give me a man (with a little fight in him) pvk ; day 6

So here's the thing. Bellamy can’t break her heart because technically she’s not supposed to have one. Perry's a goddamned career, alright? Doesn't matter that she's from the shit district now. People don't get to just forget how great Two was. Sure they didn't win all that often, but like, hello? They were pumping out PK's for a reason. Don't look at the Aubergine kid; Perry's the real wonderboy here. She's got grit and determination and she's a nasty fighter, she's got a temper to rival Strauss's and it's her own stupid fault that she got soft enough to forget that.

She likes to press on the bruise, just to see how it feels. Perry's her own sadist. She came here to kill kids and show off. She volunteered because someone broke up with her. Who knows what she'll do now.

No more pretty words. No more slack in the leash because someone gave her bedroom eyes and she was weak for that. She'll crack open the chest of the next person that does it, reach right in and pull out their heart and eat it whole and laugh at the look on their face.

Oh, you thought she was in love?

She loves like she burns. She loves the taste of blood and the warmth of it down her throat, the way it settles and sets her nerves better than any shot. She loves the way a rabbit panics just before it dies, loves the sound it squeaks out when it realizes it's been shacked up with a predator all along. She loves the snap of a ribcage; the criminal pattern of brain matter; the sharp tang of fear in the air.

She's not nice - don't forget that. She played whack-a-mole with a trainer and tried to smash his cerebral cortex in. She never claimed to be anything but awful.

So yeah. Perry's a goddamned career - same as Larissa; stony eyed and strong-willed and prone to slitting the throats of anyone that gets too close.

Funny then, how Bellamy and Larissa are both out there kickin' it still.

She swears she never fell asleep last night, she wanted to stay up to see what would happen, if they'd get up and leave her again and if she'd have to kill them for it, but sometime between one blink and the next the air had changed and Perry was on her feet with no memory of ever standing. Her foot was in the oil slick again, her one good shoe lost in the muck, her back aching, and she just stood there and screamed loud enough to shake the trees.

Let whoever hears it come. Let whatever hears it come. There's blood under her tongue and bits of gore stuck between her teeth. Her eyes are pitch dark. The shadows cling to her like cobwebs, spider silk stained; she stands as the dead bride, smashing up her own altar, and she resents the world for it.

Come sweep her away, see what happens.

Fuck that Ulysses kid by the way. Perry's mastered the hobble-spear-jump manoeuvre she has to do now that she's one foot down and tries to do it gracefully. Or at least not stupidly. The pain of the thing's long dulled by now, it's more annoying than anything. She has no idea how losers like Teddy Ursa managed to do this day after day, missing a whole leg.

Perry's pretty sure she'd be able to pull that off but still, doesn't mean she wants to. She festers in one place, gnashing her teeth and slowly getting acclimated to the newer, darker waves of rage that brush over her. The feeling's almost gentle - tickle of Larissa's hair, warmth of Bellamy's palm. The human spirit is a remarkable thing. She's never felt like this before - she's got this vast chasm of wrongness that scooped all her insides out and burrowed itself deep. She's not supposed to be like this. She's wrong now.

Perry digs her spear into the ground and grinds her jaw so hard that her back molars shatter. She spits out blood and glass and her eyes gleam the way a shark's do - terribly.

She's going hunting.

The pixies are no help. Perry spots them and immediately starts swatting at them viciously, stomping her way along in whatever direction she feels like. There's a little bitch from Eleven that's aching for a blade through the skull. Not even a grave can stop her now. Caspian's dead, Jayson's dead; there's no one left to protect the runts.

Perry crashes her way through the woods like a storm. The trees tremble. The sweat on the back of her neck feels like blood. She's running so hot that she might as well be on fire.

That'll be the fever.

Treat your severed limbs properly, kids.

And it must be some kind of fever dream that shows her the same bodies that they'd found here last time; half-decomposed and rotting, black blood oozing. They're not real, Perry tells herself. It doesn't matter that they're walking and talking this time, flickering with her gaze - it's just a trick again. It's a silly little Halloween act that the Gamemakers think they're very clever for.

Nevermind it. Don't look. Focus. She's found a pair of warm bodies. Not the ones she was looking for, but still. Maybe good enough. Maybe.

She’s just north of unwell, made up of false bravado and a heaping pile of real anger; one part girl, three parts animal. She's missing a foot and a good chunk of her common sense and there's something evil sitting on her shoulders - she's got a handful of those pesky pixies shish-kabobbed on her spear (only ended up making the rest of them angrier but, whatever, c'est la fuckin' vie, she'll use them later for advanced target practice).

Now, to make one thing clear -

"Damn," She calls out, something wild edging up against her tone, "Y’know the invite never said anything about a sausage party!"

- all boys must die.