| Channeling Rage |
[17 Dec 2007|12:10pm] |
Well, this was a splendid idea … trade one cell for another.
On the one hand, Samantha was glad she didn’t have to deal with the other inmates or the rude guards anymore – being a police officer incarcerated in the same prison you sent so many criminals wasn’t much fun. Then again, it wasn’t like being caged up in a hellhole, surrounded by dismembered body parts, screaming people on fire and all manner of hellbeast was much fun either.
Then again, she much preferred the tattered loincloth she was wearing to the orange jumper the state of Nevada provided her. Mostly because the loincloth showed off her figure better.
But mostly, Samantha was anxious to find out who framed her, who was responsible for taking away her son and ruining her life. She didn’t kill Gerald Watkins, but someone went to a lot of trouble to make other people think she did. Samantha had her suspicions as to who it was, but she wanted to hear it for herself.
And so what if this … Atia wanted her to off some children first? The way the Slayer saw it, someone took away her son and ruined her life, so what was the harm in doing that to someone else? Especially if there was the promise of vengeance on the other side?
Samantha stared out of her cage at one of the fire pits below. The flames danced in her eyes, dark circles beneath them to denote the sleep she hadn’t been getting since being locked up. Her skin was bruised and scratched, a darkness in her gaze that wasn’t there before Atia showed up. Slowly, Samantha was starting to lose sight of who she was and what she believed in.
It didn’t even matter if she got Cory back anymore. Now, she just wanted to make whoever did all this to her pay.
( Dinner conversation )
( Everyone deserves to suffer (Adult Content: Graphic Violence) )
Atia watched it all, a shadow among shadows as she absorbed each scream and drop of blood as though she'd caused the carnage with her own hands. The tip of her black tongue wandered across her lower lip, wetting it as she watched the unfortunate mortal's guts spill to the ground like so much garbage. It was like a contact high, Samantha's unfettered bloodlust passing through to the Corruptress on the very air around them.
Intoxicating.
When it was over, the Bride stepped forward almost daintily, her sandal leaving behind a single footprint as she walked through the blood where it had splattered on the pavement. She cupped Samantha's face between her palms, the earlier roughness gone from her touch. A motherly hold.
"Death to humanity," she whispered, and the words vibrated between them. Yes, this one was ready.
Leviathan would be pleased.
|
|