i will be cruel to you. it will stop your breath, how cruel i can be— but you understand, don’t you? you are clever enough. i am a demanding creature.CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE CONTENT WARNING:minor child neglect, psychopathy & sociopathy, emotional & domestic abuse, murder, cause of animal death. she's her own warning. adoption is a reminder, a word that denotes personal history. she doesn’t understand it the first time she hears it, nestled in a string of english by cautious young mouths — far from her mother tongue. each face around her was curious to openly disdainful, there are too many mouths, too many hands, and not enough attention to go around. there were others, and with help from a maid who spoke the same, understood enough to tell that none around her played a part in childhood memories. ( this family brought you into their home, be kind to them. ) she doesn’t make out half the words, but the difference is clear. the pair that had taken her in had their own children, most kept their distance, the younger few make the effort to play wordless games. good behavior is learned, and not everyone makes the same progress. she learns slowly, what a smile earns even without the ability to communicate, and what the opposite brings. it helps her, bridges the gaps between her lack of knowledge and earns more attention. she doesn't know how to read or write, or doesn't remember, but the way her fingers curl around writing utensils seems practiced. if anyone notices, they don't comment. her instructors are private and patient, they help her alone until she learns how to speak a new language. it comes with effort, word after word. communication is difficult. it's made easier by bribery, small offerings to encourage her to do something other than watch, bewildered and uninspired. ( what are you going to do for me? ) and something small slides across the table, wrapped in shiny paper — reinforcing the need to make an attempt. two years passes before she can manage to string together a sentence, and another after that before she can manage to converse in english. the newness of siblings has already faded. distance has always been an instrument in the home she'd been taken into. attention was provided in abundance from the household help, less from the parents who spent most of their time working — both for the government, the same institution (unbeknownst to her ) that brought her here. she sees them for the first time on the television, women, men and others in suits, droning on about things only other adults seemed to comprehend. but she watches each channel, absorbs what she can while she can, curious to glean from it what she can. besides the woman who had been with her since the first memory inside this house, shows made for a much easier babysitter, leaving time free for the hired additions to chain smoke in the kitchen. another year would pass before she manages to swipe a cigarette from the table undetected. they have expectations, all of which seem to make themselves clear once she's settled in and comfortable. a grace period of a few years was enough of an adjustment in their minds. average was nothing, the lowest, unacceptable to academics, or a pair of highly skilled and highly ranked officials who saw nothing but potentials for success in their wards. it starts with the older few, seen in the way they pour over their studies, and how they use their abilities to impress. everyone is eager to earn a moment's praise, a path she follows all the same. the beginning of her ability training starts, alongside the explanation of it's rarity, paves the way to impress. learning to falsify details becomes a significant skill. there are half a dozen children beneath the same roof, and want more than what needs demand. some have more than others, and she helps herself when it comes time to steal something from another. it's something small and meaningless, and she takes pride in the power that comes with escaping unscathed over obtaining a new object, disposing of it the next day. the sibling she'd taken it from was none the wiser, and she soothed his upset with an oddly gentle hand against a shoulder, immersed in her own self satisfaction. by the time private instruction ends, the need to be garmented becomes a necessity. leaving the house poorly dressed is a poor reflection on her hosts, and it isn't difficult to enjoy what finery becomes available. she enjoys more, and the older she grows, the easier it becomes to accumulate different things. there's one black coat she favors, wears it until her second year of high school until it starts to fall apart, only feeling some loss once the stitching had unraveled, leaving it unable to mended. the use and misuse of abilities can be hazardous. the more she learns to control them, the more it becomes clear that she is controlled for a reason — not one that personally benefits her. she learns to slow first, a messy process that takes time before it works right, but the moment she has a grasp on it, becomes like a second sense. it's acceleration she finds more interesting, though, the ability to age, and she finds (with much surprise ) that any rapid effort to do so only resulted in killing her target entirely. it starts with plants and ends with lab rats, practicing targets and ranges until she can control and use it effectively. ( successful applicants should be intelligent— ) and she is. her adoptive siblings work for various organizations, all talented, the expected reflection upon the pair who demanded nothing less. when it comes time to make something of herself, she chooses the army. unlike a desk job, strength and weapons training bring new opportunities to expand her skill set, and it becomes a small competition between herself and a brother, drawing them closer than ever before. promotions come naturally, and infuriatingly even, only inspiring her to work harder, and is far from the only one searching for power for less than noble reasons. curiosity keeps her interested, and what lays beyond the wall is not something everyone gets to see. being among the few feeds her ego. she goes from jubilant to devoid of emotion without notice. like a switch, she moves from gently running her fingers through a lover's hair to retracting her hand and her attention. ( don't you love me? ) no. but she can tell a convincing lie, and she does with a certain flare, easing the other woman into a sense of security only she can tear out from under her at her leisure. and she does with the first, the second, the tenth — until the routine itself grows boring. she’s always keen to know more, eager to see and volunteer for anything to get her further from home. before her brother sees the borders, she finds herself stationed there, staring off the edge of the known world. a thousand different rumors run through her mind, all of them disproved by the sight of land and the sounds of the sea. she's not stupid enough to brag to anyone but those who already know, to a brother who was now safely enough behind her not to be considered an opponent challenging her own success. everything outside the outskirts is desolate and uninteresting, and she returns within the year, closer to home. loss affects everyone in a multitude of ways, and it surprises her how much she is forced to coax out tears at a funeral, but does so with all the practice of a method actress. she doesn't care about the death of what would be considered an older sister, and only attends to watch the range of emotions that plague the rest of those in attendance. she nurses a brother weeping genuinely against a shoulder, soiling the silk blouse she'd picked up for the occasion. for a moment, she considered shoving him, making a show and a lesson of it — fingers curled around his throat. she doesn't, she knows better, but the thought still lingers. manipulation is a tool. in it's lesser form, she uses it to wrap her captain around a finger, to bend the rules she knows she can't break. it earns her more, from a trusted place at his side, to the ability to skirt around rules. at it's height, allows her to find a heightened sense of enjoyment in poisoning relationships from the inside out. subtlety keeps her afloat, existing untouched, free to play the games of her own design. those who notice say nothing, dismiss it as a one of, or so she believes. everyone gets married someday. she's needy, picks the first that stays when the time comes, accepting the natural progression of those come before. twenty five is old for some, but it feels like an unnatural fit — made all the more tolerable with each cake tasting. but she drinks too much, picks a fight once the door closes behind them, leaves purple thumbprints in places that are difficult to hide. nothing is called off early, not until a white dress hangs on the back of her door, and she leaves it behind in favor of sinking into her captain's bed. without two, no wedding can take place, and all the guests are forced to go home. she doesn't care. next to the other children. she is obsolete. her decision to follow her cold feet leaves her as the most disappointing of ones they'd taken in, made worse by moving back into their home. there was no salvaging what was broken beyond retrieving her belongings from their former shared space. it no longer interests her, though the idea of being home doesn't sing to her either. to avoid the tension she leaves for a year, works outside the wall until it's time to come back and piece together what she'd left behind. being kind to the family that had chosen her could only be fulfilled by starting to reimburse them. expectations — projected pieces of herself meant to impress once more. she allowed herself to slide into a precarioussituation. one wrong decision and the spotlight shifted, and she was no longer flying under the radar. it unnerved her to know word had spread, being on the end of judgment she had once preferred to dole out. her favorite brother isn't home when it comes time for an argument, and leaves her unable to sit or listen with her usual indifference. they attempt to shout her down, it leaves her silent, withdrawn but angry beneath the offered apologies. she doesn't fight, she isn't their child, that much has always been clear. the morning is quiet. she's due to leave before the sun rises, long hours before the house wakes, and anyone is due to work. a lack of sleep leaves her erratic — angry from the night's events. it doesn't dissipate, not while she dresses, or while she fills a vest pocket with what few pieces of jewelry she favors. there's a gold chain from her late sister's room, and she toys with it before making a decision. they're asleep when she slides past the unlocked door, and silent when she leaves it. time moves quickly, she forces herself to move along with it, unhindered by the morning's events. "it's a rabbit infestation. terrible thing." she shows him her phone, the line of small, dead mammals — neatly laid with respect. her pout grows, tears welling in her eyes as the captain offers a hand. "i thought it would be the most humane." she's not supposed to use her abilities, and the chip in her neck tells them when. it's an excuse, but one she weaves with all of her remaining talent on little sleep. it'll be hours on the other side of the wall before anyone knows the truth, a benefit of careful planning. her separation is intentional. she leaves a glove and what drips from a sliced hand on the ground, another manufactured story to confuse. it buys her enough time to get what she wants, bartering the gold for a colony scalpel, for the freedom only crushing it beneath a heel offers. she can't stay, and doesn't — there is not enough that interests her in one place. she'll find a home in the city, in what lawlessness resides there, and what opportunities being free of expectation offers.
“without predators, people who can think the unthinkable, and act without fear or hesitation, the world stands still. you are an evolutionary necessity.” —lj. CONTENT WARNING:minor child neglect, psychopathy & sociopathy, emotional & domestic abuse, murder, cause of animal death. she's her own warning. time manipulation is vasya's birth given ability, and one she's only recently begun to use to what she believes is it's full potential. while living within the wall, she was trained extensively in it's management and prides herself in having mastered it — even if she uses it to cause harm, most often. she can decelerate and accelerate targets or ranges at her leisure, and stop it if she chooses for a shorter amount of time. with private and career based training, it takes a significant amount of use to tire her to the point of being unable to concentrate. most of her periods of use last less than a minute, though that can easily be extended a few times when need arises. without regulation, the freedom to express her ability has drawn unique attention. she uses it to provide for herself, offering her aging services to all those who have the ability to pay for it, turning back the clock for a short period of time or speeding it up in cases of desired punishment. after using it to murder her adoptive parents, there is really nothing she won't do ( given the right amount of inspiration ) and has associates who employ her for their own purposes. the more she uses them, the more voraciousher appetite has grown. she enjoys using her abilities in ways previously not permitted, exerting her power over others in ways only her personality could. vasya has honed her ability to force the speed of her abilities, resulting in enough pressure to leave her targets dead in a relatively clean and undetectable fashion. the vast majority of her time spent using her ability is to negatively affect others to her financial benefit, transforming from something to use at her leisure to a survival aid — not to say she doesn't enjoy ever moment of it's outcomes.