Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?]

cinder
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I dream of a reality where my dreams may come true - 23 y/o in 2020 logging in and laughing

Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 23, 2010 18:14:38 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jul 23, 2010 18:14:38 GMT -5

They were forming a murderous band of murderesses. That's how the official, Peacekeeper representative had described it to Arcadia. He had not said it in so many words, hadn't even told Cady exactly who he was, but the problem was that he knew exactly who she was. Her and Cadia. She could still feel his sticky, wet breath on her clean neck. It had made her convulge, instinctively draw away from a threat that had over-stepped his boundaries. She had been chilled to the bone by the words, no matter how warm his breath had been in a more literal sense.

"Now, now--don't run," he told Arcadia and Cadia. They had been caught sneaking into District One, it was the first time Cady truly realized how powerful and knowing the Capitol was. "I just want to talk. Put your weapons down." There had been some resistance on the part of Arcadia, Cadia and the small ferret. They had all done some damage before being apprehended. Defeated, they politely resigned themselves to the horror and embarrassment of being hand-cuffed. Both girls did their fair share of damage even after they had their hands linked together behind their backs. It had taken a small army to defeat them. "Girls, that's just what I like about you! Your fighting spirit, its admirable."

Even after they were properly restrained, the attack continued in the form of a stream of words pouring out of both girls mouths. Cady London was impressed by how much swagger Cadia had even chained up by the loathed people. Finally somebody had to silence them, cramming material down their throats. Arcadia was still looking for a way out back then, the Peacekeepers who had caught them wore all-black suits that resembled gang-uniforms. Nobody looked like they worked for the government. Nobody pulled out a gun, everybody fought the street fight. They fought dirty as Arcadia herself did.

Finally the not-so-pleasant man was back, an explanation readied. He explained that the higher authority, the 'people in power' required a few skilled, young assassins. The gist of it was that he was putting together a team of highly qualified ladies to do the dirty-work of the higher authority. Cady felt herself shudder at the thought. She was nobodies Hench-woman, if she had been tied up and gagged, Miss London would have spat in his face. This was before money and safety was offered. Riches untold, the man said. Safety from the authorities as long as they tortured and/or killed only the people they were told to. They had to torture and/or kill these people or face dire consequences. Safety was offered, but if the regular Peacekeepers found and caught them, there was little this man could do to help the girls. No evidence should ever be left behind, the murders should occur in unexpected places at odd hours. They would have some cool gadgets to use, but were not allowed to kill a listed person wit ha sophisticated gun or stun-gun.

The killings were supposed to have been done my a large, wild gang with no actual motive. It was all planned out. Arcadia and Cadia were the first to have been caught by this man, they were offered the job of leading the group. "Joint-leadership isn't all that bad. You could switch off, one day you're is Alpha, the next day you're Beta. You two have such potential, and a bond formed beforehand. We know why you're here. Those Peacekeepers you killed in the woods--they mad mics on them--we sent them after you just to be killed. We've been tracking you, listening to you." The unspoken part of this deal was that they had no choice. The world was being offered to them with death as an alternative. Talk about choices, Arcadia could hardly pick. Death or a posh life? Hmmm....

Anyways, that was there story. Now Arcadia and Cadia were in a perfectly posh apartment, living it up. District Ones diamonds were theirs for the taking, so long as they murdered a few innocent people. All the best for the little murderesses. The clock on the wall was ticking painfully slow, Cady was not sure who was supposed to show up, but they had been told to be home at a certain hour to greet some highly esteemed guest or guests. Not clear on that point either.

Anxiously Cady tapped her foot. Her best bet was that it would be the other girls, the group that would come to be known as the Murderess Band. It was a cheeky name--something that Official, Important Guy had come up with. He had stroked Arcadia's hair when he first told them about the name. "Don't you see? Its brilliant. We'll know its the Murderess Band, but the public will think of you as the Murderous Band. We got a kick out of that name when it first presented itself." He exchanged a glance over his shoulder with some Important Man In A Black Suit, who smiled back. So witty, these people were. Arcadia could hardly stand it, don't ask how she managed not to snicker right alongside them.

Back to this visit. She was not sure how old the other girls were, only that they were all roughly the same age. Districts, names, backgrounds--all classified information, since the last time Cady London had talked to the Important Man. He explained it like this: "Would you like us telling these strangers all about you? We prefer you girls get to know each other like normal people." Yes, because in between assassinating people, they would chat about their assuredly messed up home lives and hobbies. Typical, normal way to get to know each other.

Arcadia risked a glance in Cadia's direction. They were allies, no doubt about that, but she still did not know the girl too well. Strong, tough, a lot like Arcadia in some ways, but they were as different on the inside as they were on the outside. Something about Cadia made Cady want to narrow her eyes and stroke her knife. At least Arcadia had a living, breathing companion. Her male counterpart back at home. He probably thought she was slumming it in the woods. Cady looked down at her expensive outfit, one she could fight in or show up at a casual party in. Definitely not slumming it.

The door opened and Cady rebooted the twisted, but somehow friendly smile on her face. She was important, she had been approached first (or so Mr. Important himself had said) She was dominant, the sort-of-kind-of-Leader of this pack. Cady brought her chin up and banished thoughts of how she had gotten herself into this situation. Now was the time to look into her future, a future of fun in the sun with other young ladies who shared her interests and were no doubt lovely specimens of born-killers. Something shimmered in her dreamy, blue eyes... it was not a particular emotion, more of a feeling deep in her gut. It was something that suggested this was going to be a horribly fun experience for all involved.

Last Edit: Jul 23, 2010 20:07:02 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

phunke

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 23, 2010 19:29:00 GMT -5

Post by phunke on Jul 23, 2010 19:29:00 GMT -5

nala.

Damn elevator. Can't anyone invent anything useful that actually works? Scowling mightily, I curl four fingers to my palm while jabbing my thumb at the "Up" button for the umpteenth time. My eyes, no longer shielded behind sunglasses now that I'm inside this decadent apartment building, are about to roll right over through the back of my head. I wonder if I could see my brain if I rolled them hard enough. I guess I'll find out soon, because this damn elevator is taking so damn long. To distract myself from this annoyance - my eyeballs are actually starting to ache and I miss being able to see since they're behind my upper lids - I finger the crumpled note shoved in the pocket of my jeans. I remember my mother handing me this note. I remember her look of pride, an emotion I've never seen on her face when it's turned toward me. I reread the note as I have done so many times this morning, and even now I feel as if I'm looking at the neatly-written words for the first time.
"To Miss Nala Cerce:
Congratulations! Your lovely demeanor and wonderful attitude towards other people have led us to believe that you would be an excellent candidate for a very important job.
We happen to know some people in power who need some errands taken care of. I think you'll find this job very rewarding. And believe me, I know you.
We've been watching you, Nala.
That's how we know that you and your mother have been waiting for something like this - an opportunity to get out of the Capitol - for as long as you yourself can remember. So take it!
Meet your new team-mates in District One at the Pyrite Appt Complex, fourth floor, room 496. We'll arrange all the transportation for you.
And if you decide not to attend, well...Fill in the blanks, Nala.
You're a smart girl.

Sincerely,
Some people with slightly less power than the People in Power."

Sheesh. My first instinct, obviously, was to mentally ridicule this letter and all that it stood for. Probably some foolish little prepubescent boy who thought he was being clever.
But...Who could possibly know about my plans to flee the Capitol? It's not like I interact with anyone. Ever.
Something about this letter gave me a feeling, like maybe I could actually get out. I didn't care so much about the job itself. That was just an aside, really.
So when my mother showed me the train ticket, I stuffed it in my pocket with the note and ran to my room to get my toothbrush.
And here I am.

Finally, the doors open. Agonizingly slowly, I might add. My garbled reflection on the lustrous silver doors splits apart and disappears altogether as the inside of the elevator presents itself to me. Wasting no time, I shove myself between the doors and jam the '4' button. In contrast to the wait for the elevator and the opening of the doors, it shoots upward surprisingly quickly, and I throw out my hand for balance. By the time I've composed my scowl again, the doors are grumbling apart once more. This time, I take a moment to sigh quietly before stepping out onto the carpeted floor. My feet make little noise as I stroll down the hall, eyes narrowed as I comb the embellished numbers which adorn each door.
I step in without bothering to knock - waste of energy - and scan the room with barely raised eyebrows. The rest of my face remains tense, however, and my body language is hardly at ease.
My eyebrows only rise more as I take in a tall, lithe girl with blonde hair and clouded blue eyes. Her smile nearly makes me wince, but I settle for barfing a tiny bit inside my mouth and take another step forward. She looks a bit younger than me, but I'm so short that it feels a bit awkward looking up at her. And why is she here, anyway? Not that I know why I'm here, except apparently to run freaking errands, but I'm still confounded. According to the letter, she's my new team-mate.

We'll see about that.

"Hey."

Last Edit: Oct 29, 2010 23:12:08 GMT -5 by phunke

gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 23, 2010 21:19:10 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Jul 23, 2010 21:19:10 GMT -5

Because the hardest thing
Is never to repent for someone else
It's letting people in.

Stark Harper —

[/color]

She didn't hold the cards, and she knew it. There had been no ramifications — legal or otherwise — when Stark had used four older boys as models to further advance her knowledge of the human anatomy. Oh, hell. So she made a few surgical alterations. Amputations. Okay, and she killed one of them.

And no one had cared, not really — and if they had, they hadn't cared enough to even confront her about it. And she wasn't even thirteen then, hardly the most intimidating of figures. The law enforcement typically turned a blind eye to the Career-originating vengeance in the District, same way as they completely ignored the mobs of kids that could kill you eighty different ways with a nail file (Stark had thought about it one day — she'd come up with well over two hundred before she got bored) and were more than adequately trained to kick ass in general.

That was five years ago that she'd been the most obvious culprit for one of the easiest to solve murders/mutilations ever to cross the desk of the Head Peacekeeper. They could've had her put to death then, if they'd wanted. Could've beat her, whipped her, cut off her thumbs and ears, made her an avox and shipped her to the Capitol — hell, they were the Capitol, they could've done anything they wanted with her while she was still living on the grid, in the district. But they hadn't.

Or, they hadn't done anything with her until now. The thing that separated Stark from the majority of Careers was that she knew when to give up. She knew when to stop fighting, and she knew when resistance was futile. She knew when to fight and when to flee. So when she noticed that one hulking, bearded man was tailing her, she slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket and found her switchblade. She'd led him into an alley she knew by heart so she could deal with him.

When she'd turned to confront her stalker, he'd multiplied — not actually; there were three similarly behemoth men with an equal amount of facial hair. No time for fighting. Time to bolt. She did so, swearing as she'd escaped the alley and into a much bigger problem: eight men, two women, each with a gun trained on a different vital organ of hers. Not a time to fight. Not a time to run.

She'd been cuffed and led to a nearby warehouse — how was it that there were always enough empty warehouses for such sketchy activity to go down, Stark wondered, before realizing that, given who she was dealing with (the Capitol, it seemed) there was no limit to the number of warehouses they could make empty. She was sat at a little desk in the middle, with a lamp pointed right at her face. Stark had asked them if they were trying to see if she was glow-in-the-dark since she was so pale. The gunmen made no response; the man in charge was not amused.

"This is a serious matter," he'd told her. He'd showed her the case file for her first torture-slash-murder, as well as several others she'd done — one of them wasn't hers, but there really wasn't any point to admitting to that, especially since a few had been left off — and gave her two options: get her tongue cut and lead a cushy life of mute servitude in the Capitol, or become a member — the leader, he'd promised — of an 'elite, all-female task force to do the Capitol's work in your areas of expertise.'

"So, killing." It wasn't a question, not really. There were few other areas that Stark could reasonably be considered an expert, and, based on their less-than-positive response to her glow-in-the-dark remark, they weren't forming a Bureau of Sarcasm.

"Yes and no," the man replied, explaining that it was much more than just that — they were the Almighty Capitol, for chrissake, they were plenty good at smiting whomever they pleased, whenever they pleased — and went on to explain exactly why they were pulling together this Bureau of Sarcasm (he'd called it something else, but it was too punny for Stark, who decided she couldn't repeat it — even in her head — for fear of triggering her gag reflex involuntarily)

So he'd clipped a chunky metal band with a blinking red light on her ankle and gave her a plain business card with just a location and time printed on it:

"Tomorrow," he'd said. "You'd better be there. We're keeping track. Avoxes are in high demand, you know —" he'd tapped his tongue "— and a pretty girl like yourself would fetch a pretty price, yeah?" Stark snarled. He chortled. She was escorted outside and instructed to go home.

That was yesterday.

Stark's ankle — banded like some stupid bird on a nature study — itched like mad from inside her combat boot. The damn thing had kept her from stashing the small machete she'd usually kept on the right side; she had been forced to conceal it in her left boot instead. Something told her the lapse in routine would throw her off for the entire night. She was pissed already. She didn't like not having a choice — not a real one, anyhow — and she felt trapped, claustrophobic, even on the open street. There was nobody around her, but the Career felt cornered. It made her skin crawl, and she hated every minute of it.

She shivered, readjusted her scowl, and made it the rest of the way to the apartment complex. There was an elevator, so Stark took the stairs up to the third floor. If she was going to be coming to their meeting at their location, at the time they decided, she wanted to get whatever leg up on them she could. Sadly, taking the stairs was the best she could do — or was it?

No, it wasn't. As Stark reached the 4th floor, she contemplated just buying in to whatever the Capitol people had in mind. She checked her watch; half an hour before her deadline. Plenty of extra time to make a little mischief. Why would she just keep her head down and just go in? What reason was there to do what they wanted? Well, they could kill you, torture you, enslave you, began a small voice in Stark's head. She quickly silenced the dissident consciousness — although, technically, it was the only portion of her thoughts that wasn't bent on dissenting — and continued up to floor five. She reached the number she was looking for, 596, and knocked. Twice. No answer.

She pulled her multi-tool — a swiss army knife, of sorts — and found the tiny screwdriver, which she used to pry the faceplate off the deadbolt and handle. She tried disassembling the locking mechanism however she could, but wasn't making any real progress. The sound of a deadbolt being unlatched behind Stark sent her scrambling behind a potted plant down the hallway. The girl held her breath as a young woman, maybe eight years older than Stark herself, made her way down the hall, a toddler in tow.

The woman seemed focused on leaving the building, too focused to notice the partially-dismantled lock, but the little boy she had with her looked Stark right in the eye. Her blood ran cold, but the kid just smiled slyly and put a finger to his lips. Stark was too petrified to smile back. As the pair left, she kicked herself for it — why should she be afraid of some little boy and his mother? The correct answer was that she shouldn't, no way, no how, be scared of anything or anyone, or anything they could do. She scrunched up her nose in disgust. Stark Harper isn't afraid of anything, she chided.

When the coast was clear, Stark checked her watch again. Down to six minutes. She sighed, deciding to screw the stealthy entry, and aimed one, two, three kicks at the deadbolt. The wood cracked then splintered, echoing loudly down the cavernous hallway. Poor suckers that lived there wouldn't be too pleased, and it wasn't really their fault — but that wasn't Stark's problem. She ripped the sheets off the bed and ran over to the window. It was lucky, she realized, that the designers of the building had decided that a lock on the higher windows would be a waste of metal, because otherwise, it would be next to impossible to enter the room below without shattering it. Breaking glass was loud, messy, and unpleasant in general. Especially sixty or so feet off the ground.

She tied the sheets she'd gathered together, and secured one end under the writing desk that was under the window. Stark tested the knots, opened the window, and carefully climbed outside. The night was breezy, which made the rappelling teenager a bit uncomfortable, even though she only had to descend about fifteen feet. She took a deep breath and slowly made her way down the façade of the building, step by step. The knot on the makeshift rope slid down an inch or so as she reached it, causing Stark's heart to pound in her chest, but it held. She made it to the end of the sheet, right at the fourth floor window, and carefully, carefully eased it open with her left hand.

Switchblade in hand, Stark slid herself through, an expression of mischievous, superior glee parading itself about her countenance. But the contents of the room surprised her. The Career had expected to see more gunmen, aimed at the door, and perhaps the man from the previous night pacing, checking the time.

She did not expect to see a small collective of girls roughly her own age. Stark couldn't even formulate a sentence at first, just stood there, switchblade still bared, in openmouthed shock. The Bureau of Sarcasm, she gathered, in all its glory.

She recovered fairly quickly, trying to conceal her own surprise with a witty remark. Her face defaulted to bemusement as she asked, "So I don't suppose this is the knitting club I signed up for, now is it? Or is that the next window over?"

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{characters}

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WT
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time, gender, furbies, and other things that don't exist

Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 24, 2010 18:01:47 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jul 24, 2010 18:01:47 GMT -5

((OOC- Hey lookit, one of my characters has an actual faceclaim rather than an anonymous picture like all the other FCs I’ve managed to dredge up. You can commence the falling over in shock now, that’s what I did.

Speaking of falling over in shock, Cadia has never talked to me this much. WTF. O.o))

Pyrite Apartment Complex, Cadia mouthed to herself, staring down in distaste at the info card she’d been given- the same information that they’d probably all been given. (Why she and Arcadia had gotten theirs she didn’t know, because this was the suite they’d been staying in so it wasn’t like they needed to be told where it was, but whatever. Who expected sense out of the Capitol?) Pyrite. How... appropriate. It was just like the girls, in a way. Glittering and shiny and posh with their nice apartment and their special expertise, as it had been called- and yet they were so much tougher and more real than actual gold could ever be. One thing on the outside, quite another on the inside. This room itself was a lie- what kind of murder gang (since that was apparently what they were) hung out in a suite that came with its own refrigerator, for goodness' sakes? Cadia had been living in less-than-satisfactory conditions for two years, and this return to the cozy world of District One was making her head spin in less-than-pleasant ways.

Speaking of things she didn’t like, she also seemed to be one of the Capitol’s new playtoys. Cadia forced herself to keep her expression neutral at that though, rather than twist her mouth into the scowl that she felt like. For all she knew the Capitol people could read her mind and would get mad at her if she expressed too much displeasure about this little venture. Not that they didn’t know anyway, mind you. Cadia allowed a small smile to flicker over her face as she turned the card over in her hands and traced pointless lines across the back of it. She and Arcadia had ben caught, sure, but you couldn’t say they’d gone down without a fight. They both had still-healing wounds to show for it, but so did a rather large number of Peacekeepers, and neither of them had exactly kept quiet about things. Cadia was still rather proud of her own verbal volley; she didn’t think she’d ever managed insults quite that explicit or creative before. Had she not been bound and on the way to being gagged at the time, she would have been having a riot.

A riot. There’s an idea. We should have started a riot and made them deal with that. We can always do that later, though.

She pinched her own wrist to chastise herself. Those were bad thoughts to be having right now. There was no safety, even in the privacy of her own mind. Her secrets weren’t secrets anymore.

The taste of cloth disappeared, though the aftertaste lingered. She spat, which had the convenient added effect of making the woman in black shake her sleeve and look perturbed. "Where’s Arcadia, where’s my ferret, and what happened to the Big Important Guy?"

The woman wiped her right sleeve on her pants and smirked lightly. "Do you really think that we’d let the two of you stay in the same room after watching what you can do together? Don’t worry, your little partner in crime is safe. Your ferret is with a veterinarian, and if you comply, that veterinarian might make sure she lives to see the night."

Relief and anger flooded through her in equal measure, as well as a bit of vague interest. So the pest was female. Huh. She shook that thought away and focused back on the here and now. "What about the man? He had answers. I want them."

"He’s talking to Arcadia. We thought you might respond a tad bit better to a female representative, given your previous liaison with a certain young-"

Cadia narrowed her eyes and twisted, wishing she wasn’t restrained so she could pull out one of her blades and sheath it in this woman’s throat. "Don’t you talk about her like that."

A laugh, not entirely cold but not really true amusement either. “Don’t worry, Ms. Alençoão. I-"

"As impressed as I am by your pronounciation, that's not my name."

"Very well. Don’t worry, Cadia. I’m not your parents, I’m not here to trash your relationships. I’m just here to explain what’s going on. No, don’t snort like that, I really am. Now listen. How do you feel about murder?"

A chittering noise pulled her out of her thoughts. Cadia lowered the card into her lap and looked over to the right, revealing a small creature that she raised an eyebrow at. "For something that recently got vivisected in the middle of a fight, you’re pretty damn energetic," she muttered darkly.

And loud. What only a short time before would have merely been squeak, squeak, SQUEAK! was now feed me already, I don't want to eat your finger but I will it I have to! When that transition had happened, she wasn't sure, but she was guessing it had been sometime around the moment she'd stopped calling it "ferret" and started calling it "Ferret" - a subtle distinction that wasn't overly obvious when she was talking to it, but sounded all too loudly in her head. She couldn't keep herself from doing it, but she didn't like it one bit. Giving it a name, no matter how obvious and unoriginal, felt far too much like getting attached to it, which was something she had spent fourteen years avoiding at most costs and two years avoiding at all costs. Even Kale, the one person who might have qualified as some kind of friend, she kept distant; she hadn’t even said goodbye to the girl before hightailing it out of District Eleven.

Squeak, squeak. Ferret hissed and nipped at her thumb. Get back from wherever your mind is taking you this time and feed me, dammit!

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Cadia said with a sigh, and rolled to her feet. It was a damn shame that she couldn’t just leave the food out and let it get its own meals, but she’d tried that once and had no desire to repeat the incident. Having your pet eat too much too quickly and then vomit entrails all over you was not a particularly fun event. It was a lot easier, in the long run, to just keep up with the thing’s feeding schedule; it saved her the breath she wasted in cursing as she tried to clean tiny vomit splatters out of her clothing, and it saved Ferret the unpleasant experience of throwing up all over the place.

Cadia sighed as she opened the small fridge- which, for all that she hated it what it stood for, was admittedly very useful- and pulled out the remains of a rabbit. Not that I have any idea why the hell I should care about whether it’s sick. Or injured, for that matter- it had been hard to concentrate on the fight, rather than just drop everything rip the man who’d opened a gash in her pet’s stomach to pieces. She had thought it dead, and didn’t like to admit how glad she was that its survival had been included in the conditions of this little... pact.

She tossed what was left of the rabbit corpse to Ferret and sat back on the bed again. She immediately stood and cast an irked glance at the thing. It was so disgustingly plushy, just like everything else in this district. How did people find things like that comfortable? The thing felt like it was going to suffocate her every time she started to sit in it, and for all anyone knew one of these days it would. She’d been sleeping on the floor for a reason.

Now, comfortable was this outfit, and the weapons concealed in various places. For two years Cadia had traveled light in the weapons department, with just a knife at her belt. A good knife, yeah, but a plain one. The past few weeks had remedied that issue; she was more in practice than she’d been in years, and had picked up a number of pretty new tools even before the Capitol had offered her some in exchange for doing this job. Coming back to District One had felt just like going to District Two and Seven and Eleven- like visiting a strange place where she had never been. It should have felt like coming home, but it hadn’t, and still didn’t. What did was donning a jacket and a pair of slacks that allowed her to stow various weapons in random and often unexpected places. Never mind that two years had passed since getting swords in and out of school was a frequent test of her abilities- even now this was how she was used to dressing. It felt a lot nicer than all the other things, opportunities, she’d been given. Except maybe the opportunity to make a couple of so-called parents first on the hit list, which she was looking forward to.

"You came here for a reason, and we won’t stop you. We expect you to return the favor, and not stop us. Even help us, since you’ll be accepting our help."

That was exactly how she’d worded it. You will. As pretty and fluid as every word had been, there had been no question about choices. She was going to do this, or die as slowly and painfully as they could make her- and she knew how slowly that could be. Torture techniques hadn’t been her best area in, ah, class, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t paid attention. She knew about weak points on the human body and she knew how they could be exploited. It would hurt like all hell, and Lalik-Cadia would die without avenging Cadia-Cadia.

Not comforting thoughts. Cadia paced, occasionally glancing at her ally or Ferret or her brand-new watch. 20:43. She crossed the room once, twice, six times, then lost count. 20:47. Ferret crunched away at the last few rabbit bones, then curled around her neck and appeared to go to sleep. 20:51. She loosed her hair, then replaited it, but messing with the long braid did little to pass the time. These other girls, whoever they were, had better not be late. Cadia was confident- after all, she was co-head of this team- but that didn’t do anything to dampen the paranoia that had dogged her for years. Sure, some of the things flitting through her head were more realistic than others (they plan to sic scientists on us and turn us into mutts made a lot less sense than they’ve told ever girl that they’re the head of the business and want us to fight it out), but they’re going to catch me someday had always sounded a little out there, too. And what had happened? They had caught her.

So self-assurance was a green light, but her suspicion-nerves were stretching tighter by the minute. If the person or people on the way made her wait any longer than she had to, they weren’t going to make it.

20:58:53. by the watch. The door to the hallway opened.

Cadia had a knife out and was about to throw it into the stranger’s eye (and not miss like she had with that Peacekeeper- never mind that a knife in the forehead was just as deadly, this was about her honor as a blade-weilder, damn it all!) when she registered the new arrival’s appearance. Female. Several years older than her, but certainly no older than nineteen or twenty.

"You two won’t be alone, and anyone who works with you will be right about your age. I can’t really tell you more than that- we want you to work together naturally, and that means no opinions based on prior knowledge- but I’m sure you can infer a few things."

Infer. Yeah, right. Murderess Band didn’t tell her much. Female (unless they’d found a few very gay males to toss on the team), probably teenagers, murderous. What else was she supposed to get out of a team name and an occasional bit of information thrown her way? Still, it was enough to tell her that the person who’d just walked in the door was not an enemy, but a teammate.

"’Lo," she returned as she returned the throwing knife to her boot and continued her study of the newcomer. Dark wavy hair, brown eyes several shades darker than Cadia’s own. More importantly, tense posture and an expression that was both confused and apprehensive at once. Cadia couldn’t blame her; she was pretty confused about this whole ordeal, herself, and she had heard everything straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. She had thought the other girl(s) would be informed as well, but perhaps not.

There was a noise at the window that would have had her flinging blades a few minutes ago, but now hit her ears as if she was expecting it. Maybe she was, she didn’t know. A girls climbing in through the window wasn’t usually an easily-anticipated event, but she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised. They were a band of teenagers pulled together to kill people on command; a lack of normality was pretty much assured.

The second girl also seemed a bit older (was Cadia going to be the youngest here, at sixteen? That would suck), but that might just have been because of her height. She was also probably the palest thing in the room, and was definitely the happiest- or at least, she was until she took stock of things. Her gleeful expression faded, and for several moments she looked just as confused as the first arrival had been. Now how does the Capitol expect us to work if we’re all clueless? She recovered quickly though- she still looked as bemused as anyone else, but she managed to toss out a quip.

Cadia cracked a smile. "You get three guesses."

Ferret stirred and made a few chittering noises, apparently not asleep after all. She put a hand over its mouth, and for once in their short relationship it did as she wanted and shut up. Best if she kept it calm; its last encounter with strangers hadn’t been a good one, and she didn’t want it making ferrety little inferences and attacking these girls. Not only could it probably not get away if someone took a stab at it (it still wasn’t really moving right after getting cut up so recently), this whole trial was bad enough without angry ferrets making relations tenser than they had to be.

Last Edit: Jul 25, 2010 16:22:45 GMT -5 by WT

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 24, 2010 23:13:31 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jul 24, 2010 23:13:31 GMT -5

Have you ever been to an awkward party? Of course. Who hasn't been to a birthday party where clusters of guests stand around talking, a select group of kids stake out the food-table, and nobody dances to music. Even in Panem, it was practically a rite of passage to attend one of these awkward gatherings. Arcadia herself had been to one of these events. A family party to celebrate the survival of not one, but two District Two tributes a few years back. No, silly! They had not survived the whole of the Hunger Games--they had simply made it to the top five, which was rather impressive even by the impressive standards of a Career-training District. Districts One and Four had suffered worse losses.

Anyways, the party had been a riot for the first few minutes until suddenly, with no warning the District Two Tributes turned on each other. Both put up quite the fight, but in the end there were two booms. They had murdered each other, these daunting allies who had somehow killed an outrageous number of Tributes when one combined their kills and assistances in killing. Somebody ran out of the room crying, the snacks stand was left untouched. Even Cadys Fatherly trainer had looked mildly discouraged by the two deaths. He had a grim expression on his wrinkled, composed face.

Right about now, if you had held up a picture of Father next to Arcadia, they would have looked like twins. Cady was pouting, just a little bit, and her usually unfocused, dreaming gaze was sharp and intent. This was not going the way it should have been going. Didn't anybody have a sense of humor in this room? Cady had been hoping she could just be the one who drifted, a leaf being blown around in the wind, landing on bugs and crushing them every now and then. The killer who had an edge for it, but would have been a starry-eyed girl if she had been brought up the right way.

Obviously, this group needed the Charismatic Cady who had been trained to handle every situation under the sun. She blinked a few times, straightened her back and casually let her eyes run over the three girls present. None of them were traditionally beautiful, but each stood with pride in her abilities, each had wonderful eyes that both insulted and mesmerized Cady. She always had been drawn to the damaged types, although the people present were the wrong gender for anything to ever develop between herself and a team-mate. Besides that, who dates colleagues? Stupid people do, thats the truth of the matter.

She frowned, feeling like something--or someone for that matter--was missing. Cady ignored it, supposing they had a Bad Girl on their hands. Every group needed a hardcore rebel who showed up late and worked using pure instinct. The impulsive one. Arcadia was absolutely sure all of them had been brought together for a reason, each for being skilled in a different field. Cady was a good killer, but by the looks of the people surrounding her, she was clearly matched in that department. She allowed her eyes to slowly analyze each girl once more. Cadia was a huntress, she was wild and efficient with vengeance tangled up in her soul. The other two were strangers to Cady, but she supposed one of them was sarcastic. The other looked wiry, like she was ready to spring into action at any moment. Both were the types of girls that would be a challenge for even Charismatic Cady to deal with at once. They all appeared to be armed, on top of the snarky, suspicious behavior.

Great, just great. How were her and maybe Cadia supposed to reign in a bunch of wild-card girls with bad attitudes. Start with talking to them, you stupid girl! The silence was becoming unbearable, now that Arcadia bothered to take note of it. She stepped forward, every bit the fluid, controlled Career. Cady had no idea how she managed it, but somehow her movements managed to convey an almost insect-like quality while never losing the slick grace that came with years of learning to control her body. Cattish. That was the word used to describe her. Catty Cady.

Arcadia suppressed a snort building up at that name, hoping nobody ever noticed the teasing-potential of it. She coughed into her elbow instead, practicing what the doctors of District Two suggested. The noise was just loud enough to draw the attention of all three girls, if only for a moment. Honest to God they were a jumpy crew. Twitching eyes, tensing muscles.

Cady loved them. It was the awkwardness of the situation that got to her. Really, this was just like that party she had mentioned awhile ago. A rite of passage in the lives of teenagers across the land, Cady got that part, but another section of her brain stomped its mental foot and made itself known by complaining. Why did she have to deal with another uncomfortable gathering of sadistic people? Really! So not fair. Her discomfort was no excuse for standing around like a useless lump of wood though. Time to salvage a spiraling situation using the irresistible Charismatic-Career-Charmingness Cady possessed.

"I'm Arcadia or Cady if you like, this is--"she hesitated, wondering how angry Cadia would be if she introduced her. Names were private property, not something to give just anyone. Still, this was her new team and Cadia was a ~~willing~~ member of it. She'd just have to deal with giving her name. "Cadia. We're already acquainted, but I haven't met you two yet. I'd really love to know a little more about you, I guess we're team-mates now?" That last bit was phrased like a sentence but asked with the inflections of a question being seriously asked. A tip to those dealing with suspicious, sarcastic young ladies--always ask real questions. Information is hard to pry from a person, but if you word it well, you can snag some facts.

Arcadia swallowed the rising bile in her throat and stretched out a hand toward Cadia's ferret. It was all she could do to keep the nervousness off of her smoothed out face. The reactions of all four girls to each other--it reminded Cady London a lot of her first meeting with Cadia. Except, now the strain of the meeting was even worse, doubled by the presence of two more people and the pre-existing bond between two of them really could not put the two new comers at ease. Just wait and see, thats all Cady could do now.

ooc- ask an almost direct question and answers you shall find

Last Edit: Jul 24, 2010 23:17:18 GMT -5 by cinder

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 25, 2010 15:45:06 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Jul 25, 2010 15:45:06 GMT -5

OOC: Woah there. I'll post as soon as possible, but it will probably be later on in the thread because I have a billion posts to make. Mercury will love a dramatic entrance, anyways.. Hope no one minds my slowness, summer makes everything difficult.

EDIT: I lied. I'm going to Texas in 10-ish days and another thread would kill me. Mercury will just be introduced later, somehow..

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Last Edit: Jul 25, 2010 15:50:19 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 25, 2010 19:34:15 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jul 25, 2010 19:34:15 GMT -5

I sort of had a feeling you would not be able to post, so lets just figure out the story of why Mercury did not come, later. Maybe she was ah... already on a Capitol-assigned mission or something? Anyways, no worries.

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 25, 2010 20:31:42 GMT -5

Post by phunke on Jul 25, 2010 20:31:42 GMT -5

There's something about this room that bothers me. Not the plush furniture or the straight-out-of-a-magazine interior design, but the tension. There's static electricity in the air, and I feel as though I could get shocked at any moment.
Something wasn't right about any of these girls. Not like there's anything right about most people, but this is different. I begin to really wonder about the nature of these errands. Something morbid? Violence-related, no doubt. I wonder if any of the others know more about it than I do. This annoys me. Why wasn't I clued in? Why did that letter have to be so damn vague? How am I supposed to know what I'm doing? And why am I on a freaking team with a bunch of District teenagers?
I replenish my scowl with the necessary frustration, though surprisingly this doesn't make me feel satisfied like it usually does. I'm still too tense; I can't relax in this room with all these girls. For some reason, all three strike me as Career Tributes, or 'Carees' as I've occasionally heard them referred to in the Capitol. For a brief moment, I wonder what it would be like to have the Games hanging over your head throughout all your teenage years. Then again, if my impressions are right, these girls have trained for them, looked forward to them. That makes sense. I enjoy the Games; why shouldn't the participants?
Actually, one of the girls - Cady, is it? I'll have to think of a better nickname - doesn't immediately look like a Caree. When not in motion, she's small and honestly, a bit fragile-looking to me. But every move she makes is stealthy, graceful in a shivers-up-your-spine sort of way. Since my train of thought has chosen to veer haphazardly onto these particular tracks, and since she's just spoken, I deign to reply.
"Team-mates?" There's that word again. It still bothers me, because I have no freakin' clue what we're on a team for. I didn't sign up to be on a team. Certainly not with a bunch of trained District Carees with strange accents. I almost chortle as I process her strange style of speaking; most all Districters have odd accents, pronouncing all the vowels wrong and using strange inflections. But back to the important part. Why? Why am I even in this room? Certainly I'm not great at knitting, so I can rule out that. But even then...what do I have in common with these girls? We're all around the same age, yes, but I'm craving answers like chocolate cake. It's time to get some.
"Princess, I'm sure we'll have time for you to learn all about me. How about sometime we have a slumber party so we can play Truth-or-Dare and paint each others' nails? Until then, please tell me about this team. So you and Cadia know each other? But what about me and tall blonde lets-climb-through-windows over there? Is there some sort of connecting thread here? What, are we some sort of little girl-band sent out to torture someone's enemies? I dunno if there was some sort of information memo that got sent around, but clearly I didn't get it." Whew. Over the years, I've significantly honed my pissed-off-ranting skills, mostly on my mother, but that was a pretty long one, even for me. I can't help but be a bit proud of it; I personally find that the unmasked scathing tone in my voice combined with the insistent questioning should get me some answers. At least one of us might have a freaking idea of what's going down, right?
After unloading all my usual cranky shiz on the people around me, I feel a bit better. My face is still tense, with narrowed eyes and tight lips, but my body has relaxed significantly and I feel myself leaning casually against a wall as I scan the room and absentmindedly fiddle with the note inside my pocket.

The other two girls, I notice, seem to be having a small, quiet conversation. Perhaps one of them will jump in and remind me what the eff I'm supposed to be doing here? I don't have any particular skills that I know of, after all. I've killed a total of one person in my life, and I was four, so it doesn't really count. It's like a 16-year-old girl who's had a boyfriend, but it was in kindergarten.

Suddenly, I blink and do a double-take at the small creature innocuously sitting in the room.
A freaking ferret?
What the eff?

Last Edit: Oct 29, 2010 23:23:04 GMT -5 by phunke

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 25, 2010 22:14:37 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Jul 25, 2010 22:14:37 GMT -5

Stark Harper —

So the Capitol hadn't decided to babysit the first meeting between the girls they'd assembled. Seemed dangerous to Stark. Based on the information she'd been given about the group — teenage girls, murderers, torturers, a bit like Stark, not to mention that they were all teenage girls — throwing them in a room together, probably all armed like Stark was, with very little direction, well, that was a surefire way to get bloodstains on the carpet.

Come to think of it, that may very well be the intention, Stark decided. It was similar to the kinds of TV programs the Capitol tended to favor — young people killing one another, that is — so who was to say that they hadn't all been gathered to inevitably fight to the death in this very apartment? Her eyes swept the walls for cameras, although she knew the effort was futile. District Three made cameras so small you couldn't even see them, she'd heard.

That was what Stark decided was the intent of the Capitol, though — when you've got armies, why do you gather a few girls to do your bidding? It didn't make sense. Unless, of course, you were planning to get work done and make astounding profits on a reality television series in one fell swoop. I mean, the lazy Capitolites needed some form of bloody entertainment the eleven months that didn't involve the Hunger Games (ten if you counted the coverage of the Victory Tour, although that was much less exciting) so why not a band of murderous teenage girls (as if there was any other kind) running around, killing exactly who they were supposed to?

Maybe in a few decades, reruns would even start to air in the districts, where their anti-rebellion message would be painfully clear: If you don't behave, we have any number of people to send after you — even people from the districts are willing to take you down! Stark, in truth, did not care one way or another about rebellion. If they got big enough and powerful enough, fine, good for them. Fun. Killings. If the Capitol stayed in charge, even better — she'd still have a shot of being a Gamemaker, like she aspired to be. With anyone's power in a constant state of flux, it gave Stark a chance to do what she did best for whomever she pleased. Because at the center of every power-struggle is a slew of assassinations and tortures. And at the center of every assassination or torture? Plenty of opportunity for sarcasm. The three things she did best.

With her decision that this had to be a Capitol reality series, Stark made a note to keep her camera face up — not necessarily try to look pretty; she didn't care much what she looked like. But she needed to maintain her public image. The part of Stark Harper will be played by Stark Harper, chimed an internal voice. She cut it off with a twitch of her nose, although the voice was right, in a way. She had to be Stark, the fearless Stark, the sarcastic, bold, no-shit-from-nobody Stark that she had gotten used to being around people.

But if this was Stark, it seemed the other girls were each something similar at first glance. Her window-entrance wasn't met with much surprise; in fact, it seemed to have largely been ignored. Lame. It'd been a solid twenty minutes of effort, not to mention dangling herself out a window by a sheet attached to a desk. Less effort next time, she noted.

One of the girls seemed at least a little more receiving of Stark's humor than the Capitol men had been, but other than that didn't really say much — Stark thought that she appeared to be more interested in the small rodent she had than the others in the room. The pale girl didn't actually mind; she herself put lots of energy into not conversing with people.

On the flip side, the second girl — Cady, she'd called herself (or was the quieter one Cady and this one was Cadia? Stark couldn't remember) — seemed like she was trying to force the conversation along. Stark snorted involuntarily when the other girl had said she'd really love to know a little more about you, which would've been perfectly rude in relation to the whole course of the conversation, had it not been commandeered by the third girl in the room.

"Princess," the other girl started. Woah. Bloodshed, right? Reality TV Series? Stark suppressed the involuntary 'Called it!' that was forming itself in her throat, just so she could listen to the rest of the rant. Basically, it boiled down to "Screw you and your little dog, too," but in a Capitol accent (which made it more amusing.) So she wasn't from the Districts, anyhow; the other three seemed to be.

Miss Capitol did bring up a good point, though. The two Cad(y/ia) girls knew each other from beforehand, which put them at something of a political advantage within the group. Stark didn't trust it. When she consciously noticed that she didn't trust it, she became aware of the fact that she was still holding her switchblade, albeit in a relaxed manner, out in front of her. Not wanting to inflame the conflict that was surely about to arise between Miss Capitol and Miss Conversation, she stuck her hand in her jacket pocket, though she didn't let the hilt fall out of her grasp.

With a deep breath, she threw herself into the middle of the conversation (They couldn't go about killing each other five minutes in, now could they? Not if the series was to be more than one episode long.)

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she started, "but I'm pretty sure you've got the gist of it: we're meant to torture, kill, or torture and kill off of a list. I think an actual list would be pretty helpful at this point, though. There's nothing here?" For once in her life, there wasn't a shred of sarcasm in the entire three sentences she'd uttered — not even the list being helpful remark. The dialogue felt... naked. She corrected the problem, voicing her Reality TV theory.

"Although, if you ask me, they've probably just got us here for their entertainment — they're always looking for new violent things to air when it isn't Games season, aren't they? Betcha we're meant to see how long we can go without killing each other, a kind of Mini-Hunger Games, in a way."

She looked at the girl with the rodent (Cadia?) who hadn't put forth much to the conversation. If Stark was right, and that was exactly what they were meant to be doing, she wanted to be on her good side. Especially if there was already an apparent Cad(y/ia) alliance. "I'd put my money on you, personally." Stark was about sixty-five percent joking, but she'd been told over and over to watch out for the quiet ones. They were always the ones who turned the tides.

Besides, she was the only one who had managed to actually have a net gain of points in the Stark Harper Grade Book of Life. The conversation-starter (Cady, was it?) had come off as a bit too false in her apparent burning desire to know more about them, and lost half a point; the outward hostility and Capitol accent had lost the point the non-Cad(y/ia) girl had gained for her sarcasm.

Stark realized how hard it was to keep tabs on their points with an incomplete database of names, and added on to her monologue. "So, Cady, Cadia —" she didn't look directly at either of them, just in case she'd gotten the wrong name to the wrong person; someone would address one of them so she could work it out later "— and I'm Stark."

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 27, 2010 0:51:06 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jul 27, 2010 0:51:06 GMT -5

Most of the way through her co-leader's opening speech, Cadia's emotional field was ruled by a vague stirring of paranoia at having her name offered to two strangers (it was foolish to worry about things like that now, she knew, but old habits die hard). That suspicion had been followed by appreciation for Arcadia's slight hesitation before giving up that name and mild admiration (Cadia had been trained to avoid people, not to be able to handle them), and then by a mixture of amusement and anxiety at the room in general. The moment the words ‘I’d really love to know a little more about you’ exited Arcadia's mouth, however, everything else instantly vanished in the face of a narly-overwhelming urge to gag. The knowledge that gagging would lead to vomiting gave her the will to shove that down, but the corners of her mouth twitched in what could have been horror or amusement (she wasn't sure herself, but she was pretty sure it was utter horror) as she glanced had her coworker and raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch. She should probably be pitching in here, but she was afraid of opening her mouth in case the gag reflex came back. What on earth was the girl thinking?

Arcadia’s hand as it stretched toward Ferret, earning a cautious glance from Cadia- less because she was worried about what her associate would do and more because she was worried about what the mustelid would do. It turned out there was no need to worry; Ferret's tail twitched, but it didn’t spook, instead simply stretching its nose out to brush against Arcadia’s fingers. A very slight breath of relief escaped her pursed lips; the less she had to worry about Ferret trying to eat someone's hand, the more attention she could pay to the gathering of psychotic teenage girls.

And it was definitely looking like keeping up with this would take all the attention she had. One of the girls was taking off on a rant that made Cadia want to laugh and keep a hand on the most convenient blade in her small arsenal. On the one hand, Capitol accents were full of hilariously-mangled vowels and stresses on all the wrong syllables, and this girl- one of the older ones, possibly the oldest in the room- was giving them an earful of hers. On the other hand, the young woman sounded extraordinarily pissy, even for a teenager and even for a teenage girl. Normally that wouldn't bother her much, especially since she fully understood why Capitol-Girl was upset, but if this girl was on the Murderess Band (the name was accompained by a mental scowl), odds said she was just like the other three in the room- armed and dangerous. While the mix of armed, dangerous, and angry was certainly potent, the resulting events were rarely the sort of thing that Cadia was interested in being on the business end of- and judging by the incredulous look that rested on her then slid to Ferret, she was probably next after Arcadia on the list of people to attack. The District 1(1) Career frowned a little and slid her thumb into her belt, not grabbing the weapon hidden there but making sure it was within easy reach.

She started to open her mouth for explanations, but Window-Blonde cut in, so she shut up and listened. No complaints- she didn't really like talking, never had and probably never would. Even with Cadia-Cadia she had always been the quiet one, letting her talkative counterpart lead the conversatio- Not the point, Cadia! Pay attention!

Window-Blonde was much more calm about things than Capitol-Girl, even going so far as to put her switchblade-weilding hand in a pocket. (Not letting go of it, judging by the shape of the pocket's bulge, but that was just plain common sense- this was not a safe room to go unarmed in.) Cadia sent up a silent prayer of thanks to gods that she had heard of and never believed in, knowing it was useless but still feeling like some kind of celebration was in order. (One extra-dangerous and overly pissy stranger of a teenage girl was enough.) She was also slightly better informed, which suprised Cadia a bit- she would expect the Capitol to take better care of their own than of a District girl.

And another quip, though a more serious one than the knitting comment. Cadia smirked a little, actually considering the concept. It fit in with one of her mind's earlier suspicions (they want us to fight it out and they want us to fight to the death weren't so different from each other), and it would be quite like the Capitol- the current Games were wrapping to a close, and she wouldn't put it past them to want a little blood sport to get them through until the next Games. It would be going too far to say she expected there to be several other rooms just like this one scattered throughout the Districts, with random girls pulled in and set loose on each other, but she certainly couldn't say it would surprise her. (How long was your average TV series? Thirteen episodes? One girl-massacre per District made Twelve, and then you could either toss in the Capitol or sic all the winners on each other. Really, it wasn't that far-fetched.)

Window-Blonde tossed in another comment, this one aimed directly at Cadia, who raised her eyebrows a little and took it as a decent opening through which to enter the conversation. "Would you now," she said, her voice somewhere between sardonic and amused. She wasn’t really sure how to respond to that, mostly because she wasn’t really sure whether the older girl was being sarcastic, attempting flattery, or speaking seriously. Maybe all three. Luckily, everyone wanted answers, so it wouldn’t- or at least shouldn’t- look odd if she covered up her lacking social skills by moving on to the point of their little meeting.

"Nothing to correct, really," she said, and though she was responding to Window-Blonde her gaze encompassed both newcomers. Ferret, hearing her voice, kicked into action again, unwrapping itself from her neck and skittering up and down her right arm. She rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored her pet. "The- Murderess Band-" she shuddered. “Please tell me at least one of you things we need a new name, because that is disgusting. Damn Capitolites always think they’re so clever- no offense to you and every offense to the dipshits who run your home,” she added to Capitol-Girl, figuring there was no need to further inflame the woman. She was probably making the Capitol mad, if they were listening, but they already knew exactly what she thought of them, so there wasn’t much danger in tossing another stick on her insult fire.

Probably.

A sigh. All she wanted was to maim and then kill her parents and go back to District Eleven, where life was more or less peaceful, but the Capitol had decided she just had to be part of this mess. She wanted to run a hand over her eyes, but that felt too much like showing weakness. She was already the youngest- Arcadia was seventeen and the other two were easily a little older than that- and didn’t even have the fortune to look older than she was. Ferret squeaked, and she took advantage of the sound to pat its head before going on. "Anyway, we’re essentially the Capitol’s new hit crew. Murder, torture, maim, make people disappear, whatever. We get paid for our services with our lives, among other things." She waved one hand in a small circle that included most of the room, hoping they’d take her point without her having to say anything about riches or whatever. "We have a first assignment, but no real list- apparently they’ll be giving us a few assignments at a t-"

A noise by the window. She cut her off midsentence and snapped her head around, her whole body tense, then relaxed when she realized it was just the curtains rustling as the breeze caught them wrong. She stalked over to the window- not that there was any reason to stalk a window, but she was too worked up to walk normally, so prowling it was. "Nice entrance," she told Window-Blonde over her shoulder as she slid the glass shut, "but would you mind closing the window next time?"

Another introduction- Window-Blonde apparently had a name. Cadia nodded, but said nothing; she had talked enough for now, far more than she really felt comfortable with, and didn't have anything to say to the name anyway. She did, however, file that information away as she walked back to her previous spot. Stark. Interesting name for someone with an accent that pointed to Cadia's original home. Then again, Cadia wasn't really indicitave of the typical District One naming styles, either, nor were her parents' names. Just because most of the upper District citizens were wanna-be Capitolites didn't mean they all were.

Last Edit: Jul 30, 2010 11:29:42 GMT -5 by WT

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 27, 2010 2:47:32 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Jul 27, 2010 2:47:32 GMT -5

Suddenly, there was a lot of chattering going on in the room, thanks to Arcadia London's awkward attempt at breaking the ice. Cadia's ferret was doing the least of the chattering, while the four formerly stoic, silent girls struggled to talk over one another. Arcadia herself gave up, deciding to do what she did best (second to killing) She watched them all, not just to memorize their physical features, but to drink them in. When people spoke it was easy to read them. It was not usually the actual words that gave Cady a feel for a person, instead the inflictions in their voice, the nervous twitches--things that most people did not bother to notice, Career or not.

Hey, Cady had never been Miss Personality. She enjoyed watching others be themselves more than she enjoyed being herself. Blame it on the controlling paternal figure, why dontcha? Thats what the psychological doctors of District Two would have told Arcadia had she stuck around long enough for the yearly mental evaluation. Most training centers had them. There had been one too many incidents of crazed Careers getting their hands on serious weapons. One thing leads to another and suddenly every person in the gym is dead. Go figure.

Arcadia sort of wondered if any of these girls had been mentally evaluated, because they were all clearly psychopaths. She could almost hear Mr. Important Guy snorting at Cady thinking that. Miss London dear, that's precisely why we like you girls! he would tell her with a hand-gesture meant to tell her she was being silly. Cady looked at the girl Nala, inspecting her at the mention of a new Capitol reality television show. She knew they were being recorded, but some of the things they were being asked to do seemed too feral to show even the violence-crazed Capitolites.

She broke her silence, deciding to let her opinions be known. "You're from the Capitol--they wouldn't do that to their own," she told the unnamed girl with the quirky accent, phrasing it like a statement, but expecting her to answer like a question. You could never be too sure about the Capitol. Cady supposed this woman knew more than most about the inner-workings of the government. She had the look of a Career, but she came from the posh city. It didn't add up. Then again, none of this added up very well. The Capitol needed a group of teenage girls to take out their enemies? That couldn't be, it seemed ridiculous.

At the same time, young people were easy to control, easy to train and fit enough to keep up. They were anonymous, faceless people. Abandoned, young. Arcadia was starting to see the point of this group more and more. Still, convincing these girls that the Capitol was not working against them, convincing these extremely suspicious, armed girls who no doubt were used to killing instead of cooperating was going to be hard. Cady was just the girl not to do it. She was usually shy, a flitting shadow with little substance and personality within her. Have you ever seen the eyes of a dead girl? Flat, reflecting the light of their surroundings. Cady looked like a dead girl in that respect.

Still, she was not dead yet, nor did she intend to die by a knife somehow working its way through her heart, thrown by one of her fellow assassins. At least they were talking now, trashing the name of their group. The Murderess Band. When she had first heard it, Arcadia had thought the Capitol man was saying murderous. With his twanging accent, the inflections could have made it so. Of course the name had been explained and Arcadia had since grown used to referring to her mysterious team-mates as her fellow Murderesses. It had a ring to it that even these homicidal, complaining teenagers should not be able to ignore.

Anyways, the name had a ring to it. Cady nodded her head along with the crowd anyways, guessing that starting a fight was not a good idea, especially starting a fight over something as stupid as the name of a group of faceless, nameless assassins. She was still trying her best to avoid the knife-in-heart scenario, as best she could. Cady could tell the two new ones were nervous about Cady and Cadia already having met. Then of course there was the clash of too many women who were used to being in complete control. It made Arcadia's head spin.

"Listen, if we're all paranoid there are cameras in here, why don't we leave? Lets go outside and talk there." It made sense, Cady always felt safer out in the open where there were innocent people the Capitol would be reluctant to kill. Not that the killing part bothered them too much, more the messy clean-up and all those families needing notification of their loved ones deaths. The inconvenience. Arcadia knew some people would be horrified by how easily and casually she thought in terms of cleaning up dead people, but what could she say? Cady had been born and raised to withstand the creepy, the crawly and all the grey stuff in between.

This was definitely one of those grey stuff situations, a time when Arcadia's hand itched to reach down her boot and grab onto her trusty dagger. Or reach into her thigh-sheath and snatch up the kitchen knife she had stuck down there. Or the throwing knives strapped to her belly. Well, anyways Cady felt the pressure of three sets of eyes scanning her, analyzing her body language and the expression on her face. Suddenly the watcher wished she had not drawn all the attention to herself. It felt strange to be watched by her own subjects.

ooc- shoot me in the face. worst post ever--dunno why, guess I used all my muse on Dru and Jez and other Cady post...

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 28, 2010 20:51:30 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Jul 28, 2010 20:51:30 GMT -5

ooc- I don't even... usually my characters give me a few threads before they completely go off the deepend... I dunno what got into her... and for this I deeply apologize.

Stark Harper —

It was a relief to hear that Stark wasn't the only one who had issues with the atrocious name the Capitol had given their latest social experiment-slash-reality-televison-venture. Of course, there was no reason for her to believe that any of them would've liked it (maybe aside from Miss Capitol herself) given the apparent similarities between the four members present at this first meeting of the Bureau of Sarcasm. The quiet!Cad(y/ia) was the first to complain about it, and Stark was quick to second the motion to do away with the exceedingly Capitol-esque not-so-clever punning.

"I'm not referring to myself as that." She shook her head disapprovingly, massaging her temples as though the mere thought of the bad pun made her brain come close to exploding. "Makes me feel physically ill to even contemplate saying it."

Stark thought for a moment about offering forth "the Bureau of Sarcasm" as a potential alternative, but decided against — it was more of her internal inside joke, anyhow, and she felt like it wasn't too amusing unless you were in her head when she'd come up with it. Like a really good you-had-to-be-there moment, the effect of it would be lessened if you hadn't actually been there.

She moved on to address the next subject, this time speaking to the other Cad(y/ia) girl, the charismatic one. "It doesn't really matter where we are, I figure. If they want to see us, they can see us… and it's not like there's anything they can do about us that they can't do anyway."

Realizing that didn't make sense, she tried again. "I mean, clearly they know who we are, what we've done, and what we're capable of. That's why they 'hired' us, isn't it?" She shook her head again. "So the way I see it, they're either watching us and listening to us, or they're not. Either way, they're not gonna care if I show Mr. Snow exactly what I think of him."

She took a brief pause, and smiling cheerfully as though giving him a pat on the back, Stark displayed a rather lewd hand gesture. She'd had enough practice so that she'd mastered the flip-off to such an extent it was practically an art. There were few non-verbal actions as effective for starting fights with other Careers — though, most of which were so pumped full of testosterone they'd feel like they had to defend their pride against a wiry blonde girl who was clearly provoking them — short of actually attacking them.

"And you know what they're going to do?" she asked rhetorically, returning her right hand to its pocket, where it found its grip on the handle of her switchblade. "They're going to edit that segment from the TV show, and they're going to pretend it never happened. Sure, they might feel the need to reprimand me next time Mr. Stiff-And-Important decides to show up in person. More likely than not, though?" She grinned mischievously. "Absolutely nothing."

What are you doing? demanded her small internal voice — the one that usually protested to these antics, the same that had told her to just use the door like a goddamned normal person. Are you actively trying to get yourself killed!? The voice was located somewhere in her hippocampus and promptly silenced by three mind-ninjas. That was an exciting concept, Stark had always though, having all these different figures running around in someone's head. She liked her mind ninjas well enough, but maybe the voice did have a point — just not the one it meant.

What was she doing? Why was she trying so hard for — did she feel the need to prove her badassness to these girls? No, not really. She was here, after all, wasn't she? Yes, of course. So her badassness was already implied. So what was all the over-the-top showing off for? The window-entry, the flip-off? Maybe she wanted to prove her badassness to herself.

Whatever. "So there's no reason to go out of the room for some privacy. We wouldn't get it anyway." Still on an adrenaline rush, of sorts, from her somewhat anti-Capitol tangent, Stark made a big gamble. She decided to trust these girls, at least a little bit. She kneeled down and unlaced her right boot, displaying the metal collar with the flashing red light.

"Don't know if they get any auditory transmissions from it," she said, "but they're keeping tabs on us. Well, on me, anyhow. Mr. Stiff-And-Important said he'd remove it when I got here. But I guess that's a bust." She looked around darkly as she laced her boot back up. Not tight enough, but it wasn't the priority now. These girls were like her, weren't they? So it was a safe bet that their minds would be on the same track. She actually pulled out her knife as she stood back up brandishing it at each of the others and taking a step back.

"And if you even think about cutting my foot off —" She let the threat hang for a moment (weak! cliché!) before she tucked her switchblade back into her pocket (her right hand stayed with it, as per usual.)

Stark glanced around uneasily for a moment, wondering if they others — the Cad(y/ia) combo, anyhow — were nonverbally deciding who would hold her down, while the other sawed off her foot. They probably wouldn't be too quick about it, either. They'd cut nice and slow while she yelped like a chihuahua engulfed in flame. Amputations were messy, and the bigger the body part, the more painful you could make it. Salt water or lemon juice always made it a bit louder. Stark started to wonder which of them would be the one to hold her down, and which of them would make the incisions.

Might be better to change the subject before they get to that, hmm? Sometimes, her inner voices were useful. "But you said they gave us a first assignment?" she asked hurriedly, trying to stop the mental video that placed her in the position that was usually filled by the person she was presently maddest at.

[/size][/color]

Last Edit: Jul 28, 2010 21:06:00 GMT -5 by gm bourgeois decadence [aya]

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Jul 30, 2010 17:02:15 GMT -5

Post by WT on Jul 30, 2010 17:02:15 GMT -5

((OOC- Cadia appears to be an all-or-nothing gal when it comes to muse, and this was a nothing. -_- I apologize.))

You sure about that, Arcadia? Cadia didn’t bother to voice her doubts- if the Capitol wanted reality TV there was nothing they could do about it, and if they didn’t there was nothing to be done about that either- but she did eye Nala carefully. She was a Capitolite, yes, but she was not a typical Capitolite. If she was, she wouldn’t fit in with the rest of the group nearly as well as she did. Who knew? Maybe the Capitol wanted them to kill each other (if that was in fact what was going on) because of this girl of theirs, rather than in spite of her- maybe they wanted to get rid of her. It wasn’t exactly uncommon knowledge that Snow disliked things that didn’t fall into place, and a Capitol killer- or at least, a Capitol civilian killer- did not click.

Window-Blo- Stark distracted her, and she turned from her evaluation of Capitol-Girl to find that one person, at least, agreed with her. A slight grin slipped onto her mouth. "Thank the powers that be," Cadia muttered fervently. No had put forth any argument, which she took as agreement. It probably wasn’t, at least not entirely, but any excuse to avoid the name was a good enough excuse for Cadia; she had to admit that it sounded good, but the pun was unforgivable. The whole thing smacked far too much of the Capitol. "Any sugges- suggestions?"

She stopped and frowned, running the sound of her own voice over again in her mind- not because of the stumble, but because of what had made her stumble. In the two years spent in District Eleven her upper-District accent had blurred, and she had done everything she could to help it erase itself; the harder it was to identify her as an outsider, the better. By the time of her first meeting with Arcadia, only traces of her old home remained in her voice. After just a few days in District One, though, the accent was blurring again, so that once more she sounded like neither the District One girl she’d once been nor the District Eleven girl she’d sort of become. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked it; she had spent so much time trying to distance herself from this place... No use worrying about it now, though. She could sort out her thoughts on accents later, on her own time.

Anyway, they had already moved on to a question that Cadia hadn’t even bothered to think about: whether stay where they were or go outside. Once more her eyebrows raised a tiny bit at Arcadia, this time in curiosity rather than horror. What brought that on? Before she had a chance to say anything, though, Stark took the comment and ran with it. Cadia watched her, eyebrows raised (more than a fraction, this time) and mouth twitching in amusement. Brave, this Stark was, or perhaps stupid.

No, Cadia revised as Stark went on and amusement gave way to an outright laugh, definitely not stupid- if she was, she wouldn’t be here, and stupid people didn’t reason out their safety with logic sound enough to relax the ever-twitchy homecoming girl. (Wait, strike those last too words- that sounded far too much like homecoming queen and the very idea at wearing a dress and waving at people from a float was hilarious at best, nauseating at worst.)

It felt like she ought to say something, pitch in some form of opinion, so she quieted her laughter and spoke. "I’m fine here or there, so whatever.” To tell the truth, she would be more comfortable outside, but to her outside didn’t mean out of the building- it meant beyond the fence, out in the forest or in the plains were there was almost no one to bother her, almost no one to keep tabs on in case they tried to kill her. Just being under the sky wasn’t enough. In District Eleven it might have been, but here every familiar street felt far too much like a trap that she’d thought long behind her. Going outside the District wasn’t an option, though- maybe later, but not tonight. Tonight they had a mission, and even if she could just up and leave, she wasn’t about to do so until that mission had been completed.

Though she wasn’t aware of it, the group’s blonde reinforced the thought that they couldn’t leave yet by revealing the little anklet that the Capitol had given her. "Figures." She knelt to get a better look at the thing, carefully making sure that her ferret was still on her arm so that she didn’t squish it. It was metal, as could be expected, with a small red light that blinked on and off. She didn’t see a hinge, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one- it could be too smoothly-made to be visible, or it could be on the other side. "Would- no, Ferret!"

The creature had scrambled off of her arm and onto her leg without her noticing, and was preparing itself to launch off her knee toward the anklet. She grabbed, and just barely managed to catch the slinky little thing. It squealed in pain as she clutched the still-sore stomach, but she didn’t loosen her grip. "Damned creature," she hissed, giving it a glare that she hoped it understood. "Thought I’d gotten you to stop going after every shiny thing in sight." Honestly, why did she bother to put up with the thing?

Stark laced the boot over the shiny thing, and Ferret relaxed. Cadia loosened her grip, but didn’t let go as she rose and muttered, "No point in that. If they’ve got that one, there’s probably three more inside each of us." Besides, that flashing red light was ominous, and Cadia suspected that it would blow up in their faces if they tried to do anything to it. Maybe not, but she definitely wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to have contingency plans for their contingency plans. They were gaudy and infuriating, but if what Cadia and Arcadia had been told was anywhere close to true, they were also thorough on a level that Cadia had to admire, even reluctantly. Not to mention that a whole Stark would be a lot more useful than a footless Stark, and the only thing a severed foot would be good for was feeding Ferret.

Stark changed the subject a bit too hastily. Cadia eyed her, then gave a mental shrug and nodded. "They did, yeah. Kharlana and Rashior Alençoão. District One. Rich enough, but a largely less than notable family" if you discount the fact that they should have died years ago. She suppressed that bit, but could feel her own eyes flashing angrily as her heart rate elevated, then subsided. She would have to find out how that her assassination attempt had failed. "No address given, but..." How often had she walked the streets between home and school, school and training, training and home, Lalik’s house and Cadia’s? " I’m familiar enough with them to make that detail unnecessary."

She paused, using the cover of placing Ferret back on her left shoulder to buy a bit of time in which to wonder if she should stop there or explain. Might as well, she decided; if she left information dangling, the others (well, the newcomers- Arcadia knew her parents’ names) wouldn’t be too happy with her, and if they had any sense they’d start to wonder what else she was hiding. Not that she was hiding anything, but sometimes the truth didn’t matter as much as suspicions, and Cadia had no interest in having fully-capable killers angry with her. Besides, at this point it didn’t make much of a difference who knew her original identity; she had kept it hidden so that the Capitol couldn’t find her, and then the Capitol had gone and found her anyway. (A voice piped up with You weren’t careful enough! and she slammed it over its nonexistent head with an equally-nonexistent lead pipe.) "If I needed a map to the house I grew up in, I’d be far too stupid for this bunch."

Last Edit: Jul 30, 2010 17:03:20 GMT -5 by WT

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Aug 5, 2010 17:55:59 GMT -5

Post by cinder on Aug 5, 2010 17:55:59 GMT -5

When you kill people for a living, you can't allow yourself to become an empath. Imagine every time an innocent, young person screamed with unbridled pain, you felt a twinge of sorrow? It would drive a person mad, mad I tell you! Good thing for Arcadia London: She was already insane and empathy did not live in her frozen, hardened heart. Cadia brought up her childhood home and something strange happened to Arcadia. She felt herself wanting to pat the girl on the back and murmur some words of support, maybe grab the ferret and still it in Cadia's arms, let the girl hug it out.

That was preposterous of course, Arcadia never felt anything real. She never felt anything, really. It was not a matter of being so inhuman that Cady had blocked out the sense of responsibility for causing immense pain, more the fact that she just did not care enough. Always half of her head was up in the clouds, to take the edge off, y'know? That was how it had been these past few minutes as Stark, Nala and Cadia squawked about reality TV and how unfair life was. Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever. Could they just get to the part where Arcadia did something worth her talents and time? Finally, blessedly Cadia spoke the words that brought the room to a stand-still. Everybody was anticipating each others responses, naturally confused by their first mission.

Arcadia leaned on the edge of the couch and held her arms across her chest, pointing her knife carefully away from her body. Big, flipping deal. Cadia had killed her parents once before, or so she thought. Cady had killed her parents, one had died by heartbreak after witnessing the monster she had become, and the other died by the monster she had become. Period. The good news was that nobody seemed to protest, the room was just blessedly silent if you ignored the chattering of the Murderess Band Mascot, Mrs. Ferret (Cady was pretty sure it was a girl, seemed a little too intelligent and prissy to be otherwise)

Finally with a tremendously bored sigh and a mildly disappointed expression glued to her face, Cady straightened up. The room seemed to relax around her although the unnamed girl had gone suddenly quiet-and-thoughtful mode on all of them. Good. She was starting to get on her nerves, with that high-pitched Capitol accent and all the conspiracy theories she had been tossing about the room. Better to serve the Important People willingly and talk trash about the bosses when they weren't in an apartment given to them by said people! If everybody was wrong, that just meant they had ticked off the people who mattered.

Hey, I guess we weren't hired to be thugs. We're supposed to think and torture people for ourselves. Like giving a taste of freedom to a slave to keep them motivated. Sooner or later the girls would have to sit down and talk trash about the Important People. Sooner or later they would all be quietly exterminated, when their bones creaked and their senses were dull. Now? Right about now they had a mission and nobody looked a day older nineteen, not like they were going to just fall over and die or anything.

She uncrossed her arms and slowly placed her knife back in its sheath. "So, we're killing your parents, right?" she asked Cadia more for the benefit of the two new girls than herself, but truth be told, when the Important People had assigned them this mission, Arcadia had been in lala land. She needed a quick refresher in order to remind herself what the big plan was. Often Cady found herself not paying attention to people when they were explaining things to her. Mr. Important had stared at Arcadia until her blank blue eyes took on the appearance of complete, utter focus. Satisfied, he had begun to outline their mission, leaving the specifics up for their opinion, but also keeping tight control of the situation. She remembered the half fearful, half smug look on his face. They could go either way, this pet project of his. Who knew what would happen when they got a group of female assassins together and told them to play nice.

That was another thing Cady London didn't get. Why a bunch of young girls? One could argue that this was on purpose, a private joke among the government officials who knew of this project. Yeah, we have a group of hot, teenage girls in tight black outfits taking down people twice their size! Huh. Sort of did sound like a good television show. But still, if this was serious business than they should have gotten people with more experience, old enough to be cautious, but not really, really old like in their thirties. Men tended to be stronger too. Cady rubbed at the sheath of her weapon, trying to relax her suddenly antsy body. Like an actress who does breathing exercises before a big play. Hey, maybe she was meant to be acting. That television show was starting to make sense to her, more so than the alternatives.

Then again, nothing seemingly made sense about the way Panems higher authority worked. Cady was happy in that moment to just be a grunt smart enough to not get caught in the act of killing, but too dumb to figure out what was going on. Not that she cared much, Arcadia London, my friends, had a guilty pleasure. She just loved to kill people.

ooc- Phunkeh is being NPCed

Arcadia, Illiana, Kade, Thea, Jezebel, Cassedy, Marina, Ronan, Karina

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Murderess Minds [WT,Aya,Thundy?,Phunkeh?] Aug 6, 2010 0:39:08 GMT -5

Post by phunke on Aug 6, 2010 0:39:08 GMT -5

Okay, so honestly, I'm not sure when my love affair with serrated knives started. I'm guessing it's sometime around when I was six or seven; at that age, I was so frikkin' bored all the time that anytime I came across an object which could serve a practical purpose, my initial reaction was almost always something along the lines of 'OMFG.'
And, well, what can I say? I liked bread, and my idiotic mother was too much of an ass to realize she had a fshucking daughter, so I pretty much learned how to...well, prepare food. I was a little kid, so that was pretty damn high on my list of priorities. That and 'Help my imaginary friends tack up their My Little Ponies.' No, really. That last sentence was totally serious.
Anyhow, moral of the story: Serrated knives are pretty cool, and are also badass. When I went through my 'OMGEMOCUTTERGURRR' phase around age thirteen or fourteen, I thought I'd be noble/sneaky/badass [or some shuck like that] and cut myself with a serrated knife. Well, I bet you can guess how that turned out. Because while cutting yourself is pretty damn painful, cutting yourself with a serrated knife is really shucking painful. It took me all of one trial run to figure that out. Fast learner? Yep, that's me.
I did, however, take some important life lessons from this, the primary one being that if you want to make someone feel like their integumentary system is being shredded into agonizing little strips of bacon - while only actually giving them a shallow slice to the epidermis - use a serrated knife. Quick, and effective. Oh, and ultra-badass. [The secondary life lesson, in case you were wondering, is that moms should pay attention so their shucking kids don't use bread knives on their arms. Yeah.]
So, when I mentioned a little while ago that my mom told me I could leave the Capitol and I ran to grab my toothbrush, I also happened to grab Phil the serrated knife. After all, he fits pretty conveniently into a strap on the inside of my jacket ~~that I sewed in. Convenient, huh?~~. He makes me feel a little bit better, like maybe if these girls are torture machines, I can learn from them and become one too. It shouldn't be too hard, right?

I listen up when Stark's talking, mostly because she seems to be pretty snarky, and I have a deep appreciation for that. Capitol surveillance, yada yada yada. Well no shuck the Cap's watching us, what, do you think there's any chance they'd just stick us in a room and leave us? No. I'm not so sure about the TV show - the Cap doesn't always like to blatantly advertise its penchant for killing, contrary to the Districts' beliefs - but the idea that they wouldn't keep cameras on us at all times is laughable in its stupidity. Confident and bloodthirsty the Cap may be, but idiotic? Not so much. So when Stark flicks off the cameras we all know are here, despite the fact that I laugh with a bit of humor and actually smile at her brashness, I can't help but feel a strong twinge of annoyance. Who does she think she is? It's idiocy, the idea of a Districter trying to intimidate the Capitol. Laughable. Silly. The Districters are even more idiotic than I thought; am I the only one in this room who realizes that the Capitol's running this show - no pun intended - and we're just the tools they're using, simply because they have the power to use us? Snow could snap his fingers and have an army of burly, trained fighters out to get his enemies. Heck, he could just shoot all their brains out from a hovercraft. But he's not. And that's the key here. Why aren't these other girls able to see that? The Cap runs this show. It's the master, the producer, the deity. Nothing would exist without the Cap; people think they're all smartass forming rebellions and shuck, but nothing would work if the Capitol wasn't here to give everyone a sound spank on the arse once in a while. Panem's in a delicate balance, and I've realized over the years that Snow holds the scales. Sure, I hate it. Don't we all? But god, suck it up. There's no battle to be fought here. It's already won. Done, finished, khattam-shud.

The stab of ice-cold fear isn't immediate. At first, when I see Stark's ankle bracelet, my reaction pretty much sounds like 'Well, duh.' I don't say it out loud though; I take a moment to think, to process. And that's when it hits. The ice-cold fear? Yeah. It starts in my throat, oddly enough; one spike seems to reach up into my brain, while a significantly larger one digs through my lungs and into my stomach. Because that ankle bracelet is there for a reason: To keep track of her. Keep tabs, know that she's doing the job she's been assigned. I'm not so much afraid of the audio surveillance thing. I'm sure that that's going to happen anyway; they wouldn't entrust a job like that to an easily-disposable ankle ~~bracelet~~. But the fact of the matter is that Stark is being tracked and I'm not. I'm sure the other girls have identical ankle bracelets, but I can say for a fact that I do not. It's not because the Cap trusts me not to wander off; it's because, in their almost-always-well-placed arrogance, they realized a simple truth: I am going to die. The fear grows, and grows, paralyzing all but my body's most basic functions. I always knew that being murdered was a possibility; how could it not be? But the fact that my death has been preordained...It's a little much for me to handle.
I am the disposable Capitolite.
I'm the girl they just threw in for kicks. Slit a few throats, cause a few catfights, then bam. Out of the running for survival-ever-after.
I'm not a player in this game; I'm a prop.

With that knowledge, there's really only one logical solution that presents itself to me [other than to make use of Phil and try to make a quick escape, but something tells me that wouldn't work]. I must observe. The only way I stand a fragment of a chance is if I devote a significant amount of energy to watching these girls, absorbing their thoughts, feelings, and most importantly, killing styles. I have to know when, why, and how they torture or kill.
That's the only way I can keep it from happening to me.

ooc; Naladarling is officially a silent NPC until I get back on the 16th. Powerplay her when needed, but other than that she's got a watch-and-learn attitude. Have fun! ^^

Oh, and a chocolate cookie for whoever can tell me what 'khattam-shud' refers to. ~~It'll only take what like 10 seconds to google it? WORTH IT, these are good cookies. :D~~

Also, another cookie for whoever can tell me what book 'shucking' is from. I mean yeah, it is a convenient combination of two verrry nasty words, but it's also from a SciFi book which is pretty decent. ^^

Last Edit: Oct 29, 2010 23:03:57 GMT -5 by phunke