his shoulder blades, her finger on the trigger. But she didn't shoot. He was too far away to guarantee a good shot, and she didn't want to waste ammo. And despite her readiness to take a life, she didn't WANT to take a life. She exhaled slowly, watching Dean until he rounded a corner and was out of her line of sight before she lowered her rifle.<strong>"He's gone,"</strong>she said softly, to anyone who wasn't freaking out and shouting or crying, and was still paying attention to the situation outside.<br/>