Twisted sisterhood // [Opal]

It was odd. Opal felt strangely annoyed that she had not yet killed anything. Locust, Dace and Xanthus had all taken a life, granted, Xanthus had killed a mutt, but it was still a life nonetheless. And it annoyed Opal that she had not yet done the same, she felt like the odd one out, the only one that had not yet spilled the blood in the form of death. He shouldn’t have. And it was taking most of her willpower to revert from the idea that she had to do it. Taking a life, whether it is a mutt, another tribute or a friend was not something that should be taken lightly. It was a sin, and you were punished for killing. Maybe that was why Locust had been hopeless in that last fight, maybe the thought of death was weighing on her mind. Maybe that was why Drace was being hurt and hurt, his wounds the worst and most severe of them all. Was it because he had killed? Was it because he had taken a life he had had no right to take? Was that why Xanthus was being hurt and why when she had looked at him, he looked at Drace with a different kind of pain then before? Opal did not know, but she was more than sure that taking a life, even if it meant protecting your own would do more damage to your soul then anyone could ever imagine. Hell, she was completely puzzled as to why Locust had not spoken about who she had killed, or why the district two girl had not even made a sound.

Maybe it was just eating away at her and it would continue to do so until she died. Maybe it would be the death of her. Who knew? Nobody did. Raising her eyes upwards she glanced at Locust. She watched as the charming tribute from district two moved. Everything she did was with an unnatural ability to remain silent. It was spooky sometimes, and at other times Opal just liked to listen, eyes closed, stretching her hearing capabilities to the limit to see if she could just hear her. Xanthus held the same uncanny ability as Locust. Even Drace was silent when he moved, but that was because he had spent years on the streets stealing. The only ability Opal had to remain silent was when she sat and did nothing, pretending to imitate her plants. She could do that for hours, allowing her body to blend to the movement of the lives around her until she did what they did as though it were second nature. When she was focused or moving she was rather clumsy, hell she had already fallen three times since she had entered the arena. Even though she had great skill in gymnastics and dance she was a klutz. However, when she danced or flipped or spun her body seemed to focus on all the elegance she contained and it would play out only then. But when she was just running or walking she could trip over thin air.

Her movements were never loud, though. She was naturally light on her feet and she had gained a few more tips and skills during the training she had had as a career.

Once more she found her dark brown eyes finding their way to the thin figure of Locust Lovelace. Opal’s sword, the Dao lay on her lap, she was in the middle of cleaning the razor sharp blade, but as always the sight of Locust had her distracted. Frowning slightly she forced her eyes onto the blade in her lap, where she was using a bit of her shirt that she had ripped off to clean the blade. The blood had dried and was coming off in brown flakes. Her left hand moved over the top, wiping sideways to catch the bits right at the tip, whilst her right hand grasped the hilt. Her left arm stung slightly from the wound the combustiphant had made, but it was clean and she had wrapped a small length of the bandage around it. It had barely bled, so that had been reassuring. After a few seconds Opal’s gaze began to wonder and eventually she found herself looking at Locust, again. Her stomach clenched as she eyed Locust, eyes roaming over the girl with an odd need. Opal had been desperately trying to ignore the fact that every time she glanced at Locust she felt her stomach flutter, or that every time they were in a fight and after a fight the first person she checked on was Locust.

Opal Shore liked Locust Lovelace. But it was more than the friendship kind of like, it was the like like kind of like. And she hated herself for feeling that way. But she could not help it. Locust was charming, tall, strong and very much capable. She was powerful, attractive and smart. She was everything Opal liked in a person. Now, Opal had never before liked a girl in that way, and in all honesty she had only ever liked a boy in that way once before. She preferred her plants over people. But in this case Locust was much better to look at then the plants and every time she looked away Opal found her eyes almost absently wondering back to her. Locust shifted position and Opal, startled by the sudden movement jumped slightly, the sword slipped in her grasp and within seconds she was scowling, her dark eyes frowning angrily at the sword in her hands. Cursing under her breath she lifted up her bleeding hand, a cut crossing from her thumb to the other side of her palm. ”Damn you, Pyrite.” She snapped, roughly shoving the sword off of her lap and away from her body.

Glaring at the sword she wiped the blood off of her hand, pressing the new wound into her other hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. ”Why did you name your sword ‘Pyrite’?” Opal’s attention was snatched from the blood and focused onto Locust, her eyes meeting the other girls. She pursed her lips, unsure of how to respond. Opal was guarded and normally any mention of her family sent her running the other way. Besides Pyrite was hardly a subject she wanted to talk about. "I named her after my sister.” She replied, acutely aware that Locust would probably already know that, snorting she said, ”But not for the good reasons, you would think.” Opal once more found herself unable to look at Locust, the mention of her dysfunctional fmaily darkening her mood. ”As I recall, you mentioned good things about her during your interview.” She laughed at that, her smile more tight then she had intended. Shrugging slightly she leaned back a bit, head tipping back to stare momentarily at the sky. ”That was me just being cruel. I could imagine Pyrite sitting at home screaming her head off. Yelling at the tv and maybe even throwing a few things.” Looking back at Locust her expression darkened, ”Pyrite Shore is hardly an angel, she is the worst kind of person.”

I'm waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
I'm breathing in the chemicals
I'm breaking in, shaping up,
then checking out on the prison bus

”Tell me more.”

Stretched out before her was a loud that was inhabited by the strangest of creatures. Her alliance had injured and attacked one of those very beasts. After many more minutes of glancing around her and looking left and right she could see no other sign of beast. Instead she was struck by the silence that surrounded this place. It was like a veil of fog, where her voice seemed to echo through it, slicing it like water is cut, and exactly how it reforms after you have disrupted its pattern. It was eerie and to some extent uncomfortable, there was no relaxing echo of the forests world, there were no insects, no fresh, healthy hum of life. It was dull, quiet and all in all completely and one hundred precent not peaceful. It made Opal restless and every few seconds she’d stretch out her injured hand, flexing it to the bit where a small spike of pain would grasp her. And then from there new blood would well up as she tore the cut open once more. Then she’d stop, hand falling to her side once more, letting it relax and clot and feel better. She’d turn to her sword and grab the hilt, before shoving it away and she’d grip the pocket watch, hold it in her good hand and squeeze, then she’d let go and look upwards. Hoping that the sky would offer some kind of distraction, but it gave nothing. The air was clear, blue, boring and still.

Then after staring up there she’d look down eyes searching for her water jug, which was wrapped in the tarp she had received from the cornucopia. In the jug was water, clean, fresh water, enough to keep her alive for three more days after she drank it. Her mouth would itch and her thirst would arise and Opal would have to force herself to look away, before she took a sip, before she drank ad could not hold back. She had gone without water for two days, and she would be dammed if she wasted what precious bit she had now. Not until she needed it. And of course she felt oddly guilty at the idea of drinking water when both Drace and Xanthus had none. Locust had escaped with a water jug and both of them; early that morning had awoken to see that the fog had condensed into their jugs. Quickly she turned her attention away from the jug and away from her stuff. Forcing back the urge to once more flex her hand she faced Locust. Allowing herself to be taken away by her charming looks, slim figure and amazing face.

Biting her lip she paused, Locust’s prodding to hear more and no more making her shift uncomfortably in her present position. Any thought of Pyrite was generally a bitter one. Opal could not even remember one time, if there were any at all, that Pyrite had been anything but a bitchy, whiny little brat. Pyrite had always been an odd one, she was hardly charming, snarky and very rude, she had the attitude of a badger and the ferocity of a tiger in heat. Opal often wondered how she had even survived to the ripe old age she was at now, the girl surely had enemies and people that would be willing to kill her. And yet, Opal was also sure that more people at the training centre and basically in district one hated her, or disliked her more than they ever did Pyrite. At least Pyrite played by the rules, she trained, she was a good little career, Opal was most definitely not. Sighing she closed her eyes, briefly willing herself to say nothing, but knowing that she wanted to tell someone about her sibling problems. And frankly she was running out of time to have anyone to talk to before she died, and well, she liked Locust enough to trust her with this kind of matter.

So she did just that, she trusted Locust, and she looked into Locust’s eyes and pretended that there were not millions of people potentially listening to what she was going to say. "What is there to say? I think everyone has family problems, I can hardly say mine are the worst. I don't know, I just hate mine, I guess." She offered Locust a curious glance, ”if I recall correctly from your interview you had some family issues as well. What is your family like?”

I'm waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
I'm breathing in the chemicals
I'm breaking in, shaping up,
then checking out on the prison bus