MAîTRESSE D'ENFER

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These words cut through her mental barrier, sharper & deeper than every knife could ever run, drained blood casting shadows over the sunlit confidence she’d usually carry during such subsidiary ‘quarrels’. She’s had her fair share of controversies with certain people already { Auruo in particular } despite her known kindness that, in most cases, leads her to concede with a smile although she’s clearly having the upper hand & the validity on her side. Never should one mistake her seemingly bottomless courtesy for weakness, for … if needed, Petra can be so much more than just a pliant, overly soft helpmeet that treats everyone with sugarcoated truths & feebly attempts to voice her own, varying viewpoints.

That woman, may she be a trainee teacher, part of a command unit or some holy presence in the flesh, has definitely crossed the line, overstepped a distinct punctilio that defines her docile & calm temper she can now no longer fully hold back. It’s time to finally make her see & understand that she can’t twist & play everybody around her little finger just because she so likes it.  Petra’s no longer a slave to her good manners or the intuitive containment that has saved her ass more than once; The other’s deprecation is more than enough to led it all slide if only for once.

Features turn somber while she inspects the woman with wary glances, fibres constantly on alert. She still feels sick, sweaty & extremely tired, all in all not in the right state, nor mood to have this hassle going on right here & now but like hell will she duck in her head & quit the field to make her feel even more superior. It’d be the right thing to do, the only sage solution, certainly– but even Petra has her moments, a specific point in her life, where she wishes to assert her authority more than anything else. The time where she’d been an untaught cadet everyone could easily push around was definitely o v e r. & after a few intensively thrown dagger stares, she raises from her seat, curls her hand into a tight fist & thrashes the rough table surface as hard as her strength would allow it. Slight sparks of wood swirl around the sudden pressure, though it’s clear to discern that it’s not the mightiness of her impact but rather the poor constitution of the chattels allowing such a phenomenon to happen. Try as she might, Petra will never be as intimidating to anyone as she’d like to be, let alone strong. Her qualities lie elsewhere.

     ❛ This whole thing must be incredibly amusing to you, huh? Well guess what, I’m anything but afraid to defend my troop, my friends and also my name, even if that’d mean to raise my hand against a senior. I respect everyone on equal terms but I do expect the same from my superiors. You don’t have to like me, oh but you’re OUGHT to treat me like a human being! ❜

Silence has a sudden and tight grasp around her throat, her wavering smile a crack in the mirror. She’d have expected any kind of reaction from her, such as a breakdown, her face flooded by tears as she’d slowly sink further into her own desperation, words cutting her rightfully down to size. And while she’d whine and stammer lies to veil her grief in front of her, Mistral would land another hit, bury these sharp knives for heels further down her chest until her heart would sing no longer.

Oh how she despised these type of human beings that acted as though life would be all sunshine and rainbows twenty-four hours per day -- it’s sickening, a fault in her vision. Life was cruel, a battlefield full of sacrafices, pain and death. She should know as a handpicked soldier of the Corps, has she not already lost fifty percent of her friends and teammates along the harsh way? Oh but of course, her ignorance would mask the truth, how she really felt and how pointless all of this actually was. She’s, at least, not serving the kind of reaction she’d have actually expected in return.

How disappointing.

“Would you look at that. The ange in the flesh can actually flatly contradict. I’m almost impressed. A l m o s t. But do tell me, since you’re so BRAVE to affront me for once; can you walk the talk as well or are these words just a cluster of predicted smoke and mirrors?

--I’m curious.”

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It’d be too early to feel a pang of terror settle in, too much of a burden to handle when she’s so hellbent on keeping her cool & vehemently refuses to let her soft, fearful side trickle through the cracks of her façade like liquid & corrosive acid. The other’s done well to weaken her sturdy walls of self-mastery, aplomb so resilient that it gains more & more fissures with every spoken word, every syllable rolling from venomous tongue. She feels like standing on brittle bones now, a fall broken for she no longer feels the angelic light of confidence to master such a dispute born from malice, anger & everything d a r k without the act of violence she usually stands above. Her wings are crippled, no longer beating the hopeful sky above { metaphorically speaking }.

This is not what she wants. This is not what she seeks to accomplish. Her heart cries a call of battle but her mind protests vociferous. A verbal controverse should not result in a physical fight of life & death ever. She’s lost a lot along the way, seen so much pain & so many people go, dropping like flies whereas she still wanders earthly ground, feels the sorrow of every departed soul like a brand of sin for surviving bygone times & hardships – though what she never lost is her good judgement which now, at this very thorny juncture, speaks louder than ever.

She swallows loudly, something akin to a lump blocking her respiratory passages. It’s so hard to breathe without feeling that permanent sting inside her chest, without hearing her heart pounding like mad while she stares a personification of terror in the eyes. There’s something curious about her, something unrealistic & plastic fake about the way her voice rings in her ears, how stiff & too perfect her legs swipe over the concrete, feet stabbing the ground like metal bars – or rather, knives. The wind feels cold, an ominous chill in the breeze now that she’s approached like a beast on its foray to seize the catch { none else but Petra } by the throat with deadly precision. But she continuously stands her ground, shows no outward signs of the inner turmoil that rambles like a thunder. She rubs her arms in some poor attempt to keep herself warm, the ends of her meadow green coat flapping in the aerial blow as though it begs to escape & fly off into the wide distance.

In that case, they’d share the same wish. There’s no other way than to face the inevitable now, however. Freedom, once again, feels so incredibly far away.

     ❛ I ‘appreciate’ the offer but I have to pass, sorry. Besides, it’s usually considered socially inappropriate to carry a visible weapon in P U B L I C when none of the titans are in plain sight or known to be present. I suggest you keep sheathed whatever you intended to pull out on me because I don’t take kindly to threats, lady. ❜

Her voice carries the same sharpness her blades conduct with every merciless slice, eyes sparking resolute & with unyielding determinaton – she plays her cards of deception well, doesn’t she. But for how long she’ll actually be able to keep this show up remains to be seen.

Mistral barely payed much heed to the very few people around her, much less to the other’s oh so profound words of wisdom. She payed no attention to the laws and rules of this city, nor those who so willingly follow their stringent statutory provisions. Where’d be the fun in leading such a constrained life otherwise? They all live way too short to waste their time with superfluous boundaries. And she’d make her visions and position clear, one way or the other. The shackles of the world had held her down for far too long now anyway and after being freed of her human flesh and self, she’s no longer part of this oh so ‘perfect society’ anyways.

With the blazing fire of war and absolution rampaging within the center of her eyes, the butcher simply blocked out all warnings and continuously inched in on her newest prey, a sequence of cold and dead clicks present in her every step, delivering a much more threatening nature than before. This probably would be the falsest of all places to start a fight but… her lust for bloodshed’s too overwhelming, too loud on her ears to be simpy ignored right in this moment. A short but sweet, little intermezzo would just have to do – and if they’d all rush to her aid, well then so be it.

The more to slaughter, the merrier, no?

Drawing her beloved pole weapon, Mistral cut the air with a vertical hack, sending a fair warning to those around who should dare to think about interfering now, a bitterish blow of wind arising in the wake of her movements. ‘The cold wind of France’ is a soubriquet she lives up to quite well after all.

“Hn, your moral obligations interest me not. I have heard these shoddy lines way too often already, ignored them gladly and certainly won’t go through a sudden change of heart n o w. Let me tell you something, petit chou. I can’t stand annoying people… but it is all the more fun and pleasure to destroy and cripple them beyond definition.

        –And I think you just earned yourself a very special place on my ranking list.”

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Such a reaction should’ve been expected – blunt, intimidating & most of all, presumptuous. Especially from H E R. There isn’t really much known about this woman, just a few mutterings & unverified rumors that went past their headquarter nooks for a while but ceased as fast as they’d arised. She’s one of the newest trainee teachers, commissioned to watch over a bunch of cadets & recurits that still need to undergo basic training, learn what it means to fight for survival. A tough nut, cold to the core, unrelenting exceptionless. Of course, rumors are just rumors more than once, seducing like blazing fire & one should know for themselves whether to believe them or not … but Petra firmly trows that there’s got to be a jot of truth in it.

However, perplexity still strikes her features, paints her usually sun graced canvas for a face with darkening doubt, overcast & somber, a sense of bitter anger still lingering. It’s safe to presume that she’s caught herself a sickness during one of the latest training routines & her visual appearance certainly makes no secret out of it but that’s still a far cry from calling her these tactless names. She may is one of the higher ups & everyone with a lower rank’s automatically blund to be respectful, always – though it still doesn’t give her the right to be so scathing & personal in front of anybody. They’re still human beings, all ranks, names & reputations aside. She’d, nonetheless, try to solve this like an adult.

     ❛ I do not intend to disrespect you, Miss, but I’d much appreciate it if you’d stop giving people unappropriate names. I know for a fact that I am not the first to experience this. I’ve heard … things concerning your unfavourable presence. It is a nuisance to some. ❜

This woman means trouble, that is as sure as night is dark & day is light. Thank god Petra’s not one of her ‘fosterlings’. Still, she feels pity for all of the other recruits that operate under her command. They’re not going to have an easy time.

Volatile wood rattles exhausted when she throws herself at the next best seating accomodation, curious eyes watching her every move from quite afar. The young cadets know of her, recognize her voice, the way she slips through the masses of people with the elegance of a cougar and how perfectly well she can fight with a 3DMG as though she’d never done anything else her entire life through. She can sense fear in their staring, that stutter carried by whispers. What a satisfying sound -- there’s nothing she loves more in this world than to be feared by those she encounters { aside from the Titan slaying, and oh god does she enjoy it to pierce through their skin, layer for layer, peeling the bones free until everything vaporizes beneath her stance }. It earns her the necessary respect she so well deserves. The Ackerman blood was that of the purest of fighters but Mistral’s capability to slice through abnormals is of equal measures. The thrill that comes with a fight, the battle for survival just to remind her that she’s still alive... it’s all she craves for, all she really desires.

Everyone else... can go to hell for all she cares. She’s a one (wo)man army. Teamworks never been her strongest suit anyways.

Legs criss-cross smooth and fast and she spits her a few hisses, nails tapping the table’s top like a beast sharpening its claws. She wouldn’t want to fight her -- of course not. She’s way too innocent, too weak to battle her. It’d fail Petra’s nature, her pathetic morals.

“Is that so, yes? My my what a pickle. What are you going to do about it if I keep on saying these bad bad things to everyone, hm? Report it to the commander? Handle it...”

A laugh ensues, sarcasm thick and disgusting.

“... y o u r s e l f?”

Her voice comes toxic and grim, a flare of madness present with every flicker of her inhuman eyes. How cute.

“Oh I’m sure you heard me quite well. Or do you want me to repeat it, slow, letter for letter? I’d do it. Just for you~”

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It’s impolite, if not to say, inappropriate to turn your back on someone you still have a sort of ‘conversation’ going with { if one could really call it that way } & although Petra’s been an well-educated woman since the very day she’d grown out of her child-like naivity, she feels as though it’s almost i m p o s s i b l e to look the other in the eyes without feeling the urge to just slap her hard & unrepentant. She prefers to avoid needless contentions especially when they’re based on such unnerving, political matters & most definitely arise from utter hubris. The convenient ignorance the other blatantly flings around strikes a nerve on her, no doubt. She’d know better to turn around, walk way & let the other have her moment of peculiar paradigms.

Yes, normally – though not today. Instead of leaving, Petra performs a stiff twirl, her head lolling sidewards just a tad to still provide her something that comes close to a view. Her instincts & intuitions have never failed her before but apparently she feels safer to use her eyes as a weapon withal.

That dry piece of cloth that jams her throat & threatens to choke her breath unkind is even harder to swallow than plain beef … if only she’d know or remember its taste. But being a woman of words, she forces herself to speak up, regains her strong voice & successfully foils any tries of intimidation. There’s a goal installed inside the back of her mind, been there from the very start & has never left her ever since. It’s a flash of hope, the dream of eternal freedom that adds fuel to the flames of her soul & sets her heart on fire. A burning flag of war she waves because she will not go down without fighting for what she believes in.

She’s more convinced than ever, despite all the malice she’s subjected to. Only shows how strong she truly is. Unyielding to the very end.

     ❛ I myself am wonderful and just fine, thank you. I feel bad for you, however because that immense l a c k of sympathy can’t be all too healthy and such an insurgent attitude will be your downfall. One day. You should start to reconsider your rebarbative viewpoints. ❜

Was that an oblique threat? A challenge? How amusing, if not to say... cute. Mistral’s seen warriors, an entire brigade of men and even machines come to life opposing her to foil her and Desperado’s plans with firearms and life threatening tools that are powerful enough to shake the earth. However, being one of the best fighters the Enforcement LLC’s got at hand, she’s survived them ALL without taking a scratch or breaking into a sweat. Saw them all fall, their bodys covered in bruises and wounds, some sliced, some fragmented beyond definition. One dropping after the other, like dominos.

She’s a hurricane in battle, a holocaust, consuming and taking every life that stands in her way, exceptionless. And if this girl so wishes, dares to tango a dance of death and blood with her, she’s more than willed to grant her this last moment of existence before the ultimate extinction.

How could she ever decline such a savoureux offer.

The corners of her lips curled like the blood waves that boiled artificially inside her body, dipping them with malice, a twisted delight. And she moved again, inching closer and closer, creepingly, like a walking disease.

Click, click, click.

“Is that so? I wonder how bad you will feel for me once I’ve brought you to your knees, bowing before the queen of winds. I am astoundingly artistic with a knife, you see? I could show you.”

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There’s a slight twitch in her usually bright & sanguine features, shadows of frustration, or sheer anger more probably, dawning the blazing light that used to bounce from her officious irides. Her shoulders roll quiet, smooth, a crack beneath her leathery brown boot when she shifts upon the asphalt to benefit a better view; a small stone ripples into brittle pieces, just like her calm demeanor. It’s safe to say that it takes a shitload of words & nerve-strecthing arguments to inflame the fire that already flares within her chest to a certain extent – though this overly exertive woman in front of her seemed to have gotten her from zero to hundred-some within mere millisecs with that inopportune behavior.

Only a vulcano that is about to erupt in its entirety could surpass her internal cauterization now. What a nasty person.

     ❛ Then perhaps it’s for the best if you leave this place and consolidate with someone who shares the same, r o t t e n stem of thoughts you proudly fling around. Humanity’s seen and heard enough tripe already … we certainly don’t need your foul words to compound our situation. ❜

Her heels clamored in the deafening and maddening silence of the cold stone, not a single glimpsed spared. She didn’t deem it necessary simply because she lacks the interest in keeping this chevreuil in company longer than needed. They do not share the same opinion, which is utterly sad, really. But there’s not even the slightest sprout of a desire to change her mind and convince her of the contrary.

Well, not verbally, that is. She’d know a funnier way to make her see the truth. Her beloved L'Etranger never said no to a challenge before -- well, if this conflict could really be acknowledged as one.

Rather not.

“I can sense your despair, see rage burn in those big, sunny eyes. Did I hit a soft spot, hm? My bad~”

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     ❛ Don’t you think it’s a little harsh to blame humanity for everything that goes wrong in this world? I mean, people have their faults, no doubt. But it’s nonetheless the kind of hatred you spread making it to a place full of venom and menace.

                          —Perhaps you should try and be a little more mindful of the good things in life. Peace is a feasible possibility, but only if we all act in concert. ❜

All she could do was to frown at such deliberately uttered débilité. How foolish of her to believe that someone so weak would actually share the same rich set of thoughts her mind amasses like opulences in terms of war economy and nonsensical sermons.

“Oh, please. Your poor deluded belief and hollow phrasing is nothing but a watered down pipe dream at best. It’s always the same old blabla and sorry excuse of a morale you people come up with. And it bores me en masse.”