DEATH WISH

location ›› mess hall time ›› as the evening tips from its beginning to the mid-point open to ›› all

karina sits on the edge of a metal dining table, observing for a moment the small accumulation of people gathered a few benches away, recent strangers now knotted to her irreversibly by this shared experience. it was a strange sensation, the knowledge that you were existing — presently — in a moment that would one day be looked back on with nostalgia, or vitriol, or fondness. a night where everything changed and was severed in half, like a knife through fruit, rending time into two distinct portions: before and after. in all the languages karina knew, she could think of no direct translation for it — its only tangible transcription the tangled thing it left in her stomach, sharp and intricate like a child’s scribble.

at the incoming of another body she decides to put to rest this forward-facing sentimentality and rejoin the moment. one long leg lifts in the air, black boot finding residence on the opposite wall, creating an impromptu flesh drawbridge. 

“gotta pay the toll.” karina’s head remains fixed forward as she speaks, offering only her sharp profile as she raises the dark glass neck of her beer for a sip — but there’s a comma-like shape to her mouth that’s visible even from the side, and when she’s finished the long draw from her drink, gaze finally turning over, the same amusement is visible in her eyes.

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

an expression of devilish pleasure snakes its way onto del’s lips. for all intents and purposes, titanium has courted her to a dance. one, of course, that del has no intention of engaging in before their formal initiation into the program. there was no sense in fraternizing with other potential pilots when over three-quarters of the cadets would be sent home with their tails between their legs. there was no reward for almost becoming a jaeger pilot and she would have sooner be damned than turn to ash before she could feel the blaze. simply put, del yearned to tread the line between life and death.

“and what if i don’t?” if there is anything that she is certain of, it is that none of the twelve cadets left could be designated as prey. they’d eaten them all in the month prior, relished in tearing into their scarless, untouched flesh to pull themselves to the top. nothing left but carcasses and beasts now, but she is sure that once the provisions for their egos ran out, bloodthirsty, they’d sink their teeth into whatever monsters they could. better the kaiju than each other, but del’s years in the military tell her otherwise. “tell me — would you try to fight me?”

casualties, she knows, are inevitable when responsibility is left in the hands of carnivores.

status:  open. location:   mess hall.

        彡   he  doesn’t  even  get  to  use  social  media – not  that  he’s  much  of  a  social  media  person  to  begin  with,  but  being  told  he  can’t  use  it  is  similar  to  telling  a  child  they  can’t  touch  something  valuable.  midnight  eyes  look  over  the  mess  hall,  settling  into  the  empty  spaces  left  behind  by  people  who  want  this  more  than  him;  other  cadets  who’ve  strived  for  more  and  accomplished  more,  good  people  who  have  definitely  tried  harder  than  him  to  make  it.  hye - sung  hasn’t  actively  tried  to  wash  out  of  the  program,  but  his  spine  is  home  to  a  streak  too  stubborn  that  advises  him  every  morning  that  it  wouldn’t  be  the  worst  thing  to  just  go  home.  unsteadily,  his  fingers  tip - tap  on  the  table  surfaces,  hands  free  from  half - empty  cups  while  he  looks  less  like  a  successful  cadet  and  more  like  someone  who  didn’t  make  the  cut.  at  least  he’s  still  sexy,  he  thinks,  a  curt  sigh  from  the  depths  of  his  chest  before  he  calls  out  to  the  nearest  cadet,  shrugging  off  the  sour  attitude  starting  to  engulf  him.    “hey!”    he  nods  toward  them.    “did  you  see  grakowski  before  he  left?  i’ve  never  seen  that  guy  cry  until  then  and  now  i  understand  why.”    he  pauses  for  their  approach,  leaning  into  them.    “ugly  crier,  you  know?”

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

and what if she’s already inebriated silly, like some fourteen-year-old sneaking into their parents’ liquor cabinet — hell, del’s made it this far, and she’s not about to waste a precious night off sulking around, bidding her tearful, woeful goodbyes to the ones who didn’t make the cut. none of the other hopefuls had been particularly interesting to her, a litany of unripe faces begging for a little blood and bruises to blunt their senses. after all, how could they be expected to perform at their purported best when they couldn’t even function blind?