((Hey all; just a quick something I banged out. Have to run so I'll do the intro post in Personals a bit later. And yeah, she's a bit special))
Gods, this class was going on forever, Petra mused to herself, trying to force herself to pay attention. A well bred child of upperclass parents, it was practically inconcievable that she wouldn't excel; find her niche in the private school she'd been enrolled in, find some senior to take her to the spring dance. Her whole life was set out ahead of her, like a neat orderly plan, a series of checkmarks to tick off... tick... tick...
"Ugh," she groaned, leaning forwards at her desk, the headache deepening to a pounding in her ears, the world starting to pulse around the edges. She shakily raised her hand, interrupting the teacher in mid-lecture.
"Excuse me, can I..." she started to speak, the blackness pulsing around the edge of her vision creeping inwards... and clearing up to a club. Red lights over the dance floor strobed at the same rate as her vision, and she was surprised to find herself all but grinding against some stranger. Her school uniform had been replaced by a mostly unbottoned blouse she'd and skin tight leggings she'd never seen before, much less owned.
She started to grin more widely, getting into the beat when with a jolt, the scene shifted. Some bedroom she'd never seen, the blouse, leggings, shoes and the rest on the floor, herself twined with a different stranger. She felt a pressure rising in her and threw back her head, clenching her fists in the sheets and starting to scream.
Another jolt. She was dressed again, standing in an alley as she watched a man pouring gasoline from a five gallon jerry can on a building. Not the same man as before. She took a pull on her cigarette as she watched with a faint smile, savoring the slightly sweet smoke for a moment. Musing on the weight of the automatic on her left hip for a moment, she gestured for her compatriot to pause.
"Let me do the honors, eh?" she said, the smile shifting to a grin all but feral in intensity as the man shrugged and backed away. She took a last drag on her cigarette before flicking it into the pool of gasoline, watching she flames quickly spread from the point of impact to the storefront. "Well that was fun... what next?" she asked, orange highlights from the fire licking higher up the building reflecting off her teeth.
Shouts next, muzzle flashes strobing down the alley. The moon's position in the sky telling her it was hours later as she ran. Some sort of squelching noise happened and she felt like she'd been kicked in the back as she fell.
A white ceiling; vet's office instead of a doctor's from the posters on the walls of animals. A man in a white coat and gloves, sleeves covered in blood, holding a forceps. "Hold her down," came a gruff voice as they plunged into her abdomen, a bit below the rib cage on her right side, and he back arched, teeth biting down on a rope chew toy in her mouth, letting out a scream of a different sort around it.
School again; history class. She blinked a few times in confusion, wondering if she'd dozed off and had been dreaming. The twinge of stitches pulling at her skin as she shifted told her to her horror it hadn't. She felt like she was watching a stranger as her body started to smile and let out a faint giggle.
Later, her room, probably after dinner. Only not quite her room; she was sitting on her bed, an NTEC-5 sitting next to her teddy bears. On the nightstand, next to the small pile of romance novels was a white cardboard box. She took another empty magazine and reached into the box, taking out a handful of what she somehow knew was 7.62x39 JSP and whistled to herself as she fed them past the feed lips one by one. In her head, she wondered where the rifle came from and, more importantly, what she was going to do with it.
An apartment hallway, fairly nice one if she were to judge. The rifle held in both hands, muzzle up, as she reared back and gave the door a solid kick, it folding inwards. Nicely furnished, and in sight of the door, a man on a couch. He started to rise, grabbing a revolver from the coffee table, but her rifle was already on its way back to level. Front sight post lined up on his chest and centered on his torso, and, screaming inside but faintly smiling, she stroked the trigger. The kick of the rifle into her shoulder was almost a surprise; the blossom of red on the man's chest clearly was to him. Two more rounds followed and he crumpled, blood pouring from his wounds. Petra raised her rifle to ready and swept in, checking for others before crossing to him.
"Remember me, bitch?" she said with a grin, kicking him over onto his back and spitting down into his face as the light faded from his eyes.
"Nice piece, eh?" said another man who'd crossed in behind her, tossing her the magnum which she caught with her offhand. She nodded and turned it over, examining it.
"Didn't do him any good," she replied with a grin, the sobbing in her head making it out as a giggle.
"Yahoo!" she yelled, pedal floored on the Patriot Vegas, dodging between cars. She took a final swig from her beer and then flung the empty out the window at a pedestrian, something the girl beside her found hilarious even as she cried no in her own head.
Class again, this time he standing up with both middle fingers raised, the rest of the class watching in horror as she stormed out.
An alley, she had no idea what night. A well dressed man on his knees, tossing her his wallet. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, the tone of his voice pained and more than a bit confused. "I know your parents; you make more than this in a week in allowance."
"Well, it's like this," she said, kneeling to pick up the wallet and stuff it into a pocket, the magnum revolver not wavering. "Why play a game if you're not going to keep score?"
The shifts coming faster and faster... high-fiving a man with a mohawk as a delivery truck explodes, drinks and dancing in a club, the buzz of a tattoo gun, her parents yelling, her mom breaking down crying, more gunfire, more and more and more, a silent scream building in her head as she loses the ability to keep track of what's going on. And then silence.
She's in a coffee house, the NTEC stashed in the Cisco parked outside. No idea what day it is and not really caring, not beholden to anyone and no idea if she'd see tomorrow. The sun starting its descent as she grins a bit at the girl behind the counter. "Could you add an extra shot to that, actually?" she asks pleasantly. "Going to be a long night."
Gods, this class was going on forever, Petra mused to herself, trying to force herself to pay attention. A well bred child of upperclass parents, it was practically inconcievable that she wouldn't excel; find her niche in the private school she'd been enrolled in, find some senior to take her to the spring dance. Her whole life was set out ahead of her, like a neat orderly plan, a series of checkmarks to tick off... tick... tick...
"Ugh," she groaned, leaning forwards at her desk, the headache deepening to a pounding in her ears, the world starting to pulse around the edges. She shakily raised her hand, interrupting the teacher in mid-lecture.
"Excuse me, can I..." she started to speak, the blackness pulsing around the edge of her vision creeping inwards... and clearing up to a club. Red lights over the dance floor strobed at the same rate as her vision, and she was surprised to find herself all but grinding against some stranger. Her school uniform had been replaced by a mostly unbottoned blouse she'd and skin tight leggings she'd never seen before, much less owned.
She started to grin more widely, getting into the beat when with a jolt, the scene shifted. Some bedroom she'd never seen, the blouse, leggings, shoes and the rest on the floor, herself twined with a different stranger. She felt a pressure rising in her and threw back her head, clenching her fists in the sheets and starting to scream.
Another jolt. She was dressed again, standing in an alley as she watched a man pouring gasoline from a five gallon jerry can on a building. Not the same man as before. She took a pull on her cigarette as she watched with a faint smile, savoring the slightly sweet smoke for a moment. Musing on the weight of the automatic on her left hip for a moment, she gestured for her compatriot to pause.
"Let me do the honors, eh?" she said, the smile shifting to a grin all but feral in intensity as the man shrugged and backed away. She took a last drag on her cigarette before flicking it into the pool of gasoline, watching she flames quickly spread from the point of impact to the storefront. "Well that was fun... what next?" she asked, orange highlights from the fire licking higher up the building reflecting off her teeth.
Shouts next, muzzle flashes strobing down the alley. The moon's position in the sky telling her it was hours later as she ran. Some sort of squelching noise happened and she felt like she'd been kicked in the back as she fell.
A white ceiling; vet's office instead of a doctor's from the posters on the walls of animals. A man in a white coat and gloves, sleeves covered in blood, holding a forceps. "Hold her down," came a gruff voice as they plunged into her abdomen, a bit below the rib cage on her right side, and he back arched, teeth biting down on a rope chew toy in her mouth, letting out a scream of a different sort around it.
School again; history class. She blinked a few times in confusion, wondering if she'd dozed off and had been dreaming. The twinge of stitches pulling at her skin as she shifted told her to her horror it hadn't. She felt like she was watching a stranger as her body started to smile and let out a faint giggle.
Later, her room, probably after dinner. Only not quite her room; she was sitting on her bed, an NTEC-5 sitting next to her teddy bears. On the nightstand, next to the small pile of romance novels was a white cardboard box. She took another empty magazine and reached into the box, taking out a handful of what she somehow knew was 7.62x39 JSP and whistled to herself as she fed them past the feed lips one by one. In her head, she wondered where the rifle came from and, more importantly, what she was going to do with it.
An apartment hallway, fairly nice one if she were to judge. The rifle held in both hands, muzzle up, as she reared back and gave the door a solid kick, it folding inwards. Nicely furnished, and in sight of the door, a man on a couch. He started to rise, grabbing a revolver from the coffee table, but her rifle was already on its way back to level. Front sight post lined up on his chest and centered on his torso, and, screaming inside but faintly smiling, she stroked the trigger. The kick of the rifle into her shoulder was almost a surprise; the blossom of red on the man's chest clearly was to him. Two more rounds followed and he crumpled, blood pouring from his wounds. Petra raised her rifle to ready and swept in, checking for others before crossing to him.
"Remember me, bitch?" she said with a grin, kicking him over onto his back and spitting down into his face as the light faded from his eyes.
"Nice piece, eh?" said another man who'd crossed in behind her, tossing her the magnum which she caught with her offhand. She nodded and turned it over, examining it.
"Didn't do him any good," she replied with a grin, the sobbing in her head making it out as a giggle.
"Yahoo!" she yelled, pedal floored on the Patriot Vegas, dodging between cars. She took a final swig from her beer and then flung the empty out the window at a pedestrian, something the girl beside her found hilarious even as she cried no in her own head.
Class again, this time he standing up with both middle fingers raised, the rest of the class watching in horror as she stormed out.
An alley, she had no idea what night. A well dressed man on his knees, tossing her his wallet. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, the tone of his voice pained and more than a bit confused. "I know your parents; you make more than this in a week in allowance."
"Well, it's like this," she said, kneeling to pick up the wallet and stuff it into a pocket, the magnum revolver not wavering. "Why play a game if you're not going to keep score?"
The shifts coming faster and faster... high-fiving a man with a mohawk as a delivery truck explodes, drinks and dancing in a club, the buzz of a tattoo gun, her parents yelling, her mom breaking down crying, more gunfire, more and more and more, a silent scream building in her head as she loses the ability to keep track of what's going on. And then silence.
She's in a coffee house, the NTEC stashed in the Cisco parked outside. No idea what day it is and not really caring, not beholden to anyone and no idea if she'd see tomorrow. The sun starting its descent as she grins a bit at the girl behind the counter. "Could you add an extra shot to that, actually?" she asks pleasantly. "Going to be a long night."
