"'She was not fragile like a
Flower
She was fragile like a
Bomb'"
- Unknown
_____
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
That's what Lovota kept reminding herself. The moment she was out of this mountain, these 'friends' would simply develop into her enemies. That's the rule of life, down on earth. Fight or be beaten, kill or be killed.
She didn't care how much trust they put in her know, she's a caged wolf, of course she's going to act tame and make them think their the hand signals she listens to.
Besides, most people she came across that acted trustworthy, always showed their true colours when they realise who she was.
The Queen of the Hellhounds.
Grasping the door handle, Lovota knew that they'd survive without her standing watch. Besides, what were she to do if someone did walk in? No one gave her a weapon, and she was storing her energy.
Padding down the quiet hallway, she curled her dirty blonde strands around her fingers, acting shy and reserved.
Noticing the cameras bleeding red eye from the corner of her eye, she continued down the hallway. Those that met her state seemed to smile innocently at the girl.
This place was a cluster of mazes intertwining themselves behind different doors.
"Excuse me," Lovota asked, pulling on a soldiers sleeve as they walked past her.
Bowing her head so that her hair fell slightly over her face, Lovota worked to put on a feminine voice. Holding her breathe, she thought of her betrothed.
Angered at the idea of him, she felt heat flush to her cheek, as she fluttered her eyes to play it off as nervousness.
For once, he had come in handy.
"Could you point me in the direction of Dante- erm, President Wallace's office..."
"Why?" The soldier asked, wearily.
"I'm his granddaughter, he was wondering if I could go get his art supplies so that we could paint together," Lovota smiled, looking up at the soldier with tired, weakened eyes,"I have been sick for so long, I cannot remember the last time I walked these halls."
Sighing, he looked at the girls eyes and felt he saw President Wallace's eyes in her own. Both had that traumatic blue sheen to them, except hers were younger but more ill.
"Fine," the soldier agreed, knowing that there were soldiers situated at the doors, so if she isn't who she said she is, they'd take care of her.
Pulling out a device, the soldier outlines the quickest route for Lovota to take from where they were to get to Dante's office.
"Avoid the dinning room," the soldier warned.
"Why?" Lovota wandered.
"There's..." the soldier wondered, thinking of an easy lie,"cleaning, happening in there."
"Thank you," she smiled, grasping the soldiers upper arm and meeting his gaze,"I owe you one."
Plastering a kiss on to the side of the young mans cheek, Lovota bit her tongue to hold back the bile curdling in her stomach.
Pulling away, she took a step back and waved shyly, before walking down the corridor. Clenched in her hand, held against her chest, was his ID card.
-
Arriving at the glass doors to what she could only assume to be the Presidents office, she rolled her eyes at the grand insignia engraved into the glass slides.
Nobody was inside, which would make the job ten times easier for her. Although, it was strange, she'd expected to see that frail old man seated at the desk or standing at his paints.
Once every couple of months, they'd bring her here with a sack over her head. Than, they'd rip it off and she would find herself seated on cold, moulding leather.
His voice held no authority or patience towards her. Most of the time, he acted like a disappointed parent when she'd answer non of his questions about the outside world.
The one thing she'd spit at the end is,'gjor Meg til foto raunon, se hvor em far yu en din kru. Stedaunon.'
Pressing the key card to the slot besides the door, Lovota round the corner and slipped in between the opening in the door.
There was but one security camera inside, it's beady red eye watching from the corner, surveying the room.
Stepping to the side, Lovota tore a piece of the dress apart and wrapped it tightly around her fist. Than, rising it above a glass box, she smacked it down into the middle, causing the pressure to burst the glass.
Picking up the slim katana, Lovota twirled it between her fingers, feeling at ease with a weapon like this in her hands. Grabbing the hilt with both hands, she thrust it up to the camera and slashed it clean off of the wall.
Placing the sword back into the shattered, glass box, Lovota turned around and growled at the sight before her. There, in a tall, glass display case beside the presidents desk was her armour.
Her slim, chain armour sleeves and leggings shined free of blood and torn up hair. Her delicate, blue cloak had aged tenaciously under the artificial lighting. Her burgundy mask, chest plate, and dress had seen better days.
All that stood unscathed was her green gloves, boots, and shoulder pads.
Placing her hand on the glass, she stared adoringly at the armour. She had made every piece by hand, except the chain mail, that was handed down to her by her mother.
Picking up a paper clip from the desk, she wrung it into the lock of the slim glass door. Watching as it swung open, she reached out and felt the tough fabric beneath her fingertips.
At the bottom, wrung around the legs, was her holster of knives drenched in charcoal paint.
Slipping out of the dress, she began to take the armour off the stand piece by piece and pull it onto herself. Feeling the scratch of the chain mail slightly digging into her skin, she smiled as she clipped on her knife holsters around her thighs.
Pulling up her burgundy mask, that's when she realised she was no longer alone.
"I thought it was strange," the soldiers voice echoed in the quiet room,"President Wallace doesn't have a granddaughter."
Growling, Lovota stared down at the one soldier standing between her and her only exit. To put it simply, she was pissed.
"Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy," the soldier threatened, holding up his gun,"Or are you gonna bite."
"I don't know," Lovota snarled,"have you got time to bleed?"
Wrenching an arrow from its holster on the wall, Lovota twirled it between her slim fingertips.
"What are you going to do with that?" The soldier smiled,"poke me!"
Striding towards him, she sieged towards him, falling forward and wringing her arms around his legs. Using all her weight, she collided their bodies to the floor.
Flinching at the pain that shuddered throughout his body, the soldier sneered,"bitch!"
Positioning his gun infront of him, Lovota stabbed him in the chest with the arrow, making the bullets fly from the gun off to the side.
Twirling around so that she was sitting on top of him, Lovota stepped on his wrists and gripped the arrow pointing out of his stomach.
"Thanks for giving me the idea," Lovota smirked beneath the mask, as she began to twist the arrow.
Screaming out in pain, the soldier wrenched his arms up, making T'rialow sweep to the side as she rolled off of him.
Grabbing for one of her knives, T'rialow felt a searing pain hit the side of her arm, as one of the bullets grazed her skin.
Standing up, the soldier hesitated, before grappling at the arrow in his chest,"So, little doggy's got tricks?"
Smirking, she watched as he yanked it out, not realising the barbs on the end that ripped at his insides as he took it out. Suddenly, blood pooled from the wound, making the soldier fall to his knees in agony.
Walking behind the presidents desk, Lovota cursed the mountain men for putting up her bow and arrows like a beautiful relic that they didn't steal.
Ripping it from its stand, she flung the holster onto her back, as she held the bow in her hands.
Drawing the hood over her face, Lovota reached down and plucked the bloodied arrow from the soldiers bleeding side. His eyes stared up at her, his hands weakly covering the gash.
Stepping over him and making her way towards the door, Lovota reached over her shoulder and placed the arrow in its holster. Checking that the knives were all strapped in, she tightened the grip on her bow.
Having her bow back in her hands felt like she'd gotten back a limb she was missing.
Turning to look at the soldier bleeding out on the floor, Lovota smiled,"This little doggy's got fangs."
_________________________________
Authors note:
Lovota: 'I shall not speak English'
Lovota: *Speaks English as she kills*
Moral of the story, if she speaks English to you, you're a goner.
Tridgedasleng Translation:
gjor Meg til foto raunon, se hvor em far yu en din kru. Stedaunon - Make me the bad guy, see where it gets you and your people. Dead.