to the neon god t h e y m a d e

A soul lost screaming in the ether -- to matter, to be anything -- but left wanting and waiting and bitter in her call.

[cacineadh-blog]

Yo hit the heart for a personal starter from my bitter Rushi. I want more threads.

[cacineadh-blog]

frankensteinschimera‌:

Kilian is standing somewhere in the back, a statue of muscle and the beaming example of what these kids need to shape their body to look like in order to meet the agency’s standards. It’s all bullshit and manipulation, because the variety of work they do hardly requires all of them to look like Kilian, or be as good as Rushi insists in terms of combat. It’s useful, sure, but not necessary for all agents.

Once she’s done diminishing their morale and disbands them, Kilian finally speaks. “You didn’t manage to make anyone cry today. Someone’s losing their touch. Unless you’re trying to be a better person, but that can’t be it.”

It was true. Her constant harping over their need to be the best was mostly because of her own hang-ups rather than anything to do with the program, but she didn’t seem likely to back down based on that merit, either. A towel ran across her neck, wiping away a layer of sweat she hadn’t attended until everyone had left, as she was more than adept at making it through every motion they did and then some. Lead by example, after all.

“Who says I wasn’t trying to make them cry? Perhaps they’re just finally hardening a bit in the way that I want them to.” Rushi said with a shrug, then looked up at Kilian, her lips pursed; the truth was her mind had been elsewhere, if only briefly, still struggling after this long with her own failings, “That being said I could push you right now for a little extra training?”

And a little extra time to blow off some steam for her.

[runwaydoll]

Lucy Liu 1999

[cacineadh-blog]

Bitterness was Rushi’s bread and butter from the day she was born, and it only continued to grow through the years as disappointment clouded her every motion. Though she excelled at physical combat, in her youth she existed in an age where it was frowned upon for women to be such; she was quick as a whip but considered a bitch for it also; she was too old by the time she reached the program to undergo any sort of transformation and was left, instead, training agents who she felt (perhaps a bit naively) were not as skilled or half as clever as she, but it rarely came out in anger and instead in a fiercer form of training.

If they should succeed her in such a way, she wanted to see it through their motions. 

She walked down the line of bodies, eyes unwavering as she watched the form of each person under her tutelage that day, stopping before one and her lips quirked down into a frown, “Your movements are sloppy and I get that you’re special but we need you to be extraordinary.”

[ohboybasically]