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

[aya]

Stark Harper —

In her opinion, Stark's theory as to why the Capitol gathered them — you know, the Reality TV one she refuses to shut up about — was completely validated by the Big Reveal that their first assignment was to kill Cadia's parents. It was definitely a good scenario for the series premier — although, in Stark's opinion, would have been better versed in a two-hour midseason special, or even as the season finale. By that point the Audience would have been trying to piece together information on the girls' personal lives (which would undoubtedly not be willingly put forth by any of them, except in minuscule fragments) and would have grown more attached to the Characters (if it were possible to like them; although, the finale of the 55th Games came to mind — there wasn't a dry eye in sight among the Capitol's commentators when that crazy rock-loving girl killed Dru.)

Stark blinked hard, trying to return her focus to the room. She meant to give a significant to the girl, but ended up eying the squirming ferret she was holding. Stark didn't trust it. It wriggled too much, and it seemed like it had wanted to make a lunge for her ankle. The girl had never been fond of rodents, who were often too small and too sneaky to properly keep an eye on. They made her uneasy.

The fact that the Capitol wanted the group's first kill (as a collective unit) to essentially be Cadia's first kill (with the group) because, really, who else had the right to? And Stark didn't really know how she liked that. Sure, it was completely effed up on the Capitol's part, but it was a test — a test for Cadia, really. Or a reward? Why involve the other girls if they were just going to take the back seat? Unless the murder of the Alençoãos was only the beginning, to see how far the Band would be willing to go, who they'd be willing to kill, so long as they knew they had to keep up with one another on the killing personal relations front. Would they be killing one another eventually?

It didn't really matter to Stark — she didn't have personal relations. She didn't make personal relations, period. She avoided it. It was weakness. People were weak, and people were weakness. Stark didn't let them get close. She was better off without the holes they would inevitably make in her empathetic armor. There's no one she wouldn't fuss about killing: not her lowly father, not her paranoid mother who ditched the family, not her fellow career little brother, not her 'friends,' not the President, and certainly not her associates standing in front of her.

Of course, it would be a shame to have to kill them, she decided. They might not be ideal, and they might be threats, but they didn't seem to be bad company. They were enough like her to (probably) get along famously, but different enough not to be forced to slit each others throats (thus far, anyhow, and hopefully it would continue that way.) The group was an interesting lot, each of them. Even Cady (despite her initial nauseating I'd really love to know a little more about you greeting.) Even the Capitol girl (who hadn't even mentioned her name, come to think of it, had she?) And even the quieter girl who would get the spotlight for the series premier, Cadia Alençoão.

Wait, no. The name didn't sit right in Stark's memory. The two separately — somewhat surprisingly, although not nearly so much so after the revelation that the girl apparently (mostly likely) also came from District One — rang a bell, even in the same sentence: Cadia and Alençoão. They were used together, but not together, not as Cadia Alençoão. Stark furrowed her brow, for the most part unsurprised by the alias, given the generally uneasy nature of teenage girls (specifically the ones who killed people in their spare time.)

Stark did her best to give it a rest. After all, no one with an alias, particularly no one with the exceedingly low level of trust that was to be expected from aforementioned teenage girls, liked to be called out on it. It was just plain old safer not to say anything. But she couldn't just drop the thought, especially when the truth was on the tip of her tongue, as much as she'd've liked to. She changed the subject within her own thought pattern as an attempt to let it go.

"So we should go, then, shouldn't we?" Stark herself didn't even remember what she was referring to until her brain caught back up with itself. The mission. The one to kill Cadia's parents, wasn't it? She eyed the girl, this time without getting distracted by the ferret. "Er, we maybe ought to formulate some sort of a plan, anyhow, unless we've got something in mind? Whatever you think, I'd say. I mean, your parents, right? Your kill — I mean call. And your area of expertise."

Sometimes it would just be stupid to not defer to someone of higher knowledge, Stark assured herself, cursing herself all the while for giving even more power to the girl who was already on track to be the main character of the episode. It was a smart thing to do though, wasn't it, to be a good sport, a good supporting role. Just go along with it, that one annoying voice urged. While she has all the cards, just go along with it!

And just to be rebellious against the mental nag, Stark couldn't help what the rest of her brain decided to force out of her mouth (chrissakes, what happened to that filter between the two!?) next: "Hey, wait—" (the italicized mental nagvoice flailed its arms and ran around in a circle of panic, as though it were on fire.) "–Cadia. That's not your name, is it?" Her heart hammered in her chest out of anxiousness to see how that would be taken, right hand tightening on the handle of her switchblade, just in case she needed it for self-defense. But she couldn't stop herself

"Or, Cadia Alençoão isn't, anyway. I remember the names—" everything was coming out now, everything she'd thought of earlier, no cards left for Stark to hold. "—and they were used together, mostly, but not… not as one… La- no, I don't know… but people died, or at least I'd thought… Ah, I don't know. Memory's a tricky bit, and mine's got a tendency… I mean, you are from here, too, right?" She trailed off, feeling a little bit foolish. None of that made sense, did it? It was an incoherent jumble, and one that more likely made her an enemy than not.

"Sorry. That didn't make any sense at all. Forget it." At least she managed not to blush, only sounding stupid and a little bit embarrassed rather than looking it, too. Thinking initially that she was more perceptive to things than she actually was hadn't really gotten Stark into trouble before now, but she usually didn't have that one nagging voice hanging around so much. It was usually an intermittent thing. Oh sure, muttered the conscience sort of thing (or, the closest thing Stark would have) again, blame me.


ooc- Phunkeh, Google says that it's from Haroun and the Sea of Stories (the villain's name, meaning completely finished)

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[WT]

((OOC- Finally. *shot for being late*

I don't really know what the deal is with this post. Really. Ask Cadia. I haven't a clue.))


Arcadia had certainly gotten a lot less talkative throughout the conversation- her chipper introduction had faded into quiet observation, or perhaps daydreaming- Cadia hadn’t quite learned to tell which was which when her partner in crime stopped talking. Her words didn’t really help, either- they were on-topic, but sort of out of it at the same time.

Either way, she had spoken, so Cadia gave a terse nod and a firm, if somewhat inarticulate, agreement. "Mm." Nothing more was said for the moment- the point was now across, so she didn’t think she really needed to elaborate.

Clarification was needed here: nothing more was said for the moment by either of the -dia girls. Stark, on the other hand, was talking up something of a storm- a very small storm, admittedly, but she was still quickly making herself into the most talkative person in the room. Not that she had much competition; Capitol-Girl apparently preferred to stand there and glare than to say anything, Arcadia hadn’t said more than a sentence at a time since her initial introduction, and though Cadia had had a few outbursts, she wasn’t the most loquacious person out there. Anyways. Stark, talking, asking questions. Questions needed answers. Yes.

She didn’t really have an answer for this question, though. Brief hesitation was followed by a shrug that was just short of careless. Ordinarily, Cadia liked plans. Laying out what would happen when made her feel more comfortable about things; if there was one thing that could make her a tiny bit less suspicious of the ground she walked on, it was knowing what parts of it she was going to be stepping over. Right now, though, she doubted she was going to be able to stick to anything.

She would have left it at the shrug, but a stream of vague memories (sneaking into the house at midnight at thirteen, walking right through the living room with a piece of the cake her six-year-old self had been forbidden to touch) assaulted her, making her blink and then open her mouth. "They always miss the obvious- our best bet is probably to walk in the front door," she said carefully. Still not a plan, but it was at least a line of attack, which was similar but didn’t requite as much commitment.

She didn’t have anything else to say, which left things suspended in a solution of minor awkwardness, so she was grateful as well as apprehensive when Stark burst back into the flow of conversation. That gratefulness quickly vanished, though, as did the trepidation; the moment the word not left Stark’s mouth, both were replaced by pure adrenaline. Cadia’s pulse sped to about three times its normal rate, and her entire body stiffened visibly as she eyed the other girl. Ferret felt the change in her muscles and reacted to it by bristling silently, but Cadia was far too absorbed in a mental battle to notice or care. She was caught halfway between screaming How do you know that?! and attacking the girl (option one, which appealed to her rather a lot), or just running out the door while everyone was focused on the blonde’s words (option two, which her brain was telling her was a lot smarter). Both ideas were slowly increasing their mental decibel level, and by the time the blond had gotten to the word memory the younger of the two felt like her head was going to explode. As that sentence went on, she started edging ever so slightly toward the door, one hand hovering near the blade in her belt.

Oddly enough, it was the sentence after that one that calmed her. I mean, you are from here, too, right? Of course. She had heard Stark’s accent, and the change to her own accent that the blonde’s words were inducing. She had figured that they probably shared a birthplace; she should have expected that another from her District would recognize her. Cadia!Cadia had been fairly well-liked; her death hadn’t been a subject of gossip long, but while it was it was a pretty big thing. She had anticipated this, too- had spent the entire time in this District ducking around, hoping that no one would recognize her face.

That was all there was to it. This was legitimate recognition. No stalking, no spying, no working with the Capitol (at least, no more working with the Capitol than they were currently being forced to). Cadia’s feet stilled their movement, and her body allowed itself to release the overproduction of adrenaline into a slightly healthier level.

Ferret, relaxed again now that its human was calm(er), mewled and pushed at Cadia’s ear, prompting her to put a finger on the little thing’s nose and push it back. The motion jolted her back into the world outside of her mind, and she forced herself to speak. "No, it does. Did."

She paused, hoping she could let it go, but she knew she couldn’t. "Lalik Alençoão," came the quiet words. She tried to attach the vowels of District Eleven, but she just couldn’t do it; her tongue formed it the only way it knew how, leading her back into the speech patterns she had grown up with. How long had it been since she’d last said that name aloud? Probably the night she left, just before she decided to change it for good. Not much had happened since then, and yet the girl who stood in the kitchen tilting a vial into her parents’ cups somehow seemed very far away.

Cadia closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and then opened them, carefully not focusing on any of the girls in the room. The door provided a convenient place to rest her eyes- if she watched it, she could focus on an escape route and keep all three of the others in her view at the same time. She could even distract herself into talking. "Cadia Smith was my- only friend." Girlfriend was too awkward a word; even back then, she had never been able to make herself use it. "My parents decided we were too close. They had her killed, so I retaliated in kind."

A very slight smile, more a baring of teeth than an expression of emotion, crossed her face. "Well, tried to. Obviously it didn’t work. That’s not going to happen again, though." She turned her head from the door long enough to flicker her eyes over each of the other girls in the room. They didn’t stay there long, only a split second for each, just long enough to search for- for something. She wasn’t entirely sure, to be honest with herself.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and gave her head a barely-perceptible shake. Without another word, she turned and walked for the door.

[cinder]

Cady was absolutely sure she had been chosen for this Capitol project because of her ability to adapt to most, heck all given situations. She had a way about her, something that screamed 'So what if I found my mothers dead body when I was a little girl?' When she wasn't day dreaming, Arcadia was rarely pondering her past, she was constantly planning ahead or fighting to stay alive and feel the heat of a moment. Still, when Cadia lapsed in her small tirade, when Arcadia was sure she was going to start talking about her first girl friend something snapped. Her body was a still-life, nary a twitch of her spider-long fingers or a stray hair blowing in the conditioned air moved her body. While she stayed in her statue state on the outside, Cady sorted through her feelings on the inside.

It did make sense, didn't it? The Ferret girl had seemed so vicious that first day they met, lashing out against the Peacekeepers with a brutal charm that had first caught the eye of Arcadia London in a way that only her fellow Careers ever had. She had instantly recognized a worthy opponent, a lethal foe and a possible companion, her whole self had offered up her quiet admiration for the violent acts. Yet at the same time, Cadia had been 'gentle' and wary when she had first happened upon Arcadia, or at least this 'Lalik' girl hadn't immediately stuck a knife in her. That counted for a lot when you've seen the District One native whirl around, kicking, snapping and stabbing all those who dared to come within her range.

Naturally her mind mulled over this latest development, sorting these words into a mental compartment labeled Things I know and am not afraid to use against Cadia (Lalik Alençoão.) Still her thoughts and feelings lingered on that unspoken word. Girl--it was used to describe any creature that did not obviously have something between its legs, specifically females of any species. Girl was a label, an insult, an endearing term and a word Cady distrusted at the moment. How could she have, Cadia, her feral companion had been a girl friend. The thought saddened Arcadia London who felt as though she had just lost her claim. It truly was made insignificant, the comradery they shared, when just a few short years ago Lalik and another Cadia had been intimately bonded. Unfamiliar emotions rose to the surface of her very being. Jealousy, hurt and shock dominated all the stray feelings of suspicion, admiration and sudden--sudden hope. She allowed herself to feel these things before pushing them into yet another mental drawer labeled Emotions I have felt so there's no need to dwell on them anymore.

The sob-story ended with Cadia walking out the room and Arcadia relieved by the familiarity of her unhappy ending. Parents-who-had-been-killed-but-survived were her specialty: Arcadia had recently witnessed the not-death of her longtime trainer and grandfather, otherwise known to Cady as just Father. She had heard rumors among the people of the District though, gossip about a famed trainer in the distant District of Two who had survived some sort of freak accident. Gossip knew no boundaries in Panem, the government thrived when rumors of serial killers and murderous gangs roamed the country side came into being. Perhaps this whole 'Murderess Band' thing was just a way to inspire fear within the hearts of the grudge-holding, put-down people. If the Peacekeepers 'caught' and 'executed' the murderers, why that would make them bona fide heroes! It was as clever a plan as any those sadist had thought up, and it certainly explained why they had chosen a group of black-ninja-suit clad girls instead of burly men. If a bunch of strange young girls with innocence written across their faces were found to be taking a leisurely stroll around town nobody would think to match their faces to any of the cautionary pamphlets or rumors floating around.

Arcadia found her speculations to make sense, but it was a waste of time and effort trying to understand the ways of her overlords. Her mind had a quick battle over whether or not to follow her short-time companion or stick around with two armed strangers. The answer was obvious enough. Cady might as well start debating whether or not to breath or blink. Her mind was being ridiculous today, malfunctioning and making her feel so stupid and awkward. It was a good thing she hadn't said much after her initial Career-like lying, Arcadia London feared the words that would have come pouring out of her mouth if she hadn't had the good sense to shut herself up.

Still thinking about her own stupidity, she strolled out the of the room, her feet making abrupt, pitter-pattering noises on the marble floor of their penthouse suite. Cady had enough common sense and self preservation related instincts that she didn't dare to touch Cadia, but she did give her a strange look. "You're fine." She resisted tagging on the questioning word right? for fear of embarrassing herself. Cady just looked at Cadia again, before turning her game-face on. Mission time right now, what Cadia had said was in the past, why think of it now, why did it even matter? Truth was, it didn't.

ooc- don't shoot me for the suckish reply.

[phunke]

I hate pillows so much. I'm pretty sure that most people on this earth are either pillow-lovers or pillow-haters. Unfortunately, I have yet to meet someone from the second group other than myself because everyone in the Capitol seems to think that pillows are the greatest thing since sliced bread dyed skin. Honestly I have no idea why people think they're so great. Little square decorative things, stuffed with goodness knows what, and it's not as though they serve a legitimate purpose. I mean, when you have a cushy couch, and you put a cushy pillow on top of it, what extra benefit is that supposed to add? None. As if that weren't bad enough, most pillows I've seen in the Cap aren't just normal pillows - they have freaking decorations and beads and shuck all over. I seriously cannot stand it. It just makes me so angry, and this apartment is freaking stuffed with pillows, and I bet these three killer-girls like them, and-
Snap. Outofit. Seriously. Stop NOW, stop now, stop stop you shucking snap out don'tthink don't death no death die shot torture other girls killer-girls goingtodie no STOP-
Periodically, when I get off on a really dumb train-of-thought, I tend to interrupt myself with a flurry of mental-yelling and scolding, forcing myself to focus.
Okay, honestly that isn't the whole story. The truth is that I'm still freaking out. Freaking out because I'm positive that I'm going to die and it's probably going to be soon. I'm going to die and it's not going to be in plush comfort either, not like in this apartment. I'll probably get killed somewhere in the woods, somewhere far away from these pillows which is good because the pillows are mocking me and my death and it's so ridiculous because they don't even belong there, who puts pillows on a table for Walrus' sake? That's so idiotic, so insane and I can't help but think that this is all insane and that I'm insane which I guess I already knew but now I need to
callllllm down.
Okay. Breathe - am I breathing? Yes, I am, strangely enough. I physically feel totally normal. Yes, my shoulders are pushed rather than leaned up against the wall behind me, but my breathing is steady, my eyelids in their usual disinterested droop. I mean, of course I can't see myself, but I feel fine. It's a bit odd - I guess I expected my body to react somehow to my internal panic - but I suppose it's a good thing. After all, now the other girls don't have to watch me go into hysterics simply because I've accepted a fact of my life now: it's ending. Soonish. Oh get over yourself, my own voice mocks me from within the caverns of my mind. A scary thought flits through my cerebrum: What if I'm just fabricating emotion? After all, my body clearly doesn't care that I was "in distress", so what if I wasn't? Perhaps I'm just convincing myself that I feel scared?
Hmm. I dismiss the thought; it's far too philosophical.
Stark's talking and I don't care because I wouldn't know what to make of it. But I listen anyway, because these are trained murderesses murderers and whether or not I actually do, I have to give a shuck. Something about a battle plan for killing Cadia's parents. I'm not sure why that would be necessary; they're her parents after all, surely it doesn't require too much planning? Cadia reinforces this idea when she states that we can just waltz right through the front door. Good. A dramatic entrance. I'm all for that.
I pay some attention to Stark's next words, a series of revised half-questions and uncertain assertions. Cadia's name? It isn't...Cadia? I'm confused, obviously. Who wouldn't be? I feel my eyebrows sinking insistently, past their usual scowl-place and down just above my eyes. This girl tells a few sentences about her past - and the real Cadia - which interests me mostly because of the contrast between her speech, face, and body language. I'm not great at reading expressions, but hers looks pretty tense. I don't know; I'm probably wrong. In a moment she and Cady have slipped out of the door.
Don't get left behind! Easy prey! okay, now that voice is just making fun of me. I shoot a disgusted glare toward the pillows which continue to mock me - even now - and shuffle out the door. "Hey Sweetheart, Princess, wait up," I call. "Please say we actually get to start the killing now. I'm dying here, throw me a rope." I chuckle slightly at the line "I'm dying here" which strikes me as very amusing for some season.

Before I follow those two down the hall and into my new life, I call back over my shoulder, a strangely genuine smile spread on my face.
"Don't forget to close the door when you leave - unless of course you're exiting from the window."

[aya]

Stark Harper —

"Well… damn" were the only two words that formed in Stark's mind after she'd gotten her answers, after her rambling question (was it even a question, or just a string of words, a few errant observations loosely connected with the occasional lone vowel sound?) was, for the most part, answered by Cadia — Lalik. No, Cadia. For some reason, Stark decided that the adopted name fit the girl better than the one that was apparently bestowed upon her by her parents — the victims of the evening.

Although victims implied innocence, didn't it? The blonde girl hadn't known the other three for more than fifteen minutes, but was already starting to feel a sense of kinship with them — the sibling rivalry kind, it seemed, as Stark continually felt the desire to outperform the other girls. They were scarcely more than acquaintances, yet she somehow had the feeling that the other girls were already closer to her than most other people had been in a very long time.

Stark hadn't been in relative exile out of anyone else's doing — she wasn't some social pariah, wasn't the kind of freak that sent people reeling. But she remained distant with everyone, simply because she liked it that way. Simply. She'd convinced herself that it was simple, anyhow. There was no reason to keep away from people aside from the fact that she didn't like their company, didn't care enough about their lives to find them interesting. It wasn't simple, actually, and it wasn't just what Stark had told herself. But the excuse had been working for a long while, and now was not the time to examine it until she saw the flaws.

But, thrown together by the Capitol in an interesting — and somewhat fresh — new reality television venture gave Stark an odd (and perhaps misplaced) sense of belonging. These were her — what had Cady called them? — teammates. A foreign concept to Stark. She didn't work with other people. She didn't interact with other people, except when a blade was in between them (in Stark's possession, obviously.) So what was with this foreign fluffy feeling nibbling on her gut? Friends? Did ice queen Stark actually want to befriend these girls?

Maybe she'd be better off without them — but for now, it would be better to go with them. To follow them through the door — "Yes, I think I'll use the door this time, thanks. Not enough sheets." She paused. After a brief consideration, Stark added: "And kind of inconvenient, actually." — and actually get enough information to pass judgement on them in field. Or, rather, in the home that Cadia grew up in; Stark assumed, by the mention of a front door, that this was not, in fact, an actual field. She'd never liked the broad use of the term. Too misleading.

Either way, she'd felt a connection, and decided that their victims that night wouldn't be victims. They'd suffer as much as Cadia wanted them to, and then they would die as the Capitol had requested — or maybe just as the Cad(y/ia) duo had decided — and it would be well and good fun; but they wouldn't be victims in the way Stark thought of the word. That was much too innocent-sounding. The blonde, of course, didn't know much of the Alençoãos aside from hearing the bizarre sounding name in passing a few times, and what Cadia herself had just revealed.

They can't be innocent, decided the Career, as though she was the one with the authority to pass judgement on people (She was, actually, so long as she was the one with the knife.) They're killers. Of course, that meant that she wasn't innocent, either. She'd never be a victim in her own definition, and no one would cry when she died. And somehow, Stark was okay with that, because in the meantime, she had power. She was the one who decided who lived and died. While the knife was in her hand, she could pass judgement, even though she'd know all the while that it would be coming back to be passed on her someday. (No judgement in the religious sense, she hastily added, inserting the footnote to her thoughts, incase anyone would hear and doubt her atheism.)

As she passed through the doorframe and into the hallway, a rush of adrenaline raised Stark's pulse in volume, if not in actual speed. It pounded in her ears, muffling the words of the other three. Not hearing was okay, though; it didn't seem as though much was being said, anyhow. The Capitol girl — she hadn't mentioned her name yet, had she? Stark hoped she hadn't missed it — had called patronizingly at the other girls, "Sweetheart" and "Princess," she'd called them (Stark was grateful that she hadn't received one yet; she'd take window remarks all day long instead.) Asked about the killing. Seemed kind of loud about it, too. Stark closed her eyes and came dangerously close to praying that the Capitol girl would be a little bit more subtle throughout the rest of the night.

She'd quickened her pace to reach the other girls, who'd left the room ahead of her, taking lengthy, hurried strides with her long legs. She didn't want to shout down the building's corridor at this hour — it was rude to wake people up, and drew unnecessary attention to the already less-than-discreet gathering. So Stark had waited until she'd sufficiently caught up to the others, at which point she'd asked — voice barely above a whisper — "Not too far, is it? This tracer cuff is rubbing my ankle raw."

Normally, Stark would be one of the last people to complain. She was a trooper, brave — or she wanted people to think she was — but it seemed appropriate, and even easier to ask a question and make an excuse than apologize for overstepping, for brining up things that weren't any of her business by even the most remote possibility. She should apologize, and she knew it, but her pride got in the way, and when that was all settled, the portion of her brain that concerned itself with her public image completely vetoed all semblances of apology.

She hoped Cadia wasn't angry with her for Stark's unfortunate case of word-vomit, although that was probably the case. She'd be angry if it had been her situation, wouldn't she? "Of course" was the initial reaction. She had a lethal (for whom, though, was the question) combination of a massive-but-fragile ego and a fiery temper, and didn't let things go easily — completely capable of nursing a grudge for years if she was forced to. But maybe not?

The other girl, Stark tried to reason, could easily have given Stark a raised "what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-talking-about" eyebrow and shrugged it off. The question was put before the assembly, but if she'd wanted to, the other girl could've refused to answer. It didn't really matter to her all that much, though — or at least, Stark kept telling herself that it didn't. Maybe if she repeated the mantra long enough — It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter — her brain would take the hint and drop the subject.

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[WT]

((OOC- This long, and it’s still a total fail. I hate you, Cadia, hate you.

Nala’s door-kicking and everyone’s running was powerplayed not just with permission, but under instruction. ^^))


Cadia was perfectly content to simmer the entire way to her old house, and even more satisfied with the idea of not talking to anyone on the way. Things were getting confusing, and she didn’t like it when that happened. She liked her situations clear-cut and easy to navigate, even if they were difficult to handle. This Band business was not clear-cut, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Someone else ruined those plans by speaking to her. She turned to find Arcadia eyeing her with an expression that she couldn’t quite place. Not confusion, not concern, but something in the general arena of those two. Whatever it was, she didn’t think she liked it much, so she turned away sharply. "'Course," she muttered- a single, staccato word that was borne of obligation more than of any desire to become effusive or, for that matter, any particular desire to be truthful. She wasn’t fine. She was getting there, and if tonight went well it would probably shoot her a lot closer, but she doubted she’d ever be completely well. That wasn’t part of the lifestyle her parents had created for her, and it was even less a part of the person they had molded her into. Careers and the state of being ‘okay’ rarely mixed well.

She was close enough, though- and god (or whatever passed for one, in the mind of a killer teenage atheist) forbid her response be negative and reveal any more weakness than she’d already given up. Of course she was fine. There wasn’t exactly any alternative.

Another voice cut in, and Cadia ran her hands through Ferret’s fur to keep from hissing in frustration. This entire Band thing was going to get on her nerves really fast if the people started getting annoying names, too. (Maybe it was a Capitol thing. She’d never heard anyone in even One use names like that- but then again, with names like Rhinestone, you didn’t need to add anything to be disgusting.) She forced her feet to stop and turn, even though her body was begging to just move. "Yes, but you don’t get in on it if you use either or those names again." She stopped and started to turn, then paused to add, "Or if you don’t stop shouting our plans to the hallway." Whether she actually had the authority for that was debatable, but hell- if she was coleader, why not? Either way, she didn’t actually need the power; she just had to act like she had it. Bluffing 101, she could handle (it was 102 that she had problems with).

The last girl- Stark- exited the room. Cadia gave her a curt nod- a greeting, or at least an acknowledgement- then a shake of the head- an answer to the question of distance. Far, it was not. That didn’t mean she wanted to be patient about things, though. The huntress had waited long enough for her prey; it was time to lead the pack (if that was what they were) in for the kill. She made sure Ferret was snug around her neck, checked to make sure all three girls were with her, and slipped into the stairwell at the end of the hallway.

The moment she heard the door click behind her, she began to run, flying down the steps two or three at a time. The sound of footsteps, amplified by the others’ feet behind her and that odd echoing property of staircases everywhere, reverberated through her. She was reminded, a little uncomfortably, of the day she and Arcadia had tried to slink into District One uninvited- and before that, the day she had stepped into her kitchen for what she thought was the last time. Now, as with then, her bones filled her with something that wasn’t words, wasn’t music, but still managed to sing. You’re finally doing something. You’re almost there. They’re almost dead.

Hopefully this time, such a feeling would actually come to pass.

It was hell to make herself stop when she hit the bottom of the stairs, but she didn’t want to make the group stand out by tearing through the lobby of the complex. Every step she took between the door to the ground-floor hallway and the front door was oddly springy. Had the movement not also been so obviously measured, and had her face not been so disturbingly intense (not angry, not upset, just unwaveringly focused on some point ahead that only she could see), Cadia probably would have looked happy. And she was, in a way- was she not?

She stilled just outside the doors, erasing the illusion of happiness, and checked once more to make sure her group- Ferret included- had stayed with her. Everyone was accounted for, so she took off again. For several minutes she followed the map of the area that she’d stored in her head when it became clear that doing so would be useful if not necessary- but the further she went, the less she relied on it and the more things became familiar. Streets that at first glance looked completely different suddenly surfaced in her memory at a glimpse of a tree that still looked the same, a waft of some scent she couldn’t place, a turn of her feet to avoid a pothole. It was like walking through a surrealist painting- Cadia kept having to ask herself things like ’Real or not real? Memory or dream or actuality?’ without ever coming up with a definitive answer.

The lights of the apartment complex and the nearby stores faded away behind her as the distance from it increased, leaving the group in a kind of half-darkness (they were moving into the residential area, and houselights were still on, so it wasn’t totally dark) that was much more comfortable, at least for Cadia. Less chance of being seen. And goodness knew she needed that vestige of consolation, because this was getting more disconcerting by the moment.

Ferret’s claws started to dig into her shoulder, so Cadia reached behind her, first coiling her hair and then bringing the hood of her jacket up over hair and mustelid alike. Doing so turned out to be a win-win (the critter was no longer panicked, and the human got the claws taken away and escaped the bouncing of her hair), which was actually a bit of a shame, because it only lasted for two streets. The house appeared in front of her, larger than she expected and yet somehow smaller than she remembered. It had never been a fancy place; by the standards of District Eleven if was a dream house, which was why she’d been surprised by the size (she hadn’t seen a two-story house in a long while), but in this District it was pretty middle-class. Just... a house. It seemed so much bigger and so much more important in memory- but then, why wouldn’t ir?

Partly to give herself a moment to look it over (had the roof always slanted that steeply, and hadn’t the door been red when she left instead of the brown it was now?), she reached to pull down the hood and uncoil the braid. The hair slithered back down her back, soliciting a curious swat from Ferret, who got swatted in turn by Cadia when she felt the tug on her hair. Ferret squeaked indignantly and tried to jump away, but the teenager caught and grabbed it before it could get anywhere. "Don’t go anywhere," she murmured. "I need you where I can see you tonight." Who knew what a ferret would do when faced with a whole new house that smelled sort of- but not really- like its human? Karlana Alençoão was not fond of small creatures, and Cadia had no desire to see her companion smashed by a shovel because it was stupid enough to get in her mother’s way.

She was about to compose herself to turn to the group and say something when one of the other girls went right by her. Capitol-Girl (honestly, she needed to ask for a name) had apparently gotten even more impatient than she’d displayed earlier, and was storming her brunette self up to the front porch. Cadia followed, allowing amusement to peek through the fluttering of anxiety and anger and pain that went through her stomach every time she looked at the building. She even allowed herself to laugh- whether in mockery or sympathy or genuine amusement, she wasn’t actually sure- as the older girl kicked at the door and stumbled backward in failure. The laughter faded into legitimately respectful silence as Capitol-Girl kicked again, producing a crack. She sputtered her signature shuck and kicked once more. this time finally splintering the wood. The mangled door swung open, allowing electric light to shine out from the entryway.

Cadia listened for a moment, snorting as a high-pitched voice stabbed through the house. Rashior, what was that? Ditzy woman hadn’t changed at all. A nod of impressed gratitude went to Capitol-Girl as she passed the doorway into the house, but only a brief one. Adrenaline was hitting her again, bringing back that anxious, painful rage from before. She reached a hand to the ferret on her shoulder to stabilize herself, then poured all of it into her voice. It lent her volume- not enough to raise her words to a shout, but enough so that the two who needed to would hear it.

"I’m home."



((OOC- Feel free to PP the parents. Kharlana looks almost exactly like Cadia, only some twenty-five years older, and is a ruthless, semiparanoid animal hater who tends to get her mind stuck on one track (she's the one who decided that Lalik!Cadia should be a Career). Rashior is slightly paler with green eyes, is a little heavyset, and is the softer of the two personality-wise (he likes animals and tends to think well of most people he meets) but can be extremely callous if he thinks he needs to be (he’s the one who suggested killing Cadia!Cadia so that she wouldn't get in the way of perfect!Lalik).

[cinder]

Picture this. A scene, from the 50s. The story of a man and a woman, both eager and young, so fresh to this new world of theirs. The rings pressing down on their left pinky-neighboring fingers are not heavy, not so full of pressure and despicable, violent delights. His hair has a sheen to it. Her hips are narrow, none of the tell-tale signs of age and a matronly lifestyle plaguing her Aryan-Ideal body just yet. Suppose she bears a resemblance to our tragic heroine, the Arcadia London. Her hair is that same, soft honey-color, blonder and thick, falling to the shoulders in a tumble of loveliness. Her features are equally lovely, kind and soft with not a wrinkle to damage the effect her face has on a man, and lets just say, to describe a beauty using vulgar terms, that she's still pretty perky for being all the sum of her young years (don't question the sense in that statement, gentle reader. You aren't supposed to ever question the author!)

This is a scene of perfection that has been replayed in the mind of Cady for some years. Ever since she'd started her informal history education, a long and dull process that had only one exciting feature which was the illegality of her textbooks, Arcadia had eyed the cheerful photographs of happier times with... envy. Her heart had hoped to one day be happy, to look like the girl in the picture, with a child and a husband and a love that would forever last.

There had even been a video clip, grainy and dark--a man called out to his wife. "Honey, I'm ho-ome!

Lets flash back to reality, a place where Cadia was entering her childhood house through a kicked down door and hollering to her 'rents in a very, very different manner than the man to his wife. Arcadia was shocked by the situation, her mind automatically compared and contrasted the grainy video to what was playing out now. Strange how things had changed, it was so scary and bad, bad, bad to see her childhood dreams flying out the window. Was this what had replaced years of carefully cultivated visions of a peaceful adulthood?

Why yes it was.

Truth is that sometimes the fresh, new love between a man and a woman just doesn't cut it. You need a woman in love with a strong girl, its a tragedy in the works. That child on the hip? I prefer low-slung jeans on my hips. The appeal that glowing cheeks and soft, blonde hair once held--in the end, happiness isn't something you can capture in just one moment, just one perfect family. Happiness is the sharp angles and sharper mind of a young girl who is satisfied.

Ten years ago, five minutes ago if you had told Cady she was content with being a hired-killer with an 'Its Complicated' relationship status, all skin and bones with pointy edges, she would have had a laughing fit. Now happiness can't be defined by that one whatever, but in one moment Arcadia had realized everything was okay. All those ideals had left her mind forever. As Arcadia silently stalked in through the doorway, she thought to herself that as far as fantasies of meeting your fantasy girlfriends parents went, this one was by far her favorite. It wasn't every day you got to witness the murder of the evil in-laws.

ooc- y'all told me to post, I don't have time to make anything that is lengthy makes sense or [c]is cool.

Anywho, wanna NPC Arcadia a lil bit?

[phunke]

Kicking things must be immensely satisfying. You know how a lot of little girls daydream about becoming fashion designers or stylists or whatever? I can't say for certain because I've blocked out so many childhood memories, but I'm pretty sure that most of my fantasies were about kicking things. Never having gotten many legitimate opportunities to slam objects with my foot, I always wondered what it felt like. You could say it was a goal of mine, a desire even. When you think about it, it seems like an action that would pretty much come naturally to me, being the somewhat violent person that I am. Unfortunately, this is not the case.
Don't ask me what the house looked like, because I have no clue. All I saw was the door, that marvelous, beautiful door. It made it almost worth the running - that godawful running we did, with only a short walk-break to cross the lobby. I do not enjoy huffing down a staircase several steps behind a bunch of younger, fitter girls; to top that with a couple blocks taken at speed and it was not a happy time for me. But the door...it's calling to me, ensconcing me in a euphoria that relieves my complaining muscles and allows me to ignore the film of sweat sitting uncomfortably on my skin. I know this door is meant for me. It has one purpose: to be kicked down.

These girls are all wimps. Okay, maybe they aren't total wimps because I'm pretty sure they've all killed people before and I haven't murdered anyone since I was 4 - what a shame - but seriously? Do none of them see the awesome fantasticalness that is this door? Running around town, acting like they have some idea what they're going to do, and everyone comes to a grinding halt because there's a big, scary, goddamned door. Clearly, it's time for the dispensible, useless Capitol priss to intervene. Without another pause, I blast up to the door and in one rush of stored adrenaline - years, if you will, of pent-up anxiety and need to kick shit, for this very moment - I shoot my foot into it.
It's a failure. It turns out I'm not very effective at kicking stuff and my foot hurts like nobody's shucking business. So, a tiny voice croons in my head, maybe, nala-darling, little miss arrogance, you can just step away from the door and let the big girls do the real work.
Yeah. As shucking if.
Attempt #2 goes a little better. My foot still hurts like hell but I've gotten a hang of the swinging motion that accompanies the typical kick. That crack that the door makes as fragments of wood begin to give way is more satisfying than anything I've ever deamt of, really. But will it ever actually break down? It has to be possible. "Shuck, shuckety shucking shuck. Shuck shuck shuckshuckshuck..." My voice is little more than a frustrated mutter, but it at least allows me to release some of my mental tension so I can focus on the damn door. Kick number three. The door goes down. I begin to register some of what might just be appreciative laughter coming from that quiet chick, Sweetheart I think, the one who's like scarily the leader of this group. I say 'scarily' because, well, she has a shucking ferret for one, and for two she doesn't really say anything so she must weild some unsaid power. Despite the fact that I rarely acknowledge unsaid power, I do feel a bit...proud, I suppose, when she laughs like that. Maybe I am worth something. Maybe she's just making fun of my stupid ass. I traipse into the house after her and Princess, and suddenly Ms. Quiet-Power has responded to the ditzy cries of her parental unit with a resounding "I'm home." It makes me smile. Maybe this girl does have some testicles attached. Perhaps she deserves just a speck more respect than I've paid her thus far.

Suddenly, I actually stop to give a shuck about what Sweetheart's parents were saying. They are her parents, right? Have I been paying any attention during this whole meeting? Not really, the crooning voice in my head whispers mockingly. I shake my head, oily brown hair flicking at my cheeks, dragging bits of sweat from them; only a few strands stick and those I brush away impatiently. Rashior, what was that?
Rashior.
Rashior.
Her father. We've come here to kill Sweetheart's mother, and that's all well and good - hell, I wouldn't half mind killing my mother, given the chance - but dear old dad? My whole face clenches as I glare at Silent-Power-Chick. What right does she have, what motivation could she have, for wanting to kill the man who raised her? Does she have no appreciation? Why am I so angry? Winter. Hot chocolate. A single flower. Did poisonous flowers even grow in the Capitol? I guess. Police. Splintering relationships as the mother of the household drags her shattered reputation back into a whole, even though it was shattered by a tiny girl, a tiny little four-year-old g-
"Fuck this."
My cracking voice, thankfully, stayed at a whisper. Uselessly I hope that none of the other girls heard me; realistically I know they did. The house is, for the most part, rather quiet. Clearing my throat, I glance around with a flickering gaze that hints at anxiety. Finally, my voice comes out, you know, normal. "So, are we - what's the battle plan? I mean, they obviously know we're here, so...are we just..." My voice trails off with the realization that I was addressing no one in particular. I have no idea what I'm doing here. I have no idea how to kill someone, except a father, and that's something I'd like to avoid repeating.

ooc; DONE!

[aya]

Stark Harper —

Nothing made Stark feel more out of place than the way with which Cadia had made her announcement. "I'm home," she'd said. Just like that. Two words, elegant and powerful in their simplicity. The way the pair of syllables was pronounced sent a chill down Stark's back, the dramatic sort that only further convinced her that this was a television series, and going to be a damned good one, at that.

She bit her lip to prevent an anxious, exhilarated laugh from escaping her mouth, one whose origin she couldn't exactly place. She wasn't supposed to be there, not really, and the kills weren't going to be hers in any way — this was a vengeance trip, after all. So what was it that the entire Bureau of Sarcasm had even been assembled for? Wouldn't it have been easier to get them together at some point after? It had always seemed clear to Stark that the more people who were involved in a mission, the greater the chance of failure.

But maybe, when the rest of the — dare she even think it — team was as competent and more than capable, the operation stood a better chance of success, instead of being compromised by some person, or some obstacle. For example, the door: Miss Capitol made fairly short work of it, though based on the string of what Stark took to be some sort of Capitol swearword, it couldn't have mede her foot feel too particularly good. It wasn't to say that the other three couldn't have gotten it down some how, but it didn't matter now, because it had cracked and splintered and come completely open.

Now inside the house, it made Stark feel better to hear Miss Capitol ask, after swearing once more, what the battle plan was. She herself was as in the dark as the door-kicker, and therefore had no answer, but it occurred to her that it might be a good idea to establish a perimeter or some sort, to prevent Cadia's parents — Cadia's victims — from making any sort of escape. She shifted her weight a bit, contemplating actually doing that, but ultimately decided against. She knew nothing about the house's layout and very little about the general area, herself living on the opposite end of the district. But, most of all, she didn't want to miss the action.

There was a certain bloodthirstiness that surfaced in the primal portion of the pale girl's mind from time to time, particularly when combat was drawing close. It was the sort of thing that kept her from hesitating when the moment came that she'd launch her attack — a Career instinct, trained into her, and one that, should she actually, statistics forbid, somehow end up in the Games, the one that would keep her alive. It was fairly unwanted at the moment, however, as she had nothing to actually kill; it was causing her undue restlessness, a tense and troubled need to actually do something, but for the moment — however brief it really was, it seemed at least eighty times longer — there was absolutely nothing to be done.

So she found the lights, instead, and was about to switch them on, but stopped. Perhaps it was a scene-ruiner, drawing away from the dramatics of the reunion between wretched parents — what was taking them so long? — and murderous daughter. Stark knew that she was just as skilled with a knife in the dark as she was in the light, and assumed the same of at least the other two district girls — Miss Capitol, on the other hand, she wasn't so sure about, although that suspicion had very little supporting evidence beyond the sort of prejudice that grew up with a person living outside of the governing city.

Even in District One, there was a fair amount of hate that ebbed and flowed, usually influenced by how long it had been since they'd had a victory in the Hunger Games. At the moment, that was much too long ago, not that Stark particularly cared. She next to never knew the tributes personally, and for those that she did, it was more often better than worse when they died. Stark didn't know a lot of people that she actually liked. Probably didn't even know any.

Taking a step forward to ease her own discomfort at not doing anything Stark slid her hand back into her jacket's pocket, wrapping her fingers around her switchblade. It was her security blanket; she hated to spend more than a few moments without its comfortable weight tugging on her jacket, or its smooth grip that felt as if it were made to be in the blonde's hand at all times. It was a weakness that went beyond Careers in general, but resonated more closely to the shellshocked victors of the district, the kind that woke up screaming in the middle of the night, horrors that had been documented on video decades before still fresh in their minds.

Stark, of course, had no such nightmares. The only think that came close to traumatizing in her past was the time she'd been cornered and cut by the several large Career boys as a twelve-year-old. But she'd had her retribution, and the scene had never really haunted her. If anything, it enhanced her ability to be so unaffected by the death and distress of others. No — not unaffected. Just not effected negatively.

She eyed the three other girls for a moment, tried to figure out what was going on in their heads. But, really, she was only interested in Cadia and her response to the culmination what Stark could only assume was a year or so of frustration and harbored resentment of the most powerful kind. After all, the elapsing of time surely couldn't move anyone of the Band's caliber to reach catharsis regarding people they'd meant to kill several years ago. So with the excitement of someone belonging to the Capitol viewing audience, Stark looked on, waiting for the other girl's parents to enter the room.

ooc- sorry for the lateness and the utter crap.

[/size]

[WT]

((OOC- I don't know whether to be sorrier for the wait or the post. >.> I'm praying for Cadia to start cooperating, but I don't think it's going to happen.

Er. Violence, by the way. Mostly vague, but if you have a weak stomach for that sort of thing, skimming might be your best option.))


Rashior, what was that?

The moment her mother's voice hit the end of the hallway, all else ceased to exist. Vaguely Cadia was aware of that one of the others was speaking, but the words passed her by far too slowly to distinguish meaning or even identity. Time was stalled, preserving all too perfectly the sight of Kharlana's face twisting from confusion to shock as she skidded into the hallway. It had been over two years, but there was no mistaking a face that was so nearly a mirror of her own, even if the years hadn't taught her the maze of soft lines and sharp features. Her father's pale eyes and light skin were less easily recognizable (why were his eyes so shadowed now, and had he grown fatter in the past few years?), but there would be no one else in this house, and no one who .

Moments trudged by, slow but determined to carry on, and forced the trio into an awkward impasse. Somewhere behind her Cadia could feel the presence of three others, and Ferret's breath warmed her ear periodically, but only the barest of attention was paid to these- enough to make sure they didn't suddenly become threatening, and no more. All her awareness was focused on the couple who had raised her, or at least tried to. In return, they stared at her, inching a little closer together but otherwise standing like statues in their own entryway

It was Kharlana who broke it. Cadia smirked as her mother stepped forward. Always the impatient one. Always the one who didn't care one iota for the methods so long as the results were satisfactory. Always the stupid one. "Lalik."

"You heard the voice. Who else?" Cadia shifted her weight subtly, then took two steps forward. She wasn't sure whether to be impressed or disgusted that her mother didn't back up. That depended on the motive, which was either courage (which the teenager had a reluctant regard for, though also a certain disdain- courage tended to get people killed faster) or the mistaken idea that she still had some semblance of control over the girl she had birthed (which, obviously, did not sit well with said girl). "I haven't used that name for a long time, though. It's Cadia now."

At that, Kharlana flinched. Cadia laughed softly, a rattling and humorless sound that would have grated on even her nerves if they hadn't already been stretched far past their limit by this day. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Another soft footfall followed the words, and this time her mother moved backward, pressing her back into the wall before the carpet had even finished sinking down. Rashior still hovered in the background, looking confused; soon enough he would make up his mind about whatever was going through it, and someone would have to deal with him, but for now all her focus was on Kharlana.

Ferret poked its head out from the confines of the hood and nosed Cadia's ear, squeaking quietly. At the site of the small creature Kharlana narrowed her eyes, and with that snapped out of her silence. "Why are you in this house, Lalik? And who are all these girls, more victims of your-"

Softly Cadia slid up to her mother and dug the tip of her knife into the woman's upper arm. "Perversion?" she finished, her voice quiet and deadly. "Ruin? Failure? Such kind words you pull off that note in the fire for the daughter you haven't seen in years."

Rashior spoke for the first time, his voice cold. Unwilling to take her eyes off Kharlana, who had been a Career in her own day and probably still retained at least some of that training, Cadia didn't look at him. All the same, she could see his expression changing, hardening into the distrust and anger that the past few years had associated her with. (Cadia felt a brief pang at the realization that if anyone had said five years ago that they would be having this conversation, she would have threatened them until her father, laughing, put a hand to her shoulder and told her to calm down. So much had changed since then. He was not the same man who had picked her up and swung her 'round as a child, and she was no longer the girl who had showed off her new tricks and beamed when he praised her.) "You're about as much a daughter as that ferret."

Cadia snorted and shook her head. "We both know perfectly well you like the rodent."

In the old days, he would have laughed and relented. Without any hard feelings he would have stretched out his hand to pet Ferret, and Lalik wouldn't have been able to shove the pest into his hands fast enough- presuming Cadia didn't snatch it away and choke it with cuddling first. Now, though, that was impossible. Somewhere along the line, some links had snapped, the ends left waving loose in the air. Rashior didn't chuckle, didn't come toward her, didn't even smile. If anything, his face got even darker, and though they were quieter his next words were angry enough to make even her shiver. "That poison-"

She raised her voice, trying to drown his up before any more memories were dredged up. She can't be dead! That's dumb! You're lying, you're just lying because you don't want me to skip training tomorrow- This isn't funny, take it back now before I-! "The first poison was your idea, no?"

"-disowned you." Soft-spoken as he was, Rashior had always been a master at making sure he was heard if need be. Against his daughter's smaller vocal chords, he had to do little more than puff himself up a bit to drown her out.

This time Cadia didn't laugh, but she did shake her head and smile the slightest bit. "Killing her disowned you."

The knife twisted home.

Really, the screaming didn't last too long; it doesn't take much skin to cover a human arm, and anyone taught from their kindergarten days how to kill and eat their own food is by definition an efficient skinner. Even so, those few minutes could easily have been much longer. For Cadia, they were years of that high-pitched voice raking across nerves that were already snapping; for Kharlana, an eon of agony as the one person she should have been able to love above all else ripped apart a piece of her for the third time in her short lifetime; for Rashior, timeless agony as he watched, trapped in a cage woven from the same helplessness that had overcome Lalik years ago at the sight of Cadia's body. It would have been longer- she was fully set to start on the other arm- but a sudden scrape of leather on carpet alerted her. Drops of red flicked from the blade onto the wall as she jumped away, leaving her mother to groan on the floor in favor of dealing with Rashior. The one male in the house had managed to pull himself forward and lunge forward, unarmed but ferocious. Fortunately for Cadia, his eyes were as much on his wife as his daughter, and his jump fell short. She cried out as her leg was wrenched backward, but didn't fall, and once he was on the ground it was easy enough to throw herself on top of him, knees on his stomach and chest so that he was pinned.

Pain blossomed in her cheek; confused, she pulled her head back a bit and found her own dagger discomfortingly near to her eye. Stupidly- worse than that, clumsily- she had thrown her limbs around without thinking about what was attached to their ends. Enraged all the more by her own incompetence, she twisted the offending arm so that the blade stopped running onto her hand and instead dripped onto her father's forehead.

"You deserve so much longer," she hissed, her voice trembling with the effort of not tearing everything around her, herself included, to pieces. "But I want the two years you're borrowed back, dammit."

The knife plunged down, squelching as it cut through its eye. Cadia was vaguely aware of a slight gasping sound that seemed to be coming from beneath her, but couldn't be. Before she had the chance to figure it out, Kharlana's pained whimpers rose sharply and obscured the softer sound. Without even bothering to get up, Cadia whirled and threw herself at her mother. Their screams mixed, one wordless and the other worded but incoherent, as the teenager channeled years of annoyance and frustration and rage and pain into every motion. Long after the older woman had stopped resisting, long after the breath for screaming ran out, Cadia continued to tear at her with blade and teeth alike.

At some point she tired herself out and just lay there, her limbs still tangled with what was left of Kharlana's. Ferret picked its way through the blood to touch its nose to hers cautiously, dragging out a choked laugh that scratched the teenager's through. It was qsuickly overtaken by a sob- and not the first, either, if she was judging the pattern of heat on her cheeks correctly. When had she started sobbing? Why? Wasn't this supposed to be a good thing?

Dammit, it was a good thing! Cadia rolled violently away from the mangled body beside her and pushed herself to her feet. Despite herself, her stomach roiled as blood and tears and snot dripped off her drenched skin and clothes, leading her eyes to the pieces of flesh scattered over the floor and the larger mass they had come from. Every hiccup- she couldn't banish the crying entirely, but she could push it down- became a battle with nausea, but she couldn't force herself to look away. This wasn't anything like the kills she was used to, which were clean and as quick as she could make them. This was the kind of thing you saw in war and asylums- and the longer she looked at it, the less she had a problem with it.

Slowly the realization that she wasn't alone dawned on her, and as she hiccupped for the last time she tore her eyes from the ground to the others. In the mayhem she had forgotten about the others- which was unfair to them, perhaps, but she couldn't bring herself to care. This had been building for over two years now. Maybe she didn't feel any better because of it- it was too soon to say, really- but either way, this had needed to be her- her family's?- moment. Team or not, these were still strangers. Outsiders.

Awfully intimate all of a sudden, though, for outsiders. Cadia found herself wanting to turn away so they couldn't see the state her face was in; even Arcadia, who had seen her almost this bloody in the midst of hunting trips and Capitol assaults, had never seen her like this. It seemed horribly wrong, somehow. The longer lucidity sunk in, the more she realized just how out of it she had really been, and there was only one person should ever have been allowed to be around her when she was like that.

Then again, that one person was also the one she'd least like to have around at a time like this, so what did she have to complain about? There was only one option: suck it up, clean the mess, and move forward.

"There'll be no cleaning this carpet," she said, tightening her throat just a little to keep her voice steady. It hurt, but it worked. "I think leaving the kills to be found was their purpose, though. Do we just... cut and run?" And maybe grab a change of clothes, she added privately. It would take longer than they probably had to get her cleaned up properly, but even a small change might help alleviate the sheer squalor.

A noise issued from the general direction of the bodies; half-expecting Rashior to stand up and come after her, Cadia whirled, nearly nicking herself again as she raised her weapon too quickly. As it turned out, she had nothing to worry about; Ferret had deemed the strange food safe and was now digging into what appeared to be part of Kharlana's intestine. Cadia snorted, then cracked up, leaning against the wall to keep herself upright as the laughter made her aware of a slight shaking in her knees. "Stupid- pet-" she sputtered, fighting to keep from sliding down the wall into the puddle. Not that she could get any dirtier at this point, but it was the principle of the thing. "Good- god, you are- such a little glutton!"

Shaking her head, she forced herself to calm down again. No doubt the others thought she had completely lost it- if, indeed, any of them had ever thought she had it. Anyone handpicked by the Capitol was unlikely to be totally sane by usual standards, after all. Usual standards were a long way away from here, though, even with the normal passage of time restored.