[floralrage]

@reptilcs

"What was it you said that time, again -- 'come to you in five years?'" The smile on her face was the most real she'd worn in who knew how long. Pure unrestrained glee. Smugness too. She'd waited to speak until the glass doors of the elevator had closed behind the two of them distributing them onto their floor of the Training Centre. Floors below them in the underground hospital deep below even the large training area people were running around preparing for the ship that held the newest victor heading straight in from the arena. Outside people were celebrating the end of the games. Hannah for once wasn't disgusted by it all. No, instead she was drunk on victory -- and perhaps the lingering taste of whatever that drink was that she'd been given in toast before they'd left to begin preparations for the aftermath of the new District 2 victory. It was her first win as mentor, and there would be so much to do over the next few days. But it would take perhaps another fifteen minutes for the boy to arrive, and no doubt he'd be unconscious for a while after and it would likely be at least a few hours before she had to get to the real work. For now, she could simply luxuriate in the glow of the win.

"Well, how about three instead, darling?"

[reptilcs]

"That is not what I meant and you know it." The end of the Games always left him exhausted. It usually followed weeks of nonstop work- of mentoring his tributes, arranging sponsors, meeting with other victors, conducting interviews and being seen. There were circles under his eyes that some Capitol prep team member would cover before the cameras arrived. In his eight years as mentor, Hannah was the only tribute who had returned home- and now there was a new Victor to welcome to their ranks. A new neighbour to occupy a house in the Victor's Village. "Is it still everything you dreamed of?" Volunteering was a double edged blade- dying or becoming a victor all in the name of honour and pride. A life of luxury paid in blood. A price one never stopped paying.

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

 If she’d asked her sister or Christopher they’d have told her what it was like to kill. That wasn’t the information she needed. That didn’t matter. That was a hurdle to overcome. She’d figured out from years spent in the victors village that killing felt different to everybody and you could never fully anticipate what the first felt like. She’d deal with it when the time came. Lacee’s information was far more salient. 

The arena. That was a threat most people forgot to calculate in. The arena and the audience and the gamemakers. It wasn’t simply enough to be the best, not always. If you lost your mind because you couldn’t take the suffocation… the isolation… well, you were as good as dead. 

Lacee had simply confirmed what Charlie had feared. But fear could be conquered just as long as you acknowledged it instead of ran from it. Cowardice kills. Charlie would be no coward. Even if- Well, it was more a question of when, wasn’t it? Because she was going to do the thing she’d very carefully not been thinking about. And when Lacee said those next words ‘Make him like you,” there was no more avoiding it. Cowardice kills.

“I will,” she promised. Guiltily, a little part of her thought that it wouldn’t be hard to make the poor boy like her. The basis was already there. Just a nudge, just a little push and actually she thought she could make it so he was half-way in love with her. He’d never been subject to her and Lacee and their brand of cruelty. Even if he had, it was usually her friend they turned their ire to and not Charlie. She was always simply the loyal friend in so many people’s eyes. Dragged into whatever mischief her pseudo sister decided for the day. She’d used that to their advantage time and time again. Nobody ever thought Charlie capable of the things she was. 

Yes, better to make him like her. Maybe then he’d overlook all of those too clear signs that ultimately she and her sister were more alike than anything. It needed to be a surprise it needed- Ah. There it was.

Charlie shifted her head such that her hair fell mostly over one shoulder. She smiled. It was the same one she gave people after she’d won something. The bed was soft underneath her but in her chest her heart was steady. Resolute.

The key was the audience. And she had to make the boy like to win the people watching. If she died then it would be a punishment to the entire watching capitol audience. Let them love her. Let them love her for her own merit and not for a story her sister spun. She could spin a story too.

“I don’t need to worry about weakness. I just need to make them love me.” 

.

Hannah and her father had made sure they were well trained- better trained than any other in their district, even their fellow classmates training th volunteer. They would do all the same lessons as their classmates, only to come home to more. 

She had been so happy when Charlie moved in next door. There weren’t many children in the Victor’s Village, and Charlie was exactly Lacee’s age. It was almost like having a built in friend, a partner in mischief, someone who understood without ever having to speak of it. 

There were weeks each summer when her father was away in the Capitol where she would stay with Charlie and her mother. It was easier than being carted off to her grandmother’s in one of the villages on the other side of the district. 

Her childhood home was large and empty. Only she and her father to fill it. As a girl she had her bedroom, a playroom, her father had turned another of the spare rooms into a library, in addition to the study there already was. Hannah’s home felt less empty, with Charlie and Celine there too. It had a life.

She had never truly missed her mother- how could you miss someone you had no memories of? - but sometimes Celine made her think she did. She knew her father loved her. She saw it in the way he rolled his eyes when she mocked his writing, when he could make her favourite food, in the way he had ensured she was so well trained.

“Then do so.” Charlie could, she had seen it thousands of times. “Make them love you, and I will make sure you have what you need.”

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

“Well, you didn’t win through brains did you?” He’d saw what she’d done. The way she’d killed Ajax- slaughtered him really - a boy she’d grown up alongside. She felt no guilt for it. Would never feel guilt for it. Why should she feel guilt for surviving? Christopher had looked at her that night before the games and told her he’d send her favourite flowers to her mother when she died. If she’d pictured his face too whilst she stabbed Ajax, did that make her wrong? If she’d smiled when the blood covered her hands because she’d taken away the chosen winner? Well, that only made her human. She’d do it again. She’d do it right now in fact.

Once she might have tossed her hair back in arrogance, laughed at him as she looked down her nose and sneered. But right now her blood sang of violence and the way he’d stepped closer to her, a mirror or her own actions, only seemed like an open invitation. Her hand clenched and unclenched. If she smacked him would he hit her back? Her breath caught. Was that ancticipation? No, that and the blood fleesing from her cheeks was something else. Come to me in five years, darling. Every word after just stoked the fire. 

He should have known better. That was what she told herself as her hand formed into a fist and collided with his face. It was perfect form as far as those things went. She’d been taught by the very best, after all. Just like he had. Her hand was going to bruise later, but right now she barely felt it. All she felt was her heart pounding in her chest and the beginnings of what she feared were tears building in her eyes.

“You’re no better than me,” she hissed. If she were to have his hatred then she’d earn it. “I’ll kill myself in five years if I’m anything like you. Do you send flowers home with each coffin, is it that which rotted away at your heart? Or was my case just a special offer?” 

.

If the hit to his face was a match, he became the fuse. All the tension in his body was directed to one thing. He had spent three weeks watching her on a screen, forced to relive his own time in the arena for the fifth time. He was a bow, strung tight, waiting to loose an arrow. And when she touched him, it was set free.

He lunged at her, one hand reaching for hers, the other for her throat. He had spent weeks watching her slaughter her way to life, learning her movements, studying her. Christopher knew better than most that even pretty girls could be deadly. 

Five years later and the instincts of the game were seemed as fresh as yesterday. Once the cameras were gone, the farce of smiles disappeared. He was no longer seventeen, no longer in the arena- but that did not mean the games were over.

You’re no better than me. It echoed in his head. He might have bloodied himself too- but he didn’t turn his back on allies. The image of her, with that smile upon her face, would haunt him. How could he trust her, how could any of them trust her, work with her, in the years to come?

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

What a sanctimonious piece of- He was watching her like she was a feral dog of some sort. Worse like she a mutt in the games. Well, perhaps he should. She had just killed a bunch of inexperienced children after all, hadn’t she? Slaughtered them all to secure her own victory and life. Her left hand twitched. Not all of them had been inexperienced though, and she had began as innocent as any of her fellows. It wasn’t like she’d been the only career. The way he said it, the way he implied like her victory was nothing– oh she wanted to bare her teeth. She wanted to rip out that throat so he couldn’t say anything else. But despite what he implied she hadn’t gained her win by pure brutality. It had taken work. She hadn’t won the sympathy vote by watching her ex-girlfriend die. 

“I didn’t know the children in your games were all experienced killers. How difficult that must have been for you. Was there a rule change that year?” She tilted her chin upwards. Not a stubborn jut but a declaration. Of what she didn’t quite know. She took a shallow breath and leaned in. “Do you know what I think? I think you got lucky, you’re nothing special. If you were then I wouldn’t be your first tribute to survive. Maybe you are hard to kill, but you don’t have any special knowledge to pass on to the inexperienced children you send to their deaths each year. You need to get over your ego.”

.

She had trained for the games just as he had. Years learning to fight. Handed weapons as children, told to fight, that it was an honour to be chosen. An honour. People at home believed it, many of the Victors still did. Did she? Would she come to the relization later? Did he still think it was? He had to, or he would not spend so much effort trying to bring his tributes home. If it was not an honour, it would be kinder to leave them to the arena.

“You think I’m lucky?” It was his turn to step forward, to look down at her face. Was she proud of what she had done? Of the bloodshed, of the lives taken. Of the boy she slaughtered, the one she grew up knowing. “Come to me in five years, darling.” They had both survived the games, both had innocent blood on their hands. “Let me see how many tributes you turn into Victors. Let me see how your ego grows.” Let him see what she gave up for this life she had fought so hard to keep. “Every one on this train has killed to be here- tell me, where do you fit among us?”

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

She had thought that once she was on the train she’d finally be able to rest. The show was over… for now. What more was there to do but take her first moment to herself in so long? She should have known better. No, instead her shoulders were tensing all but moments after they’d finally begun to unlock. She could feel her body tense, preparing to pounce at a moments notice. Very well, she thought and then she smiled. 

“Almost,” she purred. He was so sharp she could cut herself. Cover herself back in the blood of the arena that had been home for three weeks. The ghost of blood still covered the inside of her mouth. She had to refrain from swallowing it down now as she met his eyes and took a rolling step towards him. By her sides her hands were weaponless and loose. By her sides her hands were weapons all of her own. Her smile dropped, just as her voice did a moment later as she continued. “The only thing stopping it from being a total dream is the fact you’re still alive.”

.

He had never brought home a new victor before- so used to being the newest, the youngest on the journey home. After him had been the boy from seven, the girl from five, and then two others from the upper districts. He’d never come home with a tribute he had left with. Christopher had been so sure she would end up like the other nine tributes he had sent into the games. Thought she and the ninth might trade places. But she had proved him wrong.

“How unfortunate for you,” he murmured. He watched her carefully, noting the step she made without reaction. She was like a street cat that had gone too long since it’s last meal; all claws and teeth, ready to lash out at anything that came near. His hand stayed in place, forced not the reach out, to tuck her golden hair behind her ear. Shiny, clean, so different than she had been for the past few weeks, as he watched her on the monitor. “I’m a Victor too, and we tend to be harder to kill than the inexperienced children you just demolished.”

[reptilcs]

@floralrage​

Stepping on the train always felt like he was shedding a skin. It wouldn’t be fully gone until he was back home, settled into his home with the doors and windows shut, locking him away from the world- but the train allowed him to drop enough of it. He could breathe again, but there was still a sharpness that dulled during his time in the district; the Capitol was a whetstone, sharpening him back to the boy he was five years before.

“Is being a Victor all you had hoped for?” He should have known better than to speak, should have disappeared into his room, should have tried to relax before they arrive home. He couldn’t help himself. After all her showmanship, all her rage and spite, when she had been bloodied and half mad, he couldn’t force himself to pull way, to forget his biting words the night before he sent her to die. And then she had survived, she had thrived.

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

They understood each other then. Good. Lacee wasn’t a kind person, but in this – in not making Charlie say it – there was a kindness Charlie would never forget as long as she lived. Even if that were only a week. 

There were the silences of things said but unspoken at home, but Lacee and Charlie had their own version of that too. She couldn’t remember either of them ever exactly being taught this, or them ever coming to an agreement, but at some point they’d began to understand. Maybe it had begun with the shared looks in school, the held in laughter when one of their neighbours was particularly ridiculous with their teaching torment. Or maybe it had been something else. In all the careful silence of the adults around them. Even from the brashest, loudest, most stupid of them. 

She shut her eyes, imagining the arena. Or trying to. It changed every year and who knew what horrors it would be this year. All that came to mind when she tried now was the cornocopia of last year and the harsh peal of Lacee’s laughter over the television when the tributes had saw it. 

Step off the platform and it’s a quick death. She could see herself now doing it and going up in an instant. No pain. Quickquickquick. Oh, she didn’t want to die. 

Charlie forced herself to open her eyes, to look at the girl (her friend, her sister) who would be her lifeline in only a few days. Lacee mentioning the arena broached something unfathomable. A silence brought into words. The other must be left but this… For the first time, she found herself unable to hold back from a question that had been burning since they’d been reunited last year. 

“What’s it like?” Her voice was loud in the quiet of the room. Her mouth felt suddenly bone dry. “The arena. What’s it like?”

.

She tried not to think of the games, but even with her best efforts she had been forced to many times over the past year. The interviews before leaving the Capitol, the Victor’s tour when she was paraded around for the cameras and the districts. 

Her games had been short. Nine days that had felt like ninety. Exhaustion that caused your bones to ache, dirt with the smell of rust you couldn’t get out of your fingers, a gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach. The isolation while the world watched, never allowing you to show weakness.

“Suffocating,” she finally said. She had tried so hard not to feel it during the games, so focused on winning. On living. 

“Isolating.” She had been alone, even in the alliance. She had not been able to trust even her partner to protect her back, to guard while she slept. She was his biggest obstacle to getting home- he would have been stupid not to realize that. 

“Make him like you.” Charlie would have to- and she could. Lacee had seen her do it time and time again. They would torment some poor classmate together and they would forgive Charlie by the end of the day. Charlie had always been the more likeable one, the more forgivable one. People had short memories when it came to the trouble she created.

Only one of them could come home, let it be Charlie. All that Hannah had done to ensure Lacee’s survival the previous year would be repaid. She had come out of the arena to a different world. So many secrets out in the open, because Hannah had fought for her. Lacee would fight for Charlie, she would put on fake smiles and talk to cameras. Was the rest of her life just to be one camera in her face after another?

“And don’t seem weak.”

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

“They’d eat it up,” she smiled. And they would. They’d devour the story of it. Because it was the story that mattered to most citizens of the capitol. It was ridiculous. You had to laugh at it. If you didn’t you’d lose your voice from all the screaming, and then you’d turn to other outlets and maybe if you were lucky that would dim the edge.

 As uncomfortable as the thought was, maybe it would have been better for the two of them if they had been each other’s type. Or if they’d been able to pretend at it at least. But it was a joke purely because of how out of the realms of possibility it was. They were family. Charlie was here right not exactly because they were family. It was going to make for great entertainment.

Charlie’s face hardened at Lacee’s last question. She shrugged, tucking her legs underneath her on the stupid bed. Did they bother to listen to the tributes on the train? Were they listening for anything potentially rebellious or inciting? Were they gamemakers taking notes even now for the arena? 

There’d been a lot of silence and things left unsaid inside amongst the occupents of the victor’s village. She’d been… what all of five when she moved in, young and as innocent as any child from a district could be. But she’d been old enough to notice the differences. Charlie had never noticed her sister as a particularly clean person until Hannah had came back from the games and then one day her sister’s routine weekly indepth wipe down of the house had become standard/ Hannah left no place undusted. Nowhere. 

“She wished me good luck. Told me she’d see me after I win.” Her older sister had sounded so sure but she’d held onto Charlie just a little too tight. Her parting hug had hurt with how had she’d held her. Celine had been there too. Loving and trying to not cry, trying to be strong and– well, this was her second time sending a daughter off to die. It was easier focussing on Hannah than on their mother and her– well, if she thought about the way her mother looked at her like she was trying to memorise Charlie’s face then it was over. 

Easier to force herself back to Hannah and all the things Hannah had said. Or more so the things she pointedly hadn’t said. Lacee and Charlie had grown up alongside each other. They’d grown up children in a village of killers and winners. Still, they’d had very different homes. The silence in Charlie’s had always had a different note than the silence of Lacee’s. 

“There was something about timing being important,” Charlie swallowed hard. Any ghost of humour had long since fled now. A moment. A silent plea. Don’t make me say it out loud. “And then just before we left she said this was making her really nostalgic and the audience is probably going to feel that way too.”

.

They had been playing this game their entire lives. Pushed into it the way most children were pushed on the swingset. The price of being loved by a Victor. Lacee couldn’t remember the first time she had been a piece in the games; she had seen of course, when watching her parents’ games. Mentions of her in their interviews with Ceasar, her round baby face during the family interviews of the final eight. 

They had been handed weapons, coached and tormented by the Victors of the Village. Their lives had always lead to this moment. They had always been in the Gamemakers’ hands, toys for them to move around. There was a reason they had been raised to win.

What made for better viewing than nostalgia? It had been a winning formula last year. Nostalgia and bloodshed, two of the Capitol’s favourite things tied together with a bow. Her brutality had been welcomed; even more so when Hannah came out to say she had grown to see Lacee as a daughter. Brutality and bloodshed, hand in hand- a child with all of the brutality of the adult in her life, but none of the softness.

There would be no soothing words fo reassurance from Lacee. Kind words did not come to her easily, and Charlie would see through any act she tried to put on. This was not the time to be the supportive best friend; it was time to keep Charlie alive- as Hannah had done for her. 

“Timing is everything,” Lacee agreed. Charlie was both lucky and unlucky for the resemblence to her sister- so many moments to emulate, so many beats to hit, to improve upon. Dedicants of the elder Collins would flock to the younger, wondering what she would do next. If she would take lessons from her sister’s most iconic moments within the games.

She did not think of the boy; of what choosing Charlie meant for him. It had been the same the previous year. The boy did not matter when it was a matter of life or death. The Hunger Games were a family affair, and she was loyal to family above all else, even her district. “It is hard to tell in the arena, when you’re in the middle of it.” The arena was adrenaline, it was danger, it was wondering if a knife would be placed in your back at any moment. “It’s a good thing you’ll have us.”

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

A husky huff of a laugh escaped her. She couldn’t quite manage a smile but the ghost of one was there as she shook her head at Lacee. 

“Just don’t expect a sickening love story between us.” It had became famous in the last… well almost exactly a year, how Charlie’s sister and Lacee’s dad had fallen in love. Charlie had watched at home as Lacee fought for her life in the arena and Hannah let slip one of the secrets of District 2 to an entranced capitol audience who’d eaten it up. It was a story of mentor and former mentee and how after he’d coached her to victory they’d became friends before slowly tenderly falling in love. A story of how Hannah had came to love his daughter almost like her own and how she was now here to mentor Lacee and see her to victory. The sponsors for Lacee had flocked. Maybe it hadn’t been the reason for Lacee’s win but it had sure helped. 

Marrow and Collins dream team. Charlie couldn’t help but laugh again. This time a little higher, a little sharper. She pushed a thumb against the window, hard enough to feel a dull edge of pain at the force to ground herself. Then she stepped away and sat down on the edge of the overly soft bed. They could make this work. Both top of their respective years. Both grown up surrounded by victors. Both chosen not because they were the best but because reminscence and nostalgia made for great viewings. 

“Though–” she tilted her head, and this time she had to hold back her smile. “If there were that would probably bring in some sponsors.” 

,

“You’re not exactly my type.” While Charlie was strikingly pretty, and sharp-witted, and just a little too cutting- all things Lacee found alluring in others, she was also too close to family. They had grown up together, children in the Victor’s Village. There was a sisterhood that came with it. 

And then there was her father and Hannah, making them even more family then before. Sunday night dinners, watching old Capitol television programs together, making fun of their family members. Lacee was used to a small family; having lost her mother before a year old, watching her father leave for weeks every year to mentor the same games that killed the mother she couldn’t remember, and no siblings. The Collins family was a welcome addition.

“I’m sure they would love that.” A laugh actually escaped her at the idea. “Their shiny new victor and her poor beloved tribute.” There were always angles to play in these games. She had overheard enough coversations between the other victors growing up; deciding who would volunteer, how they would act, what story would be told. That’s all they were, stroies for the Capitol to enjoy, entertainment. 

Even she had fought, had trained for the opportunity. To bring honour to the district. She didn’t even have to volunteer; she had been reaped just like Charlie. A name supposedly chosen by chance.

“Did she say anything? Before we left.” They would probably call Hannah to the Capitol after the Games started- deprive her of the opportunity to help Charlie, and bring her for the show. A replay of last year, with roles reversed. 

[floralrage]

@reptilcs​

The bitter taste of vomit lingered in her mouth. First thing she’d done after entering the train and going into the room given to her was vomit straight into the toilet. After she’d washed her mouth out and brushed her teeth because despite this being a relatively short journey they’d fully stocked this damn train. It hadn’t hit her just how nice the bedroom was until she’d exited back out of the bathroom. It was nicer even than the bedroom she occuppied in her sister’s winner mansion. And that was saying something. Charlie had grown up on the edge of capitol opulance her entire life but this– she brushed the back of her hand across her mouth, trying to rub away the bitter aftertaste of fear and the sneer that wanted to form on her mouth. The world outside was passing so quick that it was dizzying. It took being outside of her district to realise how big the world was. Those kind of thoughts were enough to get her lost, but not so lost that she didn’t hear the door opening behind her. 

“Did you know your dad thought Hannah was going to lose? Told her that she going to die right to her face.” Ungluing herself from the window she turned to face Lacee (because who else would enter without knocking?) and gave her a wicked little smile. “Hopefully you’re not hear to give me the same shit.” 

[reptilcs]

Charlie’s name still echoed in her head; it had been since the escort called it out. The female tribute is Charlotte Collins. Only a year before her own name had been called. A year before, Lacee had been in Charlie’s place. Had it really been that long ago? Had it really been only a year? It had been forever and no time all at once. 

She left her father and the boy in silence. She had recognized him from school, but it didn’t matter. Charlie was her tribute. Her friend. Lacee made her way through the train, trying to force her mind to quiet. She pulled open the door to Charlie’s room. “Well, he’s always been a dick.” She shrugged her shoulders, but wondered if he’d be telling the boy the same thing. If she would tell him. If he would have to figure it out himself. “Oh come on.” She tried hard to be blasé, to keep her tone light. “You’re a Collins, I’m a Marrow. It’s a dream team.” Twice had a mentor-tribute team of Marrow and Collins brought home a victor. Capitol sponsers would line on based on Charlie’s name alone. They just had to find a plan that would work.

[alexandradowlings]

[reptilcs]

@floralrage​

[reptilcs]

JEDDAH&XAVIER​

this was a benediction. there need not be a church for a place and a moment to become holy. this was prayer. whole and sacred, a true sacrament. you could speak of the wrongness of an eye for an eye, but nobody who had witnessed this could ever condemn it. the heaviness in the air had gone still as if the entire world except for jeddah and lacee had momentarily forgone existence. jeddah was silent as lacee pressed her lips to jeddah’s forehead, silent as she received that blessing, that sacred binding promise of what they would do. silent. silent. silent. until finally, so softly that she might as well not have spoken, “so mote it be.”

the trek up to the small wooden cabin in the forest of the grounds had been a quiet one, a familiar one. they had claimed the shelter as their own years ago, and the others knew better than to enter this one. they sat on the cushions upon the floorboards, the three of them forming a triangle, one of lacee’s hands grasping one each of jeddah and xavier. they had made a promise, an oath that the girl would not see the next full moon. blood of their own had been spilled, and they required the blood of the guilty in reparation. girls were always vicious creatures, but with the teachings of hands being weapons they could be monsters with blood dripping from talons and a mouth full of fangs; but sometimes viciousness need to be tamed. “to everything there is a season, and before this one is over, she must come to an end.”

[reptilcs]

jeddah

 ‘twas a hiss, was all that could be said of jeddah’s reply. an exalted exhalation of breath from between closed lips. they talked of blood but oh, there needn’t be blood in the doing of this act. the blood would simply be that which joined these two friends and their brothers and their sister together as one. blood thick in the air. blood sweet on her breath. ophelia, ophelia, ophelia. whispers of the madness of jeddah but it would not be she that went floating dead within the lake. “i’ll weave rosemary, fennel and pansies through my hair. from my lips to the listening stars, she will be mourned most appropriately.” 

the carpet beneath her knees, head bowed with forehead pressed to her friend’s, lacee marrow might as well been at prayer. position reminiscent of morning mass, hands clasped together over the bench in front of her, head resting upon them as she tried not to doze off. “blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted.” there shall be no need of comfort. they were abraham bringing his son to the mountain; only no guilt shall possess them. she lifted her forehead from jeddah’s, instead replacing it with a chaste kiss to jeddah’s skin. a seal, a promise. they would take what was theirs.

[reptilcs]

jeddah​

“blood will have blood,” it was a vow, solemn and sacred that would not be taken back. there was a price for everything in this world, and the sacrificial lamb had gone too long without payment of any kind. she had ripped their friends asunder, cast bodily harm upon their persons. she had injured the immortal. sacrilege. for that there must be a reckoning. “it’s a waste only of what harm she would have went on to do.” forehead to forehead, soul to soul. dust to dust. the room had become temple to the divine. for were not the actions they now plotted truly divine in nature? there could be humanity. the would be avenging furies, only no bribe would stop them henceforth. from their lips went their words to the entities above and those entitites found those words pleasing. there, in the air, the scent of slaughter heavy. “obscure and forgotten. that’s a fitting end for her.”

they bled as one and would take what was owed to them as one. their friends- their sister and brother bound to them by blood in a darkened cabin in the flicker of candle light- lay maimed and bled, and there would be retribution. “a well earned demise.” the air was heavy, as if laden with the smoke and ash of a thousand fires. foreheads pressed together, her hands encompassing jeddah’s face- lacee could feel the beating of jeddah’s heart beneath her fingers, the steady rhythm of it hard and strong against her pulse point, giving way to the iambic pentameter of lacee’s next words. “clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke, when down her weedy trophies and herself fell in the weeping brook.” 

[reptilcs]

jeddah​

 lacee’s suggestion was– well, to be frank, the concept of killing the brother and the sister was titillating. she had to close her eyes at the thought, to regain control before blood lust let leak and spilled with rust like scent boldly throughout the room. more than just redistribution of matter, more than simply murder. there should be no joy in murder, but in that shared demise jeddah would exultation. her breath felt stuck in her throat, even as she reopened her eyes to stare back into lacee’s soul. “people trip even more so in the dark on cold wet nights. it happens so quickly, they don’t even always have time to scream.” 

they may not be family in the definition of the word, but they were nonetheless bonded by blood- and now sacrifice. a lamb to slaughter, not that rayne had ever been the innocent party. “it gets cold enough to freeze during the night. patches of black ice upon the rocks. one wrong step and you’re slipping down the side of a mountain.” the room had turned into an electric field, lost all sense of gravity. the world was reduced to the space between their eyes- the school could be blaring any and all of its alarms and in that moment lacee would have no idea. “to die so young, what a waste of all that could be.” to end a career before it had begun, they would truly be getting the last laugh. “to perish in obscurity, forgotten to the sands of time.” rayne spoke of greatness, but would never get to reach it.

[reptilcs]

floralrage​:

“if nobody else got to it first, that’s their own fault.” and rayne’s own luck at managing to survive this long. an enemy here, and enemy there. the girl had been a playmate of lacee’s in some long gone childhood but that may as well have been centuries ago. jeddah remembered, once upon a time, words sneered “i could be you, but you could never be me.” never had they felt so fitting until now. jeddah had taken all that rayne thought was rightfully hers, and now she would seal it with a final conquest. eye to eye with lacee, what was unsaid said more than anything else ever could. drop the veneer, and let leash your hounds of war.  she reached forwards, reaching to clasp lacee’s hand where it touched the skin of jeddah’s face. “who’s going to care if the gremlin takes a stumble off a cliff? nobody except her brother, and we care not for him.”

“and if he gives us too much trouble, he shall be next.” it wouldn’t be a shame; the would be no one to mourn. dead parents, dead sister; the last of a line. a mercy in truth. and it would save them the trouble he caused with charlotte. the allure of it was almost as great as that of ending rayne. to banish and cleanse the girl from their minds; it would be an exorcism for the school’s grounds. a demon to vanquish in the dark nights. “people trip all the time.” she leaned into jeddah’s space, pressing foreheads together; blue eyes staring into blue eyes. “there is a reason they warn against swimming in turbulent water.”