versusnurture | eighth ♢ private + spam

private/video, backdated to shortly after white flag } megamind

[She takes care in her appearance, in a convoluted way, making sure she's dissheveled and exhausted-looking, hands wrapped tight around her upper arms like she's cold. In truth, and unfortunately, she doesn't have to do much work at all, just wrap her scarf securely around her neck and check herself in the mirror before cutting on the feed.]

[She's just naturally exhausted-looking, these days. The tentativeness is all fake, though.]

Hi. Um. I know we don't really know each other. But I was wondering if I could ask for a favor.

spam, tuesday night } elena

[Hannibal's hunt week frayed her nerves. The other Barge pulls a few stray ends out. But Abigail will realize later that the last straw was when she had to be sweet to him. Not that there wouldn't have been some other last straw - this just happened to be it. This is how it played out.]

[She knocks on Elena's door while shoving her scarf into her pants pocket. There's no way the other girl can't hear her heart hammering, she thinks, and tries to calm herself down for about five seconds before giving it up.]

spam, wednesday morning } ryan

[It's important, when hunting, to step quiet, to breathe calm. She was afraid before but she isn't afraid now. She's done this before. Kind of.]

[Besides, she isn't even sure he'll be here. The CES is a good bet, yes, but there are plenty of days when you go out looking and get nothing at all for your trouble.]

[If Ryan is here, or anyone else on the vague, short list she's got tucked away in the angriest, most vicious part of her hindbrain, nothing about her will change once she sees him. Not right away, anyway.]

[There's a dagger tucked into the back of her belt, under the bulky knit of her long sweater, a taser tucked up her sleeve ready to drop into her hand. She will wait until he reaches the edge of the woods, because that's where he is going to have to die. Between the open and the enclosed. Where he could run, if he was really looking at her face.]

spam, thursday morning } nathan

[And now she's nervous.]

[Which is not surprising. What is surprising is that she's not sorry. Not yet. She knows she'll be caught, she knew that from the beginning, but regret hasn't surfaced yet. This worries her. If she isn't sorry, how will she know she's separate from what she was trained to be? How will she know she's her own precise kind of monster?]

[She thought she might throw up after Ryan. She didn't. She just washed her hands and the blade and hid the dagger under the mattress. Business as usual, despite the fact that she knows Ben will find it as soon as he steps in there, despite the fact that she can't reuse that weapon. But he made her another one.]

[She hasn't inserted herself into the investigation, such as there's been so far. She is returning to the scene of the crime. This is, however, mostly because she wants a walk.]

[That said: as she walks, she's armed. Her hands are steady. She's nervous, but not sorry. Definitely not afraid.]

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[He's breathing a bit heavy, concentrating on his heart to get the pounding his ears to stop. But he hears his name and turns.]

Yeah?

[Her eyes narrow. She smiles. And she points the taser right at his chest.]

[The electrodes both land clean, one just to the left of the heart and the other several inches to the right. She hasn't forgotten the pacemaker; if anything, it'll be an asset. She doesn't need to see him suffer. She saw Nick Boyle suffer. It wasn't helpful. She'll probably feel remorse eventually anyway.]

[She watches with total calm until he goes down, curious to see what will happen.]

[As soon as contacts hit him, he convulses for a few seconds then collapses. He tries to keep conscious but his vision is already going. His eyes are open but all he sees is blackness. Lack of circulation took his vision, he knows that, a precursor to unconsciousness. ]

[He tries to move but nothing responds right. Despite a last effort he slips into unconsciousness.]

[His breathing is heavily labored. His heart beat has slowed dangerously and color starts to leave his face. His pacemaker might have been fried.]

[She saw Joe's file; she saw about the pacemaker. She could have tried to avoid it, or aimed for it specifically. But either way, the end result would be the same. She isn't going to torture him, because there'd be no point. She has her own kind of control now, and she doesn't need to hold it over him to know it's real. She doesn't need to gloat.]

[Leaning over him, she listens to the drag of his breathing for a few moments, until she's certain he's unconscious. Then she takes hold of both of his arms and drags him into a dense patch of trees.]

[Crouching in front of him, she pulls out the dagger, testing its weight, as if she hasn't practiced. As if she isn't perfectly ready. He'll bleed out quickly, she knows. He probably won't even wake up before he dies.]

[She presses the tip of the blade just under his sternum, pushes in, tugs down. She doesn't perforate the guts. She doesn't disgrace him. She just kills him, because he deserves it.]

[Her eyes are wet, but she doesn't cry, and she doesn't smile. She just watches.]

eighth ♢ private + spam

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