"I want to say he turned you into a monster," his voice is shaking, but ev does all he can to focus on breathing, to focus on maintaining eye contact with her. don't look for dedsec on the roofs. don't look for their sights. "but you always were one. now you're just one that works for him."
random asks | always accepting | @0xa00001
There are different type of predators. Some hunt in packs, circle around you until there is no way but the one they give you, pushing you towards one of theirs. Effective, surely, but impractical in a lot of ways. There are the ones that depend on a single quick strike, stealthy, making sure you don't see them until it's too late. Better suited, but still — not quite right.
Cats play with their prey before finally devouring it, and if anything, it comes closest to the type of predatory behavior she shows. While they are less open about it, they rather hide themselves in plain sight, disgusted as prey instead of the hunter. She does not need to infiltrate anyone — she already knows most of which she could possibly ask for; and a long and detailed list about the Wolf's Den and all surrounding it she knows — hideouts, weapons, allies — has already made it's way to the oldest Seed. He knows some of it already, but there hasn't been one yet with knowledge as extensive as hers; she comes into the family bearing gifts.
Now Dedsec — if she wanted to, she could have offered them up on a fucking silver plate, ready to be smoked out by a single strike. It would be easy. But it's not how she works, how she hunts — curling in under the prey's eyes, being accepted as one of theirs, and then driving them insane until she rips their throat out — and she also knows for a fact that such a simple solution would all but please the Baptist. She knows some of the relationship there; of course she does, because the girl that was had. Not a lot, but enough to get an idea — and enough for the beast to be here instead of her. Maybe thanks were in order — if not for him, the dumb girl would have never run off as careless, wouldn't have been reborn, reforged.
Of course, they were smarter than to fall as easily as some others had before them. She put on the rags of the girl and wore her, on her skin and as a face, but it didn't change the fact that she did just that — wear her. It had been enough for some poor fools, but these? All too smart, all far too clever for their own good.
That's why the little tracker sat under her clothes. Some hunters liked to chase their prey to death.
If there was something left of the girl, it'd ache at his words. That's because she had been a fool who refused to accept what she was; who would not admit to herself what she was and carried within her chest. The weapon however? It was awfully bold of him to assume there were any feelings within her left to be hurt; when they all had been stripped away, carved out like the rest of her sin.
"You think it changes anything?"
Her voice could have been soft, had it resemblance to something human still. Relaxed, like there wasn't a gun trained on her. And it's not some moral high ground bullshit like 'you wouldn't shoot me anyway' — simply no attachment towards her own person.
"When a knife breaks while you're using it, you swear for it not doing it's job, and get a new one. You don't cry about it."
She smiles, hands offered in a vague gesture — open, including, then she taps her right index finger against her closed fist.
Oh, James. She never had to kill you — just distract you from your team. Just because something isn't always suitable, doesn't mean it isn't sometimes.
She never said she hunted alone.
