[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]her shoulders shrug, a lazy movement beneath a heavy sort of pressure. if she didn't know better, she'd almost say it could be apprehension.

"i could scream it if you'd prefer," a hand rises and her eyes drop to inspect perfectly painted nails. red, her favorite. "you know, for old time's sake."

somewhere behind them, sirens wail in the distance. life passes them by in this small corner of the universe, left to relive memories of better times. the past clings with the stubborn stench of cigarette smoke.

"is anywhere really my scene?" she could think of a few fitting places, perhaps. eventually her eyes return, unblinking. "here i thought you'd never set foot in this shithole." faintly, she can almost hear the echo of what lies beneath. did you miss me?

Remi Cassel

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]ah, there it is.

the feelings she thought were gone, the feelings she thought she buried. they surge back up with a vengeance and if she isn't careful, she just might choke on them. swallowing is easy but how long can she keep it at bay?

apparently... not very long.

there's a slight quirk to her lips, just enough of a smile to pass. "right here in this alley?" a step closer, a tilt of the head. bloody hair shifts to reveal porcelain skin. "that could be arranged."

alto mare.

she remembers the city well. fondly, even. and if there's one thing calla isn't... it's fond. ah, but there had always been a reason why she enjoyed particular places more than the rest. it's standing in front of her now. silky white hair, an eye patch, an all too familiar body.

"i did," she echoes. there's a wistful look to her features and it passes on to its grave a moment later.

sometimes, she wishes it could be different, not this odd sense of normalcy they fall into. they avoid the copperjah in the room and go about business as usual.

"missing?" her nose scrunches at the thought. "what the hell was he doing out here?"

Remi Cassel

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]childhood dreams...

she had those once upon a time. now, everything's drenched in warm blood and the urge to chase such a thing a foreign concept.

gold narrows, lips curl into a snarl. it fades into a callous expression within moments.

"what does he want with that filth?" who dreams of finding avatars and not red pooling across pavement? hunt them, bleed them dry... all with a smile. is that not the plan?

she stares in the face of worry. it's heavy in the air but that's where her experience ends. feelings aren't for her. she's learned that much from the body in front of her.

emotions have no business in what she is, in what she does.

"do you have a lead?"

hunting is all she's good for, anyway. if there's a trail, she'll sniff it out with her hounds.

Remi Cassel

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]the age old question comes in a whisper: god's chosen or god's cursed? it settles beside her own personal question until they're one in the same. monsters, made or born, still perish in the end.

and maybe she's no better than them, anyway. and maybe it doesn't fucking matter, either.

"why?" comes out low, flickering between disgusted and intrigued.

a slow drip echoes faintly nearby. it grows louder the longer she stands here until she feels it crawling between vertebrae.

shadows creep in. they stretch with dark, bony fingers over damp pavement. she expects to see a ghost in them, meeting gold with a smile. it never happens. she's the only ghost here, it seems.

"you're what, wandering around until he calls?" productive. her lips quiver but never spread. teeth stay hidden, stay hungry. another step and she's in orbit now. predatory, even with ruins of history between them. "i could help, you know."

Remi Cassel

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]humans want to be better. they want to be divine, holy, strong. it makes them weak little insects in the end. shells of what could have been and what will never be.

she is better than that. she finds power in feeding on the masses. sucking the holiness from them until they're nothing but carcasses. husks and ruins... the true makings of a king slayer.

and every slayer must come with a god complex.

she finds hers in the oddest of places.

"the circle of life." the dripping grows more consistent. steady. it thumps in her ears like a heartbeat. "rodents get devoured by cats and cats by hounds." it never stops. not for them, certainly not for roman.

she supposes the reaction is expected, warranted even. and what a pity. here she'd been hoping to get her hands dirty... there's still time.

"touchy." gold returns to red polish. distance spreads much like the shadows in their peripherals.

a stranger. the question could almost be insulting. and maybe it is, if she stops to think about it. she doesn't. instead, she offers an indifferent shrug.

"perhaps," her hand drops and gold rises. the rings are brighter in the dark, almost crawling off corneas. "be careful, mon amour. rats carry disease."

Remi Cassel

[attr="class","calla"]

[attr="class","calla b"]

[attr="class","calla i"]it's human to want. the only redeeming quality of monsters, even. she is no different. a hunger, a desire, an urge. it comes with bloodied teeth and dripping hands. ripped from flesh until she's stitching the pieces together just to experience the thrill once more.

conquerors are looked upon in history as great, powerful, worthy. this bloody red doll will be too. the gods flip a coin, anyway. some are legendary and others? monsters.

awareness comes with the territory. even in some back alley, there's things she doesn't miss. dripping, claws of rattatas scrambling across pavement, distant sirens wailing. it blends into background noise eventually. the shadows don't. they merely grow. and maybe they're hungry.

maybe she is, too.

"unfortunately," stakes change. hunger grows with steps, no matter how big or small. "but i don't eat rats anymore." lips never move, never shift. there's a cruelty to her without movement. it sings in blank eyes, in centipedes circled around irises.

the game of chicken... something they've grown accustomed to over the years. it becomes cycle after cycle until there's no winner. and god, she hates losing.

ground is held with feet of stone. still as a statue, a weeping angel locked beneath the gaze. she's not going anywhere just yet but darling, don't blink...

Remi Cassel