cold-blooded fire; kiah

V I C T O R .

I thank God every day (uh huh)
That I woke up feelin' this way (uh huh)
And I can't help lovin' myself
And I don't need nobody else, nuh uh

Victor had a big day planned. A big day of tearing down self esteems and feeding the little demon that was growing inside his favourite child: Isabelle. There was namely only one self esteem that he would be dragging through the dirt this afternoon and that was Merediths. It was a true pity that she would not be able to witness it, to hear the judgement and critiques that he was about to bestow upon his pupil. He would give anything to see her nostrils flare with anger, to see her eyes glaze over in fear. To feel her beating heart in his hands. 

He could feel the anger that slumbered begin to rouse once again. He had thought that once he had burned down her sleeping quarters that he would feel it ease. But even the site of the blackened ash still cause his veins to pulse, his own nostrils to flare. 

"it’s pronounced str-ass like ‘ass'."

The words still seared into his mind. Every time her closed his god damn eyes he could see her, her finger wiggling itself so deep into her nostril that he was sure if she dug any deeper she would penetrate the tissue of her brain. Hopefully causing brain damage. 

He believed that it would take a lot of shit talk to get the feelings to dampen. So what better time too start than today.

Thats why he had sent for Isabelle to meet him in the viewing room. He had set up the theatre screen, and one leather black armchair. He had two things to go over with her today. The interview- just the thought of it started to make his blood boil- and the sad excuse of a training score the girl had manage to get. He had no idea what she had done- or to be more accurate what she hadn't done. But that didn't matter, because the number said it all.

1.

1!!!

His nostrills are flaring, his heart racing and the desire to throw his fist at something that would scream consumed him-

“Yes sir, I’m here sir.” The words of the child cut through his haze and he forces himself to regain some composure. Standing up straighter he greets her with a nod, signalling that she should take a seat on the chair. 

"Isabelle," he says as he watches her, picking up the remote from a small table set up beside her. "Today I have a very important lesson for you." He continues, his finger clicking the power button, causing the screen to jump to life. "One that you will need to remember if the day comes that you are reaped." Not many of the children he actually deemed acceptable to be reaped. Of course he would want any of their names to call. But there was only a select few that be truly believed had the potential to succeed. And little Isabelle was on top of that list. So yes, did he seem to give her that little bit extra interest? Of course he did, he wanted the others to feel threatened by her. He wanted them to see her for what he saw her as. He wanted them to fear her, almost the way they feared him. But not quite the same, he didn't want anyone to be feared more than himself. He was selfish that way. 

"Today we discuss what an utter failure Meredith Strauss is.

Pay close attention."

V I C T O R .

I thank God every day (uh huh)
That I woke up feelin' this way (uh huh)
And I can't help lovin' myself
And I don't need nobody else, nuh uh

The interview comes to life and he feel the rage that was simmering in is body begin to boil. He clenched and unclenched his hands, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady. He watched as she sauntered over, plopping herself down like she was about to enjoy a movie with a couple friends. Not that Victor really understood that feeling. He didn't have friends, he believed most people to be below him, so refused to give them the attention that they so often craved from his charismatic personality. 

Then she was speaking, her words of those of someone raised by peasants. There was no professionalism and if Octavia had been standing beside him he knew that her hair would be littered with a couple more greys, her fingers clenching her wine glass so tight that it might even shattered beneath her touch. At the next words she would then lose her shit, and Victor would watch in pure delight as his sistered lashed out. Maybe he should have invited her, maybe he still should. But after a moment he decides not to, his attention drawn once again to the shit head on the screen.

It was back to the moment her fingers was digging a path to her brain through her nose. He watched and it was like time slowed, like Meredith was looking at him through the camera, a smirk dancing on her lips. Are you proud of me father? It almost asked him, before time returned to normal, his fingers burying themselves into the black leather of Isabelle's armchair. The rage that had burned through him when he had stalked the mansions halls, when he had lit that matched that burnt her room to the ground was back, its fingers seductively brushing up its arms as they tempted him to once again lose his grasp on his temper. To fully let go and indulge in the feeling of breaking something, of destroying something. Watching it become worthless at his finger tips. 

“She’s stupid!” His gaze cuts to the child, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. Yes, she was stupid. “She’s weak and she’s trying to make us all look weak and I hate her!” That feeling that had been foreign but was now becoming more comfortable when around Isabelle pulses through him. Pride. The words that slip past the guard of his lips as like a cooling breeze, simmering the rage slightly as it was replaced with the feeling of pride. He couldn't believe just how quickly the girl was evolving, into the image that he had created in his mind. 

"That is correct, Isabelle. The girl is stupid." His fingers reach for the remote, and he presses pause. He quickly grabs an empty chair and positions it in front of the child before taking a seat, crossing one leg over the other as he fold his hands onto his knees. "Have you seen what happened to her rooms?" He asks, his voice surprisingly calm, his focus no longer on Meredith but on his ever evolving weapon. "Do you understand why myself, and Killian burnt it to the ground?"

V I C T O R .

I thank God every day (uh huh)
That I woke up feelin' this way (uh huh)
And I can't help lovin' myself
And I don't need nobody else, nuh uh

Victor still remembered the feeling of the ember burning the tips of his fingers as he tossed the match onto the gutted bed. He could still smell the first wife of smoke as the ember began to eat away at the material, consuming any fuel that allowed it to grow into a burning inferno. He could still taste it on his tongue. He had thought it might satiate the rage that burned through him, he had thought that it could calm the dragon that threatened to burst through his skin scorching anyone in his way. But as he watched the flames his satisfaction had only lasted a few hours.

But the image it represented would always be burnt into the Strauss history. He would make it into museum so tp say, a engraved plaque informing the children who walk past what happened when you dragged the family name through the dirt. Death wouldn't be enough to escape it, he would make sure that they were remembered as the termites that they were. When anyone spoke her name- Meredith's name- they would not be filled with awe, their eyes would not glaze over in fascination. No, he would make sure their lips curled in distaste, he would make sure that her image was to tarnished that just the thought of her made your stomach flip with distaste.

No one got away with spitting on his name, of dragging it through the trash, especially not the children who he had given a chance to become kings and queens.

“She doesn’t deserve to be remembered.” Victor purses his lips, crossing his arms across his chest as he observes the child. Not exactly right, he thinks, maybe he didn't quite make his intentions clear enough. He takes a mental note, reminding himself to talk to Killian about it, to use his brothers strategic mind to make sure that his message could not be interpreted in any way but the way he intended.

“History doesn’t remember losers.” Now this was something that he could agree with. History only told the tales of victories, failures swept under a rug in the back of peoples minds, never to be exposed. "So she doesn’t even deserve to be remembered as a Strauss, because we’re training to be winners.”

Bingo. There it was, not a Strauss. Meredith lost the privilege of calling herself a Strauss the minute she decided it was okay for her to speak- no think- one ill word against the family name.

"Very good," he praises as he uncrosses his legs, leaning forward resting his elbows on his knees. "But not perfect. The reason Killian and I burnt down the room was to make sure that there would be a constant reminder in this house. That every time one of you walked past the room you would remember her- remember her to be an utter disappointment. A reminder that when you step out of line in this household and so easily your life, your history, can be forever destroyed." He sits back again, "but you're right that she will be forgotten. The Strauss family doesn't waste time on losers. The room will just be a reminder of what happens when you become a failure in the eyes of this family. No one will remember the name Meredith, they will see the room at they will be a constant reminder of the time one of you thought it would be okay to ruin us.

And that will never be okay, do you understand?"