Evelyn furrowed her brow. Something was clearly wrong with Sonnet. She seemed...emotional. That was unusual. Sonnet was usually stone cold. Or angry. She seemed angry a lot. But now something was affecting her pretty badly. Did Evelyn do something wrong? She hadn’t stabbed Sonnet today. People didn’t like it when they got stabbed, she knew that much. She knew that very, very, very much. So, that begged the question: why was Sonnet upset?

”Waz wrong?” she finally asked. She let out a loud belch, then giggled, covering her mouth with her free hand. ”I’m drunk,” she said as if that wasn’t already very, very, very obvious. She put the sword by her side, keeping her hand over her mouth. A bit of bile had risen with that belch, and she wanted to keep it down. She didn’t want to vomit in Sonnet’s apartment again (although this one was much nicer than the one they’d ended up in during their last encounter).

”Oh, this,” she held the sword out in front of her. Or katana, as Sonnet put it. ”Is this a no touch thing?” she asked, studying it carefully. She ran her finger along the edge, it was sharp, but Evelyn didn’t cut her finger. Even in her inebriated state, she knew how to handle a blade. For a moment, she was mesmerized by the katana, seeing her face reflected in the metal. She wondered how many people had been killed by this sword. She wondered if she could kill someone with this sword.

After that brief moment of thought, she thrusted the sword toward Sonnet, blade first, before stopping herself. ”Oops, here.” She turned the sword upright and handed the weapon to her by the hilt. Then she crashed back down onto the chair. ”I didn’t know the sword was-” she let out another burp, ”was such a big deal for you. What’s the big deal anyway?” She slouched down, melting into the chair.

Sonnet Matsuda

Evelyn had never gotten car sick before. She’d always prided herself on having a stomach of steel. The only time she’d ever vomited was when she got sick (or when she was punched in the stomach by you-know-who and his goons, but she didn’t think about that, not now, not ever). All the shit and piss and gore in the world would never stir a reaction in her. Swinging through the branches of the trees that populated the forest surrounding the mansion she and Axel lived in when they were young thirty feet off the ground affected her just as little. So it was strange as she felt her stomach moving with the movement of the car. She grabbed the paper bag and stared into it intensely, trying to make the world stay still.

It took her a moment to realize that Sonnet was pressed tightly against her. There was a time not too long ago where Evelyn would flinch violently away from human touch, where every skin-on-skin contact felt like a burn. Now...it was different. The warmth didn’t burn her; instead, it was comforting. She liked it, but she couldn’t vocalize it at the moment. She was worried if she opened her mouth that vomit might spill out instead of words.

Evelyn frowned as Sonnet pulled away from her. Her body was so comfy - the aforementioned piece to her puzzle. ”Where’re you going?” she slurred, careful not to open her mouth too much. She looked around. They had stopped. She looked out the window to see an apartment building. That was right. They were going to Sonnet’s place. For some reason she expected some place dirtier. She didn’t know why. Perhaps their previous interaction had colored her perception of where Sonnet was willing to live.

With difficulty, she scooted out of the cab, still holding the paper bag which, fortunately, had remained empty. Water sounded good. And so did a bed. She needed to lay down, but suddenly the thought filled her with dread as she remembered Axel’s death. He was laying down when he died, vomit filling his throat. That would not happen to her. ”Okay, but I’m not laying down,” she said with gravity as she followed Sonnet into her apartment.

Sonnet Matsuda

Locked her in a box? Who locked her in a box? When did that happen? ”Oooooh.” Her confusion melted away as Sonnet brought up prison. That was the box she was talking about. Evelyn let out a long, drunken hum. Sonnet had a point, she supposed. But Axel never got fucked in the head like she did. He didn’t go through months of torture. The doctors called it PTSD. But to her, it was just another wound that never healed, only mental instead of physical, and time away from stimulation only made that wound fester.

Evelyn nodded. ”I’ve never been nice.” She said. ”Maybe to Axel and Cat, but I always thought nice was for the weak, and I’m not weak.” She said. ”At least, I wasn’t.” She swirled around the liquor in her glass. She appeared to be deep in thought, but there weren’t many thoughts going through her head. Everything was messy, muddled, numb. She supposed that was what she was looking for. She wasn’t sure whether or not she liked it.

She snickered. ”You sound like a fortune cookie.” She furrowed her brow. ”Is that racist?” She thought for a moment, then shrugged. ”Eh, who cares? Racist shmacist. Being racist isn’t the worst thing I’ve done.” She swallowed the rest of her liquor, and looked sadly at the empty bottle. She picked it up, studying it. ”Aw, no more.” She lamented. With one swift motion, she smashed the bottle on the ground. It shattered into a bunch of little pieces. This drew the attention of the entire bar, but Evelyn was oblivious to the shock and stares of the other patrons. She let loose a little laugh, admiring the light that reflected off the shards.

In the excitement of destroying the bottle, she didn’t notice Sonnet had stood up. She was confused when she didn’t see the other woman sitting across from her. She looked around to see her putting on her jacket. ”I could…” But she didn’t want to. She wanted to be with Sonnet. Sonnet was being nice to her (no matter what she said to the contrary), and she hadn’t had someone be nice to her in a long, long time. It felt good. She got up, stumbling, almost falling face first into the shards of glass that littered the ground. ”Let’s go.” She slurred. Instinctively, she put an arm around Sonnet’s shoulders to steady herself as she walked.

Sonnet Matsuda

Evelyn was, of course, oblivious to that stares of the other patrons. She was oblivious to a lot of things at the moment. All that she was aware of were herself, the booth, Sonnet, and the booze. Thus, she was a bit confused by Sonnet’s glare. Was someone doing something she didn’t like? She looked around the bar, but found no answers. Just people doing...stuff. ”Whadder you lookin at?” She slurred, returning her gaze to Sonnet.

Evelyn hummed, happy, as Sonnet poured more alcohol into her glass. She brought it up to her lips and slurped loudly but slowly. She needed to make this whiskey last. Lord knew she needed it, and she wasn’t confident in Sonnet’s ability to give it to her when she wanted it. That was until Sonnet said she’d give her more if she kept up with her. Was this a race? Did she have to drink faster than Sonnet? Easy. She tilted her head back and downed the rest of the drink, slamming it on the table once again. ”I win.” She announced proudly.

”Pay your debts?” She was confused for a moment. Why did she say that? What debts was she paying. Then she realized. ”Oh, my debts. For me. You have debts for me.” She said. ”You can pay ‘em in booze.” She wiggled the empty glass in front of her. ”There’s nothing else I want. I just want booze. I want booze until I die.” She said. ”I wanna drown to death.”

She snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” That pang again, deeper and harsher. She tilted the empty cup into her mouth, downing the sparse drops of whiskey at the bottom before putting it down again. ”You know, my brother died like this. But with other drugs, not booze. Heroin and shit. I used to talk to him, but he doesn’t show up anymore.” Her eyes started to fill with tears. ”I lost him again and it’s all my fault.”

Sonnet Matsuda

She felt warm. It was weird. Back when Axel was alive, they both worked on increasing their alcohol tolerance. It was much easier to manipulate someone when they were drunk and you were not. They would work up in increments - one bottle, two bottles, three bottles, four - going up a step everytime they could drink without feeling the effects. Axel, of course, as he got older, loved getting absolutely shit faced, and would drink to the verge of alcohol poisoning. Evelyn had stopped drinking regularly when she went off to college. She was certainly feeling the consequences of her time away from the drink.

The world was strange and blurry. Her head felt mushy. But at least the pain had subsided. For the most part. She looked down at her hand and felt a pang in the pit of her stomach as she saw the twisted scar mangling her flesh. She tilted her head up and downed the rest of her glass, slamming it on the bar. ”Another!” She slurred loudly, melting into the bar, unaware of the volume of her voice.

She lifted her head curiously as, instead of being handed a glass, the bartender put an entire bottle in front of her. She grabbed it, inspecting the liquid inside as if it contained a secret message she needed to decode. It took her a moment and a pointed throat clear from the bartender to notice that she was actually being handed a secret message. She opened the napkin, bringing it close to the face and squinting. It was difficult to read - the words blurring and melding into each other - but she got it eventually. I don’t like owing people. What did that mean?

Finally she saw the bartender gesture to the corner of the bar. She saw a woman sitting there. It took her a moment, the world blurry as it was, but eventually, she recognized her. ”Sonnet!” She said, a stupid look on her face, eyes heavy, scarred cheeks a rosy red. She got up from the stool, bottle in her hand, and immediately fell to the ground. With a grunt, she stood up again and stumbled her way to the table Sonnet was sitting at, practically falling into the seat. ”Heyyy. Haven’t seen you in a while.” She slurred, breath reeking of alcohol.

Sonnet Matsuda

OOC Name: rainbosaur
Characters: Evelyn Winters Brian Harris Kenzi Nadir Vincent Maxfield Aoi Sato
Characters to be Retired: N/A

An inner smile spread across her face and she felt her blade slice through flesh, blood flying from the wound, the blade tinged with red, the crimson liquid soaking the woman’s clothes as it quickly spread from the gash in her side. The feeling was euphoric. Evelyn always had a thing for blood. It’s one of the many reasons she preferred knives to other weapons. Yeah, you maybe get a couple scrapes with blunt force, and you can get a pretty big hole with a bullet, but the single purpose of a blade is to split someone’s flesh. With a blade, blood is guaranteed, and the wound will almost certainly be large, painful, and up close and personal. Close enough to smell that crimson liquid as it spilled out of the of the tear in their flesh, as she was smelling now.

Evelyn now felt she had the upper hand. She’d downed one metahuman, she couldn’t wait to get another under her belt. And it seemed this one had at least a modicum of skill. She somewhat regretted letting Sunny get away. At least then she’d have another number on her kill count, but her life seemed almost too pathetic to take. She decided she would end this one. Perhaps take her head, mount it on her wall. Human taxidermy was difficult, but nothing she couldn’t manage. She’d take time with this one too. Her first metahuman kill, that had to be special.

Her attention divided, caught up in her own inner gloating, she didn’t react in time to the woman’s sudden, renewed, anger-fueled vigor as she ran toward her and leapt over her head, landing right behind her. Evelyn moved to twist her body, aiming to slice at the woman, perhaps hit something more fatal, an artery or perhaps sink a blade into her eye. Thus far, she’d just been playing with the meta, but she had other plans she wanted to get to in San Francisco. It was time to end this. She was about to twist her leg when the woman suddenly grabbed it.

Was it luck? Skill? Emotion? A combination of the three? Evelyn couldn’t say, but she felt her prosthetic limb - which had been attached to her so long, it felt more flesh than metal - disconnect from her nerves, the complex series of pinpricks at the end of the prosthetic slid straight out of her flesh. The intricate strap keeping the metal leg securely attached to her body snapped in just the right (or wrong?) places. Her leg, her arsenal, her sanity after her torture at the hands of the Glasgowman, was gone.

She couldn’t say this had ever happened to her before.

And she didn’t know what to do.

She fell. Her face slid against the concrete, wiping clean some of the makeup, revealing her scars, dislodging her colored contact, scraping her flesh. She managed to hold onto the throwing knife, but the large melee knife scattered out of her hand, out of reach. She grit her teeth, pulling the contact out of her eye, revealing her amber iris. No, she was not going to be defeated. It wouldn’t end. Not like this. She quickly rolled over on her back and threw the knife at the woman. She threw it hard and fast, aiming for the neck. She was desperate, adrenaline pumping through her veins. This adrenaline strengthened her throw, but the desperation made her sloppy. She threw forcefully, but the blade ended up flying more toward the woman’s chest than neck. A larger target, yes - it made her knife much harder to avoid, but far less fatal.

She would not lose.

Not again.

Never again.

Coryelle Wilde