Opheliac

Guess what.

You’re superstitious, huh?

It’s like I believe in the opposite thing. 

I don't understand. Illuminate me.

She frowned, trailing her bony fingers through her tattered pink locks. “That’s what us girls do, we’re cats.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “We show the dogs our claws then cry when they bark back.” She looked to her toes and her bandaged ankle. “I know, I’m disgusting. I...

"Well, y'know, sometimes life's easier when the collars around your neck, less responsibility, fewer worries." She shrugged, grabbing her tights and slowly ripping parts of them, smiling at the display of sounds given off from the fabrics. "I don't feel pain, so I've never been hurt. But if you're talking about my breaks, I was a cunt far before them. They however were done by a doctor and a vampire, neither of which I wish to recall right now."

Guess what.

What’s wrong with the number seven?

It’s unlucky.

Where did you pluck that idea from?

I know thirteen is unlucky, and seven is lucky, but I don’t like the sound of seven either.

You're superstitious, huh?

Guess what.

What’s wrong with the number seven?

It’s unlucky.

Where did you pluck that idea from?

Guess what.

Really, it’s true.

I don’t think it sounds like a good age, but that’s probably just because it involves the number seven.

What's wrong with the number seven?

Guess what.

The perfect age to be, you know I always said people look their best at twenty seven.

Really?

Really, it's true.

"Oh, it’s Spencer, is it? I knew it began with an S.." She said, looking to his eyes and smirking. She leaned against the wall, sinking down. "Well, if you don’t tell me what it is, I can hardly deliver." She rolled her eyes, curling her toes on her right foot. "I wouldn’t...

She frowned, trailing her bony fingers through her tattered pink locks. "That's what us girls do, we're cats." She sighed, rolling her eyes. "We show the dogs our claws then cry when they bark back." She looked to her toes and her bandaged ankle. "I know, I'm disgusting. I disgust myself." She raised her hand to gesticulate but refused eye contact. "Beaten, fucked and left for dead, that's what my dad said I'd always be. Ladies are careless and gentlemen aren't nice."

Guess what.

Well, happy birthday to you! How old are you now?

Thank you, I’m twenty seven.

The perfect age to be, you know I always said people look their best at twenty seven.

Her fingers hardened into a talon like posture. She looked up and smirked. “What do you want me to do? Release these bad boys?” she laughed, imitating a cat swiping its claws in the air. She brought her hands down, resting them on the floor between her legs. “I know who you...

"Oh, it's Spencer, is it? I knew it began with an S.." She said, looking to his eyes and smirking. She leaned against the wall, sinking down. "Well, if you don't tell me what it is, I can hardly deliver." She rolled her eyes, curling her toes on her right foot. "I wouldn't want to make a mistake, God knows how fickle men can be."

Well, happy birthday to you! How old are you now?

"She might not have even been schizo, I don’t fuckin’ know." He let out a forced laugh. "Random citizen? Get real, you know who I am." Spencer rolled his eyes aware that she was merely feigning uninterested, probably to up her image, he assumed. Unintentionally mirroring the girl, Spencer’s gaze dropped to his own hands where he twizzled his fingers idly. "Upgrade? Hm, I’m not so sure." He replied honestly, suddenly pushing himself up to sit straight with his legs folded in the middle of the mattress. "I’d need some real solid proof of that and, for now, you haven’t quite delivered, so…" He shrugged, giving her a smile that was stuck somewhere between sorry and cocky.

Her fingers hardened into a talon like posture. She looked up and smirked. "What do you want me to do? Release these bad boys?" she laughed, imitating a cat swiping its claws in the air. She brought her hands down, resting them on the floor between her legs. "I know who you are, though, you've given me know reason to remember you, either."

"I couldn’t possibly answer that yet." He insisted modestly, puckering his lips in thought. "You haven’t caused enough havoc yet." Spencer then confirmed with a nod to show that he was shore of his decision, despite having to think about it. "I don’t know, schizophrenia, I think." He shrugged, realizing that he was never actually completely certain or her diagnosis. He and Leda probably spoke more about him than they did her, which wasn’t something that he felt bad about, but still regretted.

"To demote a psychopath to that of a pathetic schizophrenic, I'm insulted, random citizen of Blacklist." He waved her fingers idly, watching her nails, remembering that the nurses had forgotten to trim them upon entry. Normally, any place which held her had rid her of her sharp nails as she always used them to her advantaged but they seemed not to care, so she didn't think of it much further. "Don't worry about her, she's gone now, y'got an upgrade." She smiled, still admiring her nails. 

Sure, why not? I've nothing better to do. I can't really walk, I'm a captive audience.

"I heard somebody say I’m like her, so, Leda must have been pretty spectacular. Though I wouldn’t like to be in the same room as her." She pulled her legs away from her chest and let them spread out onto the floor. "What she good insane, or bad insane?"

"She wasn’t all...

She raised her left eyebrow, looking over to Spencer. "Am I a virus?" She asked, feeling a negative emotion that she, of course, couldn't put a name to. "What was her diagnosis?" She curled her toes and slowly uncurled them again. She hadn't worn socks or shoes since she came in, and her broken ankle made her foot floppy and more fun for her to watch.