Caimile Rasoio D8 {Finished}

[Dana Lheureux D9F [Tom]]

Name: Caimile Rasoio
Age: 20
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 8
Appearance:

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Personality:

"Better than yours."

History:

"You wouldn't be able to handle it."

[Dana Lheureux D9F [Tom]]

Writing Thoughts "Hears" "Says"

Innocence.

A word that was all too familiar to me. I’ve been told this since I was a little girl. I was always seen as the most innocent out of all of the Rasoio’s according to the public. A cute, small girl whose smile is a rare occurrence. They all saw me as that cute and small girl, until I pull my cap out, that’s when the innocence vanishes from their thoughts, and all they see is the person I truly am; their worst nightmare. The smile that had been upon my face an act, only to hide my teeth, sharp and deadly. A female spider, waiting for the perfect moment to strike the male spider, sinking my perfect and venomous teeth into the weak male.

My prey sits nervously in the chair, sweat dripping down his strong face. The terror in his eyes feeding my joy, a fire erupts in my chest. The terror upon his eyes fuels the flames needed to live my life of fun. His words fumble out of lips that begin to quiver in fear, a stutter already exposed to the air, "Please! I don't have the money. One more week, I promise!" The plea was nothing, but a lie. A week before I had done the same thing, a week for him to get the money. I watched and waited from afar. A wave to him here and there during the week. I did this because playing with the prey was my favorite part of being in the family gang. To watch their measly bodies squirm under my watch, a new fear struck into their hearts while I sit back and laugh.

A laugh echoes from my chest, my toned body shakes with every look on his face. The sweat that falls down his face, the look in his eyes, and the quivering lip make me want to toy with him more, but dad always told me one chance and then they answer to the razor blades. My hand grabs his jaw, my long nails pushing into his cheeks. My laugh echoes throughout the room. The sounds of panic coming from his lips makes me stronger. My venomous fangs ready to extend to his neck, but my voice comes out first. "Shush now, Mr. Harding. Don't want to make things worse, do you now?" My hand moves his head side to side, showing off his neck and face more to my eyes. I don't smile, I slash. I slash at his defenseless body with my fangs, the razor blades, slicing into his face. The screams muffled by my hand holding him down. The other hand occupied with the cap of razors slashing at him.

The air in the room is thick and I finally let go of his annoying face. His blood streams down his face, alive and still well, but painful for him. My voice breaks the silent and tense air, "I'm not gonna ask nicely again, Mr. Harding. Where's our money?" Tied to a chair and probably in immense pain, the man didn't answer. A laugh falls from my mouth, my blades ready to strike again, until he points the best he can to a small box tucked away in the corner. My brown eyes watch it. The little thing looked like it could hold a bit of money. My soft, but deadly hands open the box to show that he had the money to pay them back, twice over. Fury filled my body, I let out another evil laugh. My hand grabs his cheeks again, I'm stabbing my nails as hard as I can on his face. My voice filled with rage and anger, "Looks like you've had the money needed for a long while. I'm not happy, Mr. Harding. Neither will my father when he finds out."

My blades already slash at him, the terror in his eyes fades as I leave, cap back in place upon my head. My dark hair sticking out the back of it. My gorgeous features shining through all of the chaos. No smile, no happiness, nothing showed across my face. The voice I let fall out to the cleaners is emotionless, "Do your job boys, Mr. Harding won't be taking visitors anymore." My slim, yet athletic body moves away from the scene, my dark brown eyes staring ahead as the scene vanishes from my memory never to be remembered again.

My heels click on the floor as I walk steadily down to the room my father and Jenoah would be. Jenoah was my brother, and yet, I didn't like him. I don't know what father say in him. Skill, Intelligence, Success. I had all of those and yet here I am, having to do all the dirty work for my father and eventually, I'll have to do it for Jenoah when he gets older. This was my suffering for all of my life, a father who is too stupid to realize I would be a better fit, a little brother who doesn't even want to be a part of the gang. It frustrated me to the core of my being.

The door was unlocked, my soft, lanky hands twisting the knob. My black hair swaying back and forth as I open and close the door. Father is already staring at me, a cap in his hands, but a smile on his face as soon as he notices me. All an act. That's what it always was. An act, he didn't care. No one cared about me, Caimile Rasoio, only I could watch my back. I can't trust anyone, but myself. I smile back in a fake way, Jenoah nowhere to be seen. Father's voice was questioning me, "Did Mr. Harding pay up?" My laugh escapes and my body relaxes. I sit down in a chair, crossing my long legs as I sit. My voice comes out calmly, it was all in good fun, "Of course, Father. When don't I get the money? Never." A chuckle escapes his body as he exits the room, already knowing Mr. Harding was most likely dead. Father only sent me when things got difficult, since I know my way around getting what I want, I always have since I was little. Father knew I enjoyed watching the people cower and fill with the gorgeous look of terror.

I've gotten most things I've wanted, unless I had no choice in the matter or father was involved. Jenoah got the praise and will eventually get the gang, even though I'm the oldest. The smartest. The strongest. The ruthless. None of that mattered, Jenoah was smart, Jenoah was strong, Jenoah was ruthless, but Jenoah was weak and had no interest in the gang like I did. And yet, he gets the gang, because he was a man, and I, a woman, couldn't have that. THough, I know that's not the real reasoning, just the one I use consistently. If mother was still around, she would have convinced him to put me in charge, but mother was gone.

Mother was dead.

I still remember the stench of the fire as it burned mother's body to a crisp. Only ashes left of her that flew in the wind to wherever it could take her. A deal gone wrong, people came for vengeance. A tongue sent back to their people in charge, and they decided to burn the only person who I truly cared about. That's how I weaved my web of fear. Mother made me kind. Mother made me nice. Mother was the one who made me innocent, but the fire took that all away. Forcing me to be the stone cold, predator that father loved. That father wanted to do all of their dirty work. I miss mother, but who didn't miss her. A kind woman with a background of crime and gang work. Impressive in everything she did. Unfortunate soul lost to a fire that burned down the Caimile and put me in place.

I still remember days where Mother and I would bake or cook. I'd help stir whatever was in the pot, make sure mother set the temperature right. That was a long time ago. Three years without a mother to tell me if I am doing alright. Life still went on, I still moved on. My life was pretty normal before mother passed. I went to school, I did all the normal stuff any little girl would have done. Only mother and father knowing what truly went on in the house. Mother taught me how to defend myself and soon, I took it up as a skill for defense, until her death. That's when I changed it into an offense, using the caps was my new skill and my new hobby. Father saw my potential in dealing with the problems. I weaved my web once mother burned, the ashes giving a purpose to my life.

A death to make a new me.

Now I sit here before my family, everything as normal as it could seem, but we all had our own stories. Stories of how we became the predators in District Eight. Stories of triumph and pain. Stories of the people we've cut, beaten, and bruised. Everyone had a tale, and yet we eat in silence. Out weaknesses hidden deep, if you had one. Your strength shining through. Trust never truly existing between anyone, except for the fact of keeping one another alive and safe from the rest of the ugly world. Silence was the norm. Violence was our game, and I played to win.

[Dana Lheureux D9F [Tom]]

Lancelot has dibs

lance

[lance]

She really puts the fatal in femme fatale.

ACCEPTED!