[align=right]If one were to count the bloody foot prints made by her shoes there would be seven of them leading from the body she had massacred to her current position in the hall. The sound of a voice coming from behind her stopped her mid stride before an eighth foot print could be made. The voice caused an immediate freeze in her movement as her heart skipped a beat and her grip around the knives in each hand tightened. If it had a been a movie this is probably the scene where the camera would pan around so as to have her startled expression and the threat behind her in the same shot. She in the foreground as her mind quickly, somehow comprehends that he isn't dead as he picks himself up in the background while making snarky remarks. Her body turned 90 degrees, her head looking back toward his bloody yet somehow still alive form as the fore mentioned movie scene was apparently reality. To her dismay, she watched as his organs coiled back into him and his blood gelled and flowed back into him like something he had control of. Hell, obviously he did have control of it. All the while she watched in disbelief through narrowed eyes, furrowed brow and a snarl. Her stance showed confidence and strength as she didn't try to run during the event...though that may have been the wise thing to do. Get away while the enemy is distracted. How many times had she yelled at the screen for that one. Was someone yelling at her right now? Calling her an idiot for not taking advantage of the situation? Perhaps but her state of mind wasn't exactly that logical at the moment. She had blood lust. If he wanted to piece himself back together then she would just have to tear him apart again. This time into smaller bits.
She hated when she got like that. One could see it in her face, in her posture that she was just out to kill. Not senseless rampaging, wild swinging, maniac killing but calculated still mentally aware murder. It was a defense mechanism that made every living thing a target. Not even the children could be trusted where she was from. It was why she had moved to the other side of the country, to get away from that life and start anew. Never did she think the instinct honed in her hometown would be of any use outside of the place.
Looking around the hall, she very much seemed out of place now. She was the only bloody thing standing there as if the rest of it had been professionally cleaned up. And hadn't it? [color=mediumslateblue] “Fire is only for show. Even if I poured gas on you, it still wouldn't get hot enough to completely burn everything that makes up your existence,”[/color] she stated in a calm, factual tone. She had watched marathons of shows like Deadly Women and researched to get an idea of what would work and what wouldn't. This guy seemed to have his head in the clouds. Too obsessed with what he's seen from Hollywood to know how reality worked. [color=mediumslateblue]“Explosives? They're messy and loud. Again, for show. There are much more clean and quiet methods.”[/color] They stood facing off in the hall, conversing like it was normal to talk about such things. He wasn't frantic and neither was she...until she heard his next words. The realization caused the snarl to melt into a frown as she looked over her being. She had blood everywhere. On her skin, her clothes, her hair. She was painted in the stuff. [i] [color=mediumslateblue]I need to get it off[/color][/i], she thought but how to do so quickly. Thoughts ran through her head as she put her eyes back on the guy before suddenly bursting out in a dead on s
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