KIERA DEMPSEY, D1 | FINISHED | Hunger Games: The RPG

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KIERA DEMPSEY, D1 | FINISHED May 7, 2012 20:26:20 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on May 7, 2012 20:26:20 GMT -5

Name: KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY
Age: SEVENTEEN.
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 1
Appearance:

GOTTA LOVE DAT FAMILY RESEMBLANCE.

Personality:

HER LAST NAME IS DEMPSEY, OF COURSE SHE'S FREAKING NUTS. SADISTIC AS HELL BUT JUSTIFIES IT AS GOOD INTENTION. SMART, BUT NOT JUST SMART. CRAFTY. CONNIVING. MANIPULATIVE. SUBTLETY IS THE BEST THING. IDOL WORSHIP OF DEAREST COUSIN. HEY, KILLING PEOPLE SOUNDS COOL. GOOD OLD DEMPSEY GOD COMPLEX. ~~DROWNING~~ BAPTISM INTO THE CHURCH OF KIERA. INSTEAD OF PICKING SCUMBAGS SHE PICKS THE PEOPLE SHE WANTS TO "SAVE." ~~LOL ANOTHER DRIVEN BOYS CHARACTER, LOOK AT ME, BRIK, LOOK AT ME.~~

History:

GUESS WHO'S COUSIN SHE IS. YUP. HER DAD AND KAELEN'S DAD ARE BROTHERS BUT TOTAL OPPOSITES. GREW UP IN A SMOTHERINGLY LOVING FAMILY AND WATCHED THE WHOLE DEMPSEY NOISE GO DOWN FROM AFAR, ALWAYS THOUGHT GOOD OLD COUSIN KAE WAS THE BADASS TO END ALL BADASSES (INSERT HIM CAREER TRAINING HER AFTER HER PACIFIST PARENTS REFUSED TO HERE?) BUT DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS POISONING PEOPLE LEFT AND RIGHT UNTIL POOF. HE DISAPPEARED AND THE WANTED POSTERS STARTED FLYING UP. DIDN'T VIEW IT AS MURDER, BUT RATHER ART. AFTER ALL, ISN'T IT THE DUTY OF A GOD(DESS) TO CHOOSE WHO LIVES AND DIES. PICKS UP WHERE HE LEFT OFF. COME TO THE WATER, MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS, AND BE BORN AGAIN.

Codeword: MUAHAHAHA.
Comments/Other:

PAST PRAYING FOR - VERSAEMERGE

Last Edit: May 12, 2012 7:58:53 GMT -5 by Deleted

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KIERA DEMPSEY, D1 | FINISHED May 7, 2012 23:33:59 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on May 7, 2012 23:33:59 GMT -5

K I E R A D E M P S E Y

( A G E ) Seventeen
( G E N D E R ) Female
( D I S T R I C T / A R E A ) One

( A P P E A R A N C E )
Running the front desk at District One's Peacekeeper Headquarters means that she sees a fair amount of people come and go over the course of a day, but the thirty-something receptionist thinks that there must be something different about the girl that just walked in, her back turned as she examines the posters on the far wall. She has to be different, it's the only explanation of the faint chill that shoots down her spine from the moment the door opens. It's a warm day out, but the temperature in the room feels like it's suddenly dropped.

If it weren't for the regal, distinguished way she carries herself this girl could pass for any of the typical hoodlums that patrol officers haul in for spray-painting this wall or setting that trash can on fire, her body bearing the marks of life in the slums even if her posture is that of a queen. Other than that she could be anybody, nothing particularly special about her slightly short frame, maybe 5'4" and 120 pounds, curvy but not exceptionally so with a solid, fit-looking torso and hips that are slightly wider than they should be. There's an air about her that says 'Career' in the most quietly assertive of ways, a deadly sort of feline grace in her movements. The girl hovers around the reception area but not uncertainly, like some kid who's been sent here for making trouble. No, there's an inherent confidence in the entirety of her being, like she's someone who expects to be respected.

Like anyone's going to give her any respect looking the way she does, she muses with the corners of her lips tugging disapprovingly downwards as she takes in long but muscular and sturdy-looking legs covered by viciously (purposefully, she's sure) ripped jeans and the worn-looking plaid shirt that's far too big for her worn open over a tight black camisole with a scooped neck that could probably be considered immodest if she had much of anything to show off, maybe a B cup at most. Her hair's no better, a medley of colors, honey-brown for the most part but bearing streaks of bottle-blonde and rusty red and falling to her mid-back, all careless, beachy waves woven through with strings of chunky beads and the occasional... feather? No, she's no different, the woman behind the desk figures, writing off the initial chills and musing that walking like a princess certainly doesn't make you one. Probably some vandal here to pick up her court date.

"Anything I can help you with, sweetheart?" the receptionist asks through a spectacularly fake smile, sparing any amount of genuine amicability she might have for someone that doesn't look like she's been hauled in from the middle of a mosh pit. The girl turns around, arches a defined brow as if to say who, me? The secretary notes with another faint twinge of judgement that she's got those godawful plugs in her ears in addition to a small silver ring in each nostril. Shame, really. She'd be a pretty girl otherwise, regal bone structure, pointed chin and thin-bridged nose, delicate cheekbones and a smooth complexion that's diminished by heavy-handed eyeliner penciled in around large eyes that are an odd, piercing shade of amber-brown, something sparking in them that speaks of quick intelligence and something a little more dangerous.

"There is, actually," the girl says, her voice a smooth purr of an alto, velvety and flowing but slightly eerie, a lullaby in the catacombs. She prowls over to the desk with that same catlike poise, perching long, delicate fingers with obvious evidence of a nail-biting problem on the wooden surface in a motion that visibly moved the tendons in her shoulders, sturdy for a girl's, strong, like she does a lot of work with her arms. "I'm here to see Detective Taverson. I believe I have an appointment?"

The receptionist nods, reaching for the phone and datebook kept immaculately in their places and flicking back through the day's appointments. What Taverson would want with this girl she isn't certain of, but it's not her job to question the higher-ups. "Your name, hon?"

The girl smiles, a curvature of thin lips and an almost menacing flash of well-kept teeth. The older woman physically shudders. She's never seen a smile so unsettling in her life. The girl with a queen's self-carriage and a panther's grace must have noticed, because she grins even wider and more feral, turning and starting off toward the door that goes back to the administrative area. "Kiera Dempsey. They're waiting for me, I'm sure."

( P E R S O N A L I T Y )
As it turns out, they're not waiting for her.

Kiera is ushered into a relatively empty room - table, chairs, nothing else - and told to wait there without any indication as to how long she'll be waiting. Heaving a sigh, the amber-eyed girl sinks languidly into one of the uncomfortable chairs, gaze shooting skyward. Dull. It's a fairly easy strategy to see through; they're going to leave her here for an extended period of time to see if she'll get anxious, watching her through the security camera in the top left corner, can't see the light blinking but they've engineered the room so that one can't make out the lens through the shadows unless they're looking for it. Kiera isn't sure whether to smirk or be offended. Her last name should be enough to tell any of the hopelessly mundane troglodytes working here that she's too cunning for any game they might try to play with her.

She settles for smirking since it's easier (a confidence just past the edge of arrogance comes inherent in her blood), digging around in her purse before withdrawing a smallish leather-bound book. Kiera reasons that she might as well catch up on some light reading while waiting for the local "law enforcement" to realize their power play is having absolutely no effect on her. Besides, the worn volume's contents being read within these walls has a certain delicious ring of irony to it, and her smile widens as she flicks open to a page written in immaculate script, meticulously organized. If there's one thing she can't resist, it's irony, a penchant for dark humor that she knows she picked up from the book's author himself.

July 24 -
I would say that my faith in humanity is beginning to be restored, but that wouldn't be quite accurate given the fact that I never had faith in humanity in the first place and the knowledge that there's not a known force in this world that could give it to me. I've never had faith in anything besides my own ideals, something I know to be solid and true, but never before have I thought that someone else might have faith in those ideals as well.

It goes without saying that the vast majority of the Dempsey family (or at least what's left of it) bear on their collective shoulders either ignorance, unforgivable sin, or some distasteful cocktail of both. I am pleased to say, however, that a select few of my cousins seem to have broken out of that stereotype. Kiera stopped by after school today and we had a bit of a conversation that involved her asking me if there was any way I could figure out how to help her and her little sister obtain Career training without their parents being any the wiser - they're pacifists, poor fools. As if their individual practice of nonviolence will rid the world of its endless problems. Initially I wasn't inclined to assist her, after all I have far more important work to carry out, but as the conversation went on I found myself being more and more surprised by my cousin, whom I had seemed to wrongfully categorize among the rest of the idiots in my family.

On the contrary, Kiera is extremely intelligent, one of the few people I know who is able to keep up with me intellectually in a conversation - I admittedly took a moment to thank my lucky stars that not everyone in the Dempsey clan is a blithering moron. The conversation moved from Career training to current events, and I was held even more in thrall by the fact that my dear cousin sees the same sin in this world that I do, knows that something needs to be done about it. Of course, I promptly steered the topic in a different direction after a few minutes, couldn't have it going too far, but after twenty minutes or so on the front porch swing with a girl I'd previously written off as just another hopeless plebeian, I began to feel something surprisingly pleasant. Faith.

Before she left for home, I agreed to train her and little Aurora myself. I am confident that good things will come of it.

Kiera smiles at the words on the page, not eerie and laced with unshed malice like she had at the idiot woman at the reception desk but gleaming and appreciative and just a hint of nostalgic, the pads of her fingers brushing carefully over the ink-filled indents the pen made in the paper, skin on parchment whispering out what she would never say aloud when she knows the room is bugged. You taught me everything. I miss you. We all miss you. But it's all right, I understand. Of course she understands. If there's one thing she does better than anything in the world, it's understanding everything that boggles the minds of lesser beings, an omniscient sort of knowledge that could should be referred to as divine.

She understands that the world is a cesspool of sin and depravity, a horrible place where nothing good or pure can possibly thrive without being sullied, understands that the people are in no position to save themselves, held down by the chains of their own mistakes and vices. These are all things she knew from the beginning, but with help from someone who had actually realized how to solve these problems, she has finished her journey down the path of enlightenment, achieved her own divinity and found the key to salvation in the pages of the book in her hand. Brows furrowed in concentration, she flips through endless neatly-written pages until her own name catches her eye once again, a passage she's read before. She's read all of them before; this is her Bible, her Torah, her higher calling, something that requires continuous study. It's not so much hero-worship as a goddesses' nod to the one who helped her achieve her status.

November 16 -
Kiera and Aurora both show quite a bit of promise in multiple ways. While my younger cousin still has vestiges of her upbringing, reluctant to be resorted to actual violence, she's nearly unstoppable after pushed to the breaking point and getting to be excellent at hand-to-hand combat despite how tiny she is. Kiera, however, has no qualms about her self-planned rebellion against her parents wishes, and is shaping up to be quite formidable, able to hold her own in sparring matches and seemingly sharing my natural knack for ranged weapons (I'm better at knives, she's better at archery, it got to the point the other day where we set up targets and had an impromptu contest. We're both viciously competitive beneath a seemingly calm surface).

As far as their ideals are concerned, I'm actually surprised with how similarly and yet differently my cousins seem to view the world. We all know that we live in a flawed existence that needs to be purged, but shockingly enough, it's quiet little Aurora whose opinions are closest to my own, that the world is sullied by the existence of those who would see it fall into a cataclysm of vice and degradation, and that those people have to be eliminated in order for the world to truly be a better place. Kiera, despite being ruthless in combat, seems to have a more merciful view. She thinks that people can be saved, that their sins can be cleansed and they can be made anew. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. My first instinct was to tell her that she was wrong, that people are flawed creations beyond salvation and that would always be the case, but it occurred to me that maybe people have the potential to be saved and I am simply not the one to save them. I was never one who could fix things, I'm far more skilled at and entertained by annihilating them (I'm born of a family that feeds off destruction, my hands are clean and I am blameless in the face of something that I carry in my blood), but I think that if there ever was a Dempsey capable of bringing a lesser being to the light, it would be Kiera.

If she were anyone else, I might try to bend her opinions into my own and stamp out anything that didn't comply, but something tells me that her mercy and Aurora's wrath that is growing to echo my own will become a joint force that might take the world by storm one day.

"If there ever was a Dempsey capable of bringing a lesser being to the light, it would be Kiera." Delicate digits trace over that sentence contemplatively, smoke-lined amber orbs narrowing as if she's trying to read beyond the words. Kiera knows that she was put on this earth to save those who are incapable of saving themselves, her understanding of purity and light beyond the spectrum of what mortals can fathom. The process of having the darkness of life that can sully the human soul be washed away is something that she's understood since she can remember, standing in the down-pouring rain until she's sure to catch a cold, but it doesn't matter because the water whispers words of everything righteous and good to her willing ears. "If there ever was a Dempsey capable of bringing a lesser being to the light, it would be Kiera."

He really got that about her, how she was so different from the destructive tendencies of a family that had ripped itself to wreckage over the years, something that spoke of hope and moving upward and a better plane of existence. Kiera is more than aware that the world is broken, and thanks to him she knows how to fix it. Hurriedly, like she can't justify anything until she sees it, she flips all the way to the back of the book, eyes combing over the painstakingly pristine script on the last page. No date, no indication of when it was written. She thinks it must be because the wisdom there is timeless.

Dear Kiera -
I am addressing this to you because I'm more than aware that you are the only person I know audacious and frankly nosy enough to come ransack through my things. If you are reading this, there are a few possibilities of what has happened. Either A) I am dead, B) I am in prison, or C) I have seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth (I'd be willing to bet you money that the world assumes option A when the real answer is option C, but I'm not a betting man and there are more important things to discuss than how stupid most people tend to be). In any case, by this point there have almost certainly been press releases. By this point you know exactly what I've been up to for the past few years.

If anyone will appreciate my work, I know that it is you and Aurora. We're the same, the three of us, we all understand what humanity does to itself and how it can be remedied. I also know that you take a slightly different view, that you think there are people that can be saved. But, dear cousin, in the light of recent events perhaps you have realized what I've been trying to make you see all along. To live is to sin. Normal human beings, the ones who aren't enlightened, cannot go through life without making a negative impact on themselves and the world. In a godforsaken existence it is the duty of those with their eyes open to the truth to be accountable. To punish, to save, however you might want to use the terminology. You know what I'm trying to say, Kiera.

My work is not done. My work will never be done. For whatever reason, if you are reading this letter then I am unable to continue myself, but it is imperative for you to realize that my work isn't done. If you've found this journal, then you have obviously been to my house and pulled up the loose floorboard under my bed. Beneath that same loose floorboard is my collective research on poisons, and you may do with it what you wish. I must say that I don't think you have the makings of a good poisoner - you're a bit too hands-on for something so intricate - but I couldn't ask you to continue my work without leaving my tools of the trade at your disposal. That would be the height of discourtesy.

I would elaborate more as to why you need to continue my legacy, but I don't think I need to. You understand. In fact, you're probably wondering why I didn't tell you until now. Simple answer, really. If I'd told you, I would have had to kill you. A secret is only a secret if one person knows, and I didn't want to do anything to you in an effort to keep my secret safe. It's a strong term, and one that I rarely use, but I actually do like you. I like you because you understand. You know that there is the worst kind of sin in this world, that there are certain people who can do something about it. In the end, what normal people define as "right" and "wrong" has nothing to do with it. It's about making things into what they should be. In a world that God apparently forgot, someone has to step up for the sake of the rest of humanity. We are that "someone," Kiera, you and I. But I digress; you're smart enough to realize that you've been called to become a goddess to the abandoned masses. I have the greatest confidence that you'll excel at it.

I wish you the best of luck, cousin. I would send you my love, but we both know it doesn't work that way. People like you and I, We don't do love. It only gets in the way of things that are more important. Therefore:

Regards,
Kaelen

Kiera knows that it's dangerous. Kaelen took every precaution to avoid getting caught and even then the Peacekeeping force managed to put two and two together. She knows that in the end, she'll end up going the way of her cousin, either jumping the fence or rotting in a jail cell or running around the Capitol without a tongue, but she justifies that a worthy cause excuses the risk. People aren't going to save themselves because she's the only one who can save them.

She wonders if they can see it on her face from wherever they're watching her, see it sitting somewhere in the way she holds herself that she saved someone just last night. Her name was Leah. She was a nice girl, very quiet and sweet with a big smile. In fact, she'd reminded her a lot of Aurora. Leah had been sleeping on a park bench, bruises all over her in pretty little tragedies that Kiera could read like a book. Leah and her boyfriend had some issues. Leah had nowhere else to go. So Kiera had sat down, talked to her for upwards of an hour, heard her whole life story - orphan, no siblings, all of her friends alienated by the abusive boyfriend she'd finally worked up the courage to leave. No home, nowhere to go, no idea what she was going to do next. If anyone deserved a savior it was Leah, with her pretty smiles and bruises she didn't deserve. She deserved to not have to hurt anymore.

It had been easy, really. Kiera knows how people work, how they think, how they'll trust someone who sympathizes with them. She offered to let Leah crash on her couch for the night. Of course Leah accepted. Easy, too easy, it's stopped feeling gratifying anymore. The park has a pretty little pond where ducks swim in the summer. Someone can drown in two inches of water, and the strength of a devout Career is far too much for a skinny, already-battered girl who never saw it coming. This is how Kiera works, how she saves people. Leah didn't struggle much (the ones who sort of wanted to die in the first place never do), and Kiera saved her, letting the water wash away all the sins of this world, words of absolution spilling over her lips in pretty self-written hymns until the muscles beneath her fingers stilled and the bubbles stopped. Another soul baptized into new life, free from the darkness and impurities of the world.

Kiera smiles fondly at the memory, placing the book reverently back in her purse just as the door creaks open and a middle-aged Peacekeeper enters the room. She stretches her limbs like a cat in the sun, kicking her high top-clad feet up onto the metallic surface of the table. She can see it in his eyes the same way she can see into the souls of all the other lesser beings. He looks at her like a teenage hoodlum, so that's what he'll get. Kiera aims to please. It's the least she can do on her days off from being the salvation of the First District. "About time, Officer. And I would have thought you law-enforcing types would place more emphasis on punctuality. Shameful."

( H I S T O R Y )

"Is she... reading?" Wilson gapes disbelievingly, shedding a cascade of donut crumbs from the front of his shirt as he leans forward to poke at the grainy screen, like the impact of his finger will do something to change the actions of the girl on the other side of the camera. "Unbelievable. We haul her in for questioning and she's sitting there working on her English homework, cool as a cucumber. Been sitting there for an hour and she doesn't look a bit flustered. What a weird kid."

Taverson scowls and stands up, adjusting his uniform. So much for the old scare tactic idea. Should've known better, he muses, rolling his eyes before glancing over at his partner pedantically. "Her last name is Dempsey. We've been on this case long enough we should already know that that's enough to make her a weird kid right off the bat. I'm going to go talk to her. Keep an eye on the monitor, and for Ripred's sake try not to eat the whole box of donuts before I get back."

Wilson grumbles something in response as he stalks down the hallway, but Taverson can't be bothered to listen, ignoring the quiet thrum of a tension headache building in his temples. It's been a long three years, and this is it, this day, this last interview, before he can close the book on that little shit Kaelen Dempsey for good. It's all formality at this point. Taverson and the rest of the force all know what happened - the kid's dead. His crazy little sister killed him, stashed the body somewhere and jumped the fence, and that was then end of the legendary Mystery Poisoner of District One. Now it's just about filling in the last few blanks, placing rhyme and reason into the established chain of events, figuring out exactly what it was that made Kaelen Dempsey tick. It seemed like a complicated task at first when almost everyone who knew him on any level is dead or missing, but after some digging Taverson found what he was looking for - the cousins. Four of them, although two in particular were the persons of interest that would be the final puzzle pieces to closing the case. He interviewed the younger one a few hours ago and didn't get too much out of her. Quiet kid. Shy. Scared. Almost mousy. But judging from how shaken up Tracy at the front desk was after this one came in, she's a bit more promising. When he opens the door to the interrogation room she's staring at him as calm as can be, black-lined caramel glinting from the shadows as her gaze meets his over her steepled fingers, a silent challenge sitting thick inside the sloping line of the smirk pulling at her lips. Yes, definitely more promising. This one looks like she has something to say.

"About time, Officer. And I would have thought you law-enforcing types would place more emphasis on punctuality. Shameful," Kiera Dempsey drawls sardonically, the rubber of her sneakers rubbing scuff marks where they're kicked up on the table's metallic surface.

"Detective," Taverson corrects her snappishly, glaring at the feet propped on the table with heavy disapproval. The kid sees him looking and gives him the creepiest grin he's ever seen, something that sends a bolt of cold straight down his spinal column. Her feet don't move an inch. He exhales in a sharp huff, dropping his briefcase on the floor with a resounding thud and folding himself into the chair opposite her. "Detective Blaine Taverson. I'm here to ask you a few questions, Miss Dempsey, nothing important, but there was some unfortunate delay involving paperwork and I had to -"

"You were employing a psychological tactic in a vain attempt to throw me off balance, and you were monitoring my reaction via the not-so-well-hidden camera in that corner over there. The questions you have to ask me are obviously important, or you wouldn't feel it necessary to attempt to deviate me from my mental homeostasis. Said questions almost certainly have to do with my cousin, because A) I've seen your name in the papers in stories about the case, and B) his case file is sticking out of your briefcase. Biggest murder case this District's ever seen, hardly unimportant. There was no paperwork because you entered the door from the left, whereas the administrative area of the building is down the hall to your right. You have been in an office watching me, most likely having a snack judging by the crumbs on your sleeve. I might look like a hood rat, but I don't miss much, Detective. If you'll be honest with me then I'll agree to be honest with you, and maybe we'll both be home in time for dinner."

Taverson blinks once, twice, definitely not expecting that kind of vocabulary, much less that kind of rapid-fire logic from some kid who looks like she could've been hauled in for shoplifting. She called it. She called all of it, down to Wilson's stupid donut crumbs that are indeed clinging to his sleeve. "We could use you on the force, kid," he mutters under his breath before clearing his throat. "Well then, we'll be honest with each other. You're completely right about everything you just said; I am here because I have questions about your cousin. We're closing his case, and I want to fill in a few more holes before the file goes on the record. So, Miss Dempsey -"

"Kiera, please."

"Miss Dempsey." Taverson's been around the block enough times to see what she's trying to do, gain subtle control of the situation without even lifting a finger, and he has no intention of letting it happen. "Just answer the questions. Be concise, tell the truth, and like you said, we'll be out of here in good time. Now, you're Kaelen Dempsey's cousin, correct?"

Kiera looks at him oddly, like there's something she's trying to figure out, but she apparently finds what she's looking for, nodding absently and examining her nails. "Yes, I am."

"His late father was your father's younger brother?"

"Estranged, yes. At the time of his death they hadn't spoken since my father was my age."

"Estranged?" Taverson scribbles down the note in the case file, pulling a faded photograph from between the pile of papers and sliding it across the table. The contents of the worn picture are a much younger Kaelen and Kiera Dempsey, around age thirteen and fourteen, looking at the camera with penetrating tawny stares and identical knowing smiles. "There are more pictures where this came from. You and Kaelen, sometimes your little sister..." he checks the name on the file quickly. "Aurora. You seemed to be around your cousin a lot for you to be under the care of brothers who never spoke. What did their falling-out entail?"

Kiera shrugs, readjusting her footrest on the table with the sound of squealing rubber. "My father thought he could do better than his family. The Dempseys are the poster children for generational poverty. The middle brother died when he was sixteen. Gang fights. We both know what happened to Kaelen's father. The drinking, the cheating on his wife and fathering an illegitimate child, et cetera. If there's something the Dempseys are famous for it's being poor and dying young."

"And poisoning twenty-nine people on a two-year killing spree."

She offers that creepy smile again, fixing him with a penetrating stare that seems to go right through him. "Yes, and that. At any rate, my father wanted a better life, not that he got it. We're still dirt poor and live in a neighborhood where things are dull if there's not at least one stabbing a week. He and my mother, though, they're pacifists. All peace and friendship and all of those things that don't work in the real world. Tried to raise all of us that way too, lot of good it did them."

"All of you. You have..." Taverson looks down at the case file again. "Four sisters?"

Kiera nods, beginning the countdown on long, elegant fingers. "Moira's the oldest, she's twenty. Then Cora, eighteen, me, seventeen. Aurora's sixteen, and Blair's the baby, she's only twelve. My twin sister Siberia passed away in the earthquake last year."

He follows her voice down the paper, checking off names as they're listed. "And your parents are pacifists. Guess that means no training for any of you then, correct?"

"Not exactly," Kiera says with a knowing smirk, stretching out her limbs like a cat in the sun. "You asked how it was that I spent so much time around my cousin. I didn't even know I had a cousin until I was about eight. Cora ended up in the same class with him at school, came home and asked questions my parents had to answer. My older sisters were fine with never being allowed to go to the training center. But Aurora and I, we knew we had the short end of the stick. As Cora and Moira got older, grew past Reaping eligibility, we'd be taking on the tesserae they could no longer get. Upping our chances. We knew we had to get training somewhere, but not at the center where the news would get back to our parents. But then we figured it out. Where better to go for training than to the home of someone who made it a point to avoid my father as much as possible? When you live in our side of town, it's not hard to slip away."

"Your cousin Kaelen, who lived with your estranged uncle. Clever," Taverson nods, scribbling down another note. "And he did train at the center, in fact he was one of the best ones there. And you somehow convinced him to pass what he learned there on to you and your sister."

"Family ties, Detective. Blood's thicker than water and whatnot," Kiera grins, all dark and feral and self-satisfied. "My parents never guessed a thing. They thought Aurora and I had picked up a paper route to earn some pocket money. Really, we were down the street, learning about how to properly disembowel someone."

"Charming."

"Isn't it, though?"

There’s that sort of challenge sitting behind her eyes again, unspoken but very present. She’s been waiting for this. The tension headache thrums behind his temples with renewed force and Taverson sighs, raking fingers through his hair. "Well, Miss Dempsey, you seem to know what we’ve been working up to. Would you say you knew your cousin well? That you were on good terms with him?"

"I knew him as well as I know any of my sisters. Or at least I thought I did. The whole mass murderer thing came as a bit of a shock, I’ll admit," Kiera says, so offhandedly that Taverson’s taken aback by it. She could be discussing the weather. "But yes, we were on very good terms. I’m one of… three people, I believe, that Kaelen ever actually admitted to liking. So you might say we were close. We were as close as it was possible for someone to get with him. That’s a different standard than most people, as I’m sure you know, Detective. You’re the one with his profile sitting in front of you."

He nods, looking up at her from the scribbled page of notes. "You already know what I’m going to ask you, Miss Dempsey."

"Of course. You’re going to ask me why I think he did it. You’ve got the who, what, where, when, and how, Detective, but you don’t have the why, and you think I can help you because I knew Kaelen Dempsey about as well as anyone in this world ever will."

”Well that’s not saying much. Not many people in the world got the chance to know him and now he’s dead at eighteen, buried in some shallow grave out near the factory belt that we haven’t found yet, most likely, " Taverson mutters, confused by the smaller girl’s choice of words.

Kiera waves her hand through the air as if brushing off a bothersome fly. "Of course, of course, dead as a doornail. Elvira was never one to do anything by halves, and I’ve got stories on her too if you’re interested. I was merely employing a figure of speech."

"Ah. " Taverson nods, pretends to understand what kind of figure of speech she’s talking about, shuffling his papers around. "So, why do you think he did it, Miss Dempsey? Your opinion is the closest to gospel we’re going to get. What do you think happened in his head that made him snap and kill all those people? How does your normal, everyday high school kid turn into a murderous sociopath with a god complex?"

Kiera looks at him for a long time, utterly silent with something brooding and contemplative swirling in her eyes. She steeples her fingers again, resting her elbows on her propped-up legs and staring him down over the slender digits. "Do you believe in God, Detective Taverson?"

He blinks a few times, thrown off by the question. "No. No, Miss Dempsey, I don’t."

"Neither did Kaelen," she says with a final-sounding air, removing her feet from the tabletop with a graceful arc of her legs and standing, settling her purse strap firmly on her shoulders. "Kaelen believed in himself. Does that constitute a god complex, Detective? You tell me."

"That’s a riddle, not an answer."

"Of course it’s a riddle," Kiera says like he’s just pointed out the most obvious thing on the planet. "Asking ‘why’ in any situation is like trying to find the beginning of a circle. The only proper way to answer a question of ‘why’ is with yet another question. And that is my answer. Put that in your file."

When she head for the door, he doesn’t stop her, only sits calmly and watches as she swings the door open on silent hinges, wonders if anyone else thinks crazy must run in the Dempsey family alongside those weird eyes and unsettling smiles. Speaking of unsettling smiles, Kiera offers him the eeriest one yet as she stands in the doorframe, gaze fixed on the thick file in his hands. "There are no closed cases, Detective Taverson. Only abandoned ones that no one feels are worth saving anymore. Bit like the world, yes? Nothing ever truly lost. Think on that."

Taverson stays rooted to his chair long after she’s gone, listening to her laughter reverberating through the halls.

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Last Edit: Feb 9, 2014 17:01:39 GMT -5 by Deleted

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