Dust and Dollface

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Dinah is ravenous.

A tongue flicking out as fast as a human blinks, running against shining porcelain lips. Stomach howling like a stray coyote when finding it's open eyed moon. Nails extending, dipping into claws then slowly retreating. Everything in her body pervaded for something else. She was something else.

"Plink."

"Mr. Schenectady-" She signs, hands dashing into words in the most quickest of jerks and snaps. Every move she makes is like that though; like a little girl is playing with Dinah as if she is a toy, a puppet. It doesn't help she looks like one.

A glass doll's unpainted skin. Patches of painted flowers tucked and twisted in a few places here and there. Behind an ear, under a golden lined eye, around an ankle and a wrist. Delicate places for delicate looking things.

"William. My name is William," the man snaps, though his bleak blue eyes are like water spreading, patience spilling, then steaming up into nothing under her empty eyes.

William acts like he angered by her presence now, but he is not. Dinah can tell this by the way his hands are strangling each other under his oh so neat desk. The sweat glistening at his hairline and his lack of eye contact after that one stare. William is worried, and Dinah is pleased, but she won't show it. It's like a card game of sorts. Only the loser will lose their life instead of some inked riddled green paper.

William knows what she is.

Dinah scowls, then nods sharply, her heels over the murky blue carpeting. William also knows what she wants but, ever the smart man, won't tell her where it is. Otherwise he'd die the second he handed it over. He can tell she has already lost her patience with him, but he still believes he can make it out alive. Silence ensues, but it's the stagnant kind, like the constant sticky stains on the tips of your fingers you had as a child. Dinah's gaze grazes over Will's oversized books and shelves, smeared crookedly across almost every wall to hold them. She is already tired of his childish antics. Her long years have only made her more impatient.

William's only hope is to either persuade her away, or strike a unbeatable bargain. Those are his only cards. So he plays them.

"Listen, doll-face. You can't just waltz in my office without making an appointment like you did, so we don't't have what you want," Will sneers in a brusque manner "and please take into consideration that you are just a no-" William sputters a wet rusty cough, droplets of blood spraying from his thin lips. It stains them, along with the front of Dinah's maroon dress, with enticingly button lining that dips down between her breasts. A very expensive, ancient dress.

"I had this dress made by a dear friend of mine." Dinah's voice is disembodied, coming from each corner of the office, lips unmoving and her years sparkling through the very tone of it. She begins to prefer the quiet, no matter how insufficient it seemed to be. Dinah tries to calm herself, but all she can hear is the voices, chanting frantically within her head.

Ruinedruinedruined.

Skin wrenched open under grotesque glass nails, blood hissing out, then leaking. Spilling organs in sloppy shreds, sharp cries, choking...then...nothing.

Calm! You need to keep sane, stupid girl! She sits straighter, the shiny leather of the seat making an obnoxiously loud "squeak" in protest. Dinah's stiff, polished porcelain hair remains motionless. The rain pours harder, "plinks" becoming "thuds" while the wind howled harshly outside, twisted trees swinging against each other and tapping on the only window in this small room. It's quite large, almost taking up the whole wall behind William.

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