{ claus } d3 fin

C L A U S

They threatened to take my fucking arm; that's whack as shit right? 

Aight, aight let me start from the beginning. My father and I were just chilling around, like extreme level lounging, decapitated nub of my arm just hanging out, no girl on earth needs prosthetic to eat chips aight. Our old black and white t.v. losing signal every few minutes, we made a promise a while back (like, fourteen years agoish, who's counting) to keep up on movie night ever since my father caught a connection. He's like, a wifi pirate -- district three kids grow up making this shit, not actually using it. But see, my dad's the smartest man I know, built his own microwave in high school, made me a metal arm, high jacked some capitolite radio station, he's good enough.

That's not quite the beginning actually- damn. What was I talking about? 

Ehh, it'll come to me, usually how these things go. Oh, oh oh wait -- haha, I remember what I- no actually, never mind I don't. Well, this is awkward. 

My pops was always really bad at rambling too, still is, mumbling to himself in some incantation or something - can't call him out on it cause he has me doing the same. You know what they say, one tree grows as crooked as another under the same wind or something, you know? At least I think they say that, my mom did and that's close enough.  She ain't dead or anything, lord no, just divorced and living on her own I think. Last time I heard she was still breathing, but we don't keep up much - I love her though! No worries there, it's just
weird? 

Off, or something. 

Family issues aren't anything badass, as a kid - y'know, back when I had two arms and all HA - my brother and I weren't close, my mother and I had that family smell to it but nothing past that. It was always my pa and I, messing around with nuts and bolts and my brother would just roll his eyes, saying we had a few nuts loose and I beat his ass one time. Between gap teeth and buck teeth, squinting and all in his face,

"What do you want Claus."

I wanna know why you keep taking my SHIT-"

Words, words, old history blah blah I can't remember off the top of my head, but I had on these really big overalls and I only remember because the strap kept falling while I chased him. See, there's this whole stigma with older siblings to be the better example, but it gets tedious being this whole genius child and then also wait for Chrys to get anywhere near my level, honestly. And he did have a bad habit of stealing from me, so oh well, bitch can learn to keep his hands to himself OR can learn to catch these hands. And it kinda just sucks? 

For him?

Because I'm so much more talented? 

And I mean, I don't hate him. There's some type of strong ass feeling I have towards Chrys that isn't so much sibling love, but it's a situational thing. Our parents don't hate each other, mostly just a, hmm, difference of opinions? Let me explain: my father believed that he was a talented man with much potential, and my mother believed she was single. So they ended up getting a divorce, nothing terrible, Chyrs- Chrys, god, fuck. That's such a stupid name- sorry, he ended up staying in that old home and I moved out with my pops at seven to this old scrap yard his grandfather used to own. Bunch of glass bottles, sharp metal, rust and nails -- we're clumsy bastards to say the least.

We've made a history out of it pretty much, breaking down metals and building cool ass shit for a lack of a better word, most of it harmless. When my father got me into the gig I started building tiny toy cars, stepping up to building this super sweet robot when I was ten? Eleven? Something like that, it wasn't anything special. Could walk on its own and most of the adults around the district could do the same regularly in factory work, and if I didn't have any integrity I'd be doing the same honestly- is that bragging? 

I hope so. 

Honestly, I'm not half as good as my dad. Deadass he built me an arm, I mean, it's nothing amazing but it may as well be, this bad boy right now being the third model. It's been a good little while since I lost that fucker, so the original right arm I had (we call that model zero) got replaced with bad boy RAM-1 (right arm model, one), which basically was just cosmetics. The second was such a step up -- this one actually bends like, how fucking lit is that? 

Anyways, he stopped working on RAM-3, so that baddie's gonna be all on me. Which is interesting, the first girl to build her own body part outside the womb, catch me on that. I keep trying to push this, stepping up what level I'm building on to something more, something that matters, or is badass or something- my father tries to keep himself in this box. Gets too scared to work for the Tatlocks, the fuckers already took my arm! What's the point in being afraid of them, for as close as we are there's still a lot he keeps out of the light and it's stupid. 

In part I know he blames himself for the Tatlocks and this whole arm, RAM situation, but like, it's not like anybody's blaming him. We're a bunch of galaxy jumpers out here in this scrap yard, what's the deal with a little fire biting back. Way back in the day- six years or something - these fuckers named the Tatlocks started holding my dad for ransom- not ransom, blackmail. My favorite type of mail. Sent him a shit ton of threats on my head in exchange for guns, which was fucking stupid, since he never told me himself- I only learned through this cunt named Dante I ended up bagging up. 

And you see, good ole Charles de Rolo thought he was a badass, cut their supply and they cut my arm off, and of course I cried. Well, my father ended up crying something like "omg!! my daughter please don't die on me I can't believe this I'm so sorry," or something, I can't remember the exact words. Then I cried like a little bitch, bleeding out on the living room floor and I usually just drown this shit out- I screamed and bled and shook until my vocal chords beneath my fat head threatened to rust like everything else I've known. My father screamed too, holding me and cursing his own name and fucking stupid, fucking-

Sorry. 

In part, I have no choice but to blame him. If a girl's got her life on the line, you let her know, and I didn't learn about the blackmailing until I jumped Dante. Hunted the fucker down myself, bout a year ago, shocker in my back pocket. Let it be known I tazed the fuck out of him, tied him up something tight and licked my lips as I punched him in the that fuckhead face. Busted his nose, blood on my pounding knuckles- 

"spill, fucker."

"BOUT WHAT BITCH,

"You know WHAT" and I buzzed electricity like a threat. Half like a promise, no way in hell I'd let a little bitch boy fuck with the one family I've got. Hell, if Charles died then I'd be stuck with fuckass Chrys and he thinks voltage is a brand of cigarette. Bitch boy rambled a bit, Dante cussing and swearing about how much of a crazy bitch I am blah blah blah, he takes my arm, he blackmails my father, he threatens to take my other arm, and I'm still the antagonist. "Clean your goddamn trailer, Dante," something just ain't right about boys. 

He struggles against the coil wiring as I throw one of the empty alcohol bottles, smashing the glass against the trailer walls - fuck it's hot. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE-"

"Aye, you got AC?"

Dante goes back to screaming and shit and I de-Rolo my eyes to the back of my head, the tazer stiff in my hand- "look," metal hand stiff in his hair, tazer buzzing dangerously close in the other, "tatlock is riding my dick a little too hard for me to resist burning your ass with field wire and tazer fire" - a push. I lean into his face, eyebrows stern like cliff sides. "Fuck you, whore."

He spits in my face. 

A groan, I knock his head back, neck popping and praying I give this bitch whiplash so hard he gets vertigo- "I let you out, you tell me about tatlock." Waving the tazer around inches from his nose, "fine- goddamnit fine, shit," and I don't hesitate. "But toss the light, on the counter sis," fuck this kid I swear to god- "deal." And okay, maybe this wasn't the smartest move, but I ain't fucking stupid all the way through. I slap it harshly on the table, near a beer bottle before coming back and untying field wire. "Can you scratch the back of my a-"

"Shut the fuck up, Dante."

As soon as the coils start to drape loose the fucker tries to get sweet- like what the fuck? Catching his hand around my collar bone, digging rough cut nails into my flesh arm, screaming some blood stained words- god I can't stop laughing thinking about this bitch, like oh my goddd, what the fuck. Can't even let a girl interrogate without being an asshole these days, I head butt the shit out of his nose, dazed but he doesn't let go, blood digging out between five scratch-stab-wounds? How do you describe getting stabbed by a cunt's pork fingers, hell if I know. And it was this really awkward few minute of me grabbing at his ear with my free hand, trying to unlatch myself and throwing us both to the ground, knocking the tazer from the counter on the way down. 

"I'mma feed you to the fucking rats bitch-"

"FUCK YOUR FAMILY-"

Stretching fibers in my fingers until tears well in my eyes, Dante scratching at any exposed skin and tearing fabric, the stringer back in my hand familiar and black and "FUCK YOU," a satisfying ha, pushing him off of me with a kick to the abdomen and let it be known for the second time that I did, in fact, taze the absolute fucking shit out of the tatlock fucker named Dante Enwood. 

"WHATS WITH THE FUCKING BLACKMAIL-" a desperate scream from an interrogation turned me actually breaking, entering and assaulting a local bitch boy.

He ended out screaming something like "omg it's just for guns you crazy bitch!!" but I can't remember the exact word, kinda anticlimatic. But I tazed him a few more seconds, kicking the heel of my boot into his abdomen a second and third time, because god fuck Dante honestly- oh well. That's the gist of how I ended up getting hired for illegal firearms creation. Catch me later, I have to go.

It's movie night with pops tonight.