𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊

like the burn marks on my hands

you need to be loved gently, taken care of. you need to let yourself be taken care of. you deserve the kindness. you deserve to have fingertips pressed to yours, you deserve soft smiles and quiet laughs. you need to be kissed in the middle of the night, you need to be told it’s okay. you’re used to aggressive love, you need it gently.

“…hffff.” She clears her throat. “Donna Beneviento, last surviving member of the Beneviento family. Now, one of the Lords of the town we find ourselves in. No known personal connections outside of the other Lords… and the gardener you’ve been observed speaking to on your own property.” The ruse, if it could even be called that, was so paper-thin it seems she was ready to fully discard it at the slightest prodding. Probably smart.

Tundra rests her hands on her hips, over her parka - unless she’s some kind of cowboy quick-draw artist, she’s not going to be getting at either of her weapons very quickly standing like that. Finger taps against fabric, and she continues to speak. “…my name is Emily Berkhoff. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Lords for… a while. But if you want to know more, we should really get off the street. This isn’t the place to be having a casual conversation - I can practically feel eyes on the back of my head.”

Can that be trusted? Maybe she just wants to get Donna into a more secluded spot so as not to have interruptions while she’s making good on all the watching she’s been doing… but, then again, she’s hardly seemed malicious so far, aside from surveillance. Who is she surveilling the lords for, anyway?

                   fear alights for but a moment / lightning quick along her spine , twitching fingers before arms fold over her chest . did miranda know ? was she aware of someone watching her children's every move ? the very idea of it was enough to give donna pause , the knowledge of her own person was troubling at best -- though there was very little to her that would make for interesting surveillance , still ... she disliked the idea that someone had been able to slip through her protections , to even know an inkling of who she was . jaw clicks , && the lord inclines her head forwards at the suggestion of moving this conversation elsewhere ; donna couldn’t deny that prolonged time spent within the village was hazardous to anyone's health .

That hand stays raised, swaying there in the winter breeze until Donna responds to her hail. Once she knows she has her attention, Emily slowly lowers it, gloved hands wrapping around the stock of the gun rather than the grip. She keeps it pointed down and away, loathe to give the one who’s spotted her a reason. Play it cool, be confident, be professional… she takes a breath, and beckons her closer. Confident or not, raised voices are a surefire way to draw in the inhabitants of this quaint little hamlet, and she would really rather not have a gunfight today.

Once the distance has closed enough for her to speak in a more normal tone, she speaks, movements slow and measured. Up goes the rifle, around and into a fabric scabbard on her back likely meant for stowing while in transit. Now, though, it’s a gesture of good faith - fealty, almost, maybe. It’s no wonder the dollmaker didn’t spot her sooner, with her dark parka and grey-toned clothing. Donna can see some kind of chest harness concealed beneath it, shiny-bodied bullets flashing from well-strapped pouches.

Tundra softly clears her throat. “…yes, ma’am, I suppose it is. I was… on my way through. Not planning on stopping.”

             suspicion winds its way around the puppet master , slinking around lithe frame as she simply watches the other ; who are you , why are you here , what do you want ? a million thoughts occupy her mind within singular moment , yet she speaks on none of them , simply complying with the forward motion && allowing herself to be placed within others space . hazel hues watch every movement made -- each motion made with guns in hand , jaw tightening before the larger one finds home upon the others back -- only then does donna allow for tension to be released .

The shift of whatever was between them - that odd feeling lingering in the thick, stuffy air of what was his factory - Heisenberg could literally sense it, changing into something much different than it usually was. Donna’s spoken words had a certain, noticeable weight to them, adressing a topic that was both deep and dangerous.

Depending on who one would ask, the four siblings had very different opinions regarding the matter - and Karl’s own was very much a taboo, not meant to be spoken aloud. Neither of them could trust each other, their connections to Miranda were strong and reinforced by what she did to them, including her cruel experiments and brainwashing. Moreau, for example, would defend that bitch with his goddamn life, and so would his bigfoot of a sister, Dimitrescu.

But Donna? She was the one of the siblings who was equally as mysterious as the iron Lord himself was - if not even more so. It had always been hard for him to truly gage her opinion regarding the Village and Miranda as a person - whether she was approving of it all, or… well, not.

And they both were well aware of the fact that it could easily mean more torture, more pain and more suffering if they dared to speak a bad word about their oh-so-beloved goddess in front of the wrong people. So, naturally, the engineer kept quiet about what he was doing, what he was truly thinking, what he was planning within the four walls of his trusty home.

But here Donna was. And her words changed things, causing Heisenberg’s expression so sober up - his smirk leaving his lips as they pressed together into a thin line, grey hues continuing to stare at her from behind the dark of his lenses. A soft breath escaping wide nostrils - until he finally allowed his head to turn, gaze falling away from her form, taking in the sight of that workbench in front of him.

Gloved hands lowering to rest on top of the smooth surface, the digits of his left one curling into a fist, causing leather to crinkle in the process.

“I have never been - an’ part of me thinks you know that much, huh.”

Karl had never been happy about what had been given to him. Had never enjoyed his existence within this Village, as one of Miranda’s children. He wanted her dead, wanted to grind her ugly frame into paste and make sure that not even particles remained of her own existence. Wanted her to feel the pain and helplessness he’d felt himself when she’d started to turn him into that monster he’d become.

Another breath left his nostrils - much sharper than the one before, brows knitting as his fist tightened.

                             his hand curls into a fist , && donna knows that feeling all too well -- an inability to control what had been thrust upon them , as though her life was no longer her own ... && was that not the case ? when miranda had taken it upon herself to ALTER THEM , take from them all they had once been , were their lives no longer their own ? now belonging to that black priestess . it caused a flare of anger within the dollmaker , something no one saw , something no one knew of ; her own private rage , kept to the lower levels of her home .                   where mirrors were smashed by gloved hands , && wallpaper was torn from its moorings when all the pain && anger would crash down upon her -- steady calm && poised when around her siblings , yet alone was when the storm would fall . screams of grief lost to the booming of the waterfall , her hatred screamed to the forest until her throat was raw . never had she voiced to another her distaste for this life , of the unhappiness that surrounded her like a cloud , && now within the walls of a factory did it all lay bare .                                   ‘ like recognizes like , karl . ‘ 

@ofbeneviento started following

Tundra didn’t join the BSAA to shoot people. She has her suspicions that some members of her unit did - some of the more churlish, maybe even childish among them certainly seem to enjoy the danger and destruction a little more than might be healthy. Emily, though… she joined the BSAA because she wanted to effect change. It might come in the form of shooting people, or it might, as it does now, come in the form of. Not. Shooting people.

Specifically, not shooting the veiled dollmaker who has, somehow, gotten the drop on her. As she catches the movement of black cloth in the corner of her field of view, it’s a conscious effort not to do what feels natural and let the muzzle of the gun follow her head as she looks to the right. As she does, the operator considers her surroundings. Back the way she came? Over the six-foot stone wall, tall enough to dissuade pursuit but crumbly enough to give her a good foothold if she needs it?

Or… she could do something that, honestly, is probably not very smart. Take a gamble, see where the cards fall. She doesn’t know much about the reclusive Beneviento personally, but she’s a lord, and that’s enough. This is not a fight she’d be walking away from. So, rather than fight, fly or freeze… Tundra hesitantly lifts a hand, palm forward, fingers splayed. Taking it from the pistol grip of her rifle, so as to communicate her intentions more obviously.

“…hey!” God, that was awful. She sounded uncertain.

                 the journey back home was one donna could not deny she enjoyed ; crunch of snow beneath her shoes , birdsong in the air -- despite the carnage that gave knowledge to what had truly befallen the small village . veil clasped within one hand , the other trails fingertips against dying vegetation , a frown crossing pale features as she considers the ramifications of implanting the cadou within them , as she had the ones by her own home . a notion quickly dismissed , heisenberg at least would berate her , harping on about how he did not want his mind broken from a simple trip . she supposed she understood , yet her own mind was already FRACTURED from the gifts of the woman who called herself ‘ MOTHER ‘ .

Donna’s words surprised Heisenberg, so much so that he lifted a brow as his head whipped around to face her, his grey hues taking in the sight of the woman’s form - torn between curiosity, a hint of disbelief and astonishment. The coil was hardly noticed, bouncing for one, two, three times before its movements slowed, the piece of metal rolling around for a second before it fell another time - out of sight, out of mind as it collided with the floor and disappeared into one of the many corners of this room.

Silence stretched between the two Lords - the steady hum of the engineer’s factory the only sound cutting through the thick air surrounding them, until more words were spoken with a certain, important weight to them.

Don’t lie to me, she’d said.

Something inside Karl’s mind started to chuckle, amused about the puppetmaster being this bold and brave at the same time. Yet his expression stayed blank, with that hint of surprise still lingering as he contemplated the situation as a whole, the question followed by a demand that could be taken in many possible ways.

Happy? None of them were truly happy, all of them had been forced into their position, to be part of that shithole of a Village, simply because of Miranda’s pathetic existence. Because of what she thought was the most important thing, even more so than the lifes of other people, willing to sacrifice whatever she could grasp with her blood-soaked digits, not even blinking once in the whole process.

Only after the Lord’s thoughts had wandered for a few solid minutes he finally allowed himself to grin, his lips stretching as the corners of his mouth curled up, pearly white teeth standing in stark contrast to his skin - even with the room being barely lit, just enough to have him see whatever he needed to see (even while wearing his shades).

“We’re not supposed to be happy, my dear.” Karl lifted his chin as his gaze continued to rest on Donna’s face, hidden behind the dark of his lenses. His gloved hands moved, then, gesturing at the whole of everything and nothing at the same time.

“Just satisfied enough to keep goin’ with all of this. —Be good, be obedient. Sacrificin’ our lives for a good cause, right?”

Everything for the one and only self-proclaimed goddess, that bitch who called herself a mother.

             donna herself wasn’t happy , that was glaringly obvious to anyone who interacted with the dollmaker -- of course , she masked it well enough when the need arose , tried her best to keep emotions to herself && disallow anyone the chance to know how terrible of a place her mind truly was . gaze lingers upon her BROTHER for a moment longer , her own bravery at even having asked such a thing ; something that could quite easily go the wrong way , land her in very hot water without the chance of SURVIVAL . a betrayal of a woman who called herself mother , but was little more than a warden . donna swallowed hard , dropping her gaze to her fingers where they splay against his table , short nails curling against the bench as she remains silent , poised as best a woman in her position could be .                ‘ && are you ? ‘                   a loft of her brow as head raises , lips pulled tight into a frown as she tries to read him -- but he is as unreadable as ever , && donna finds herself sinking , drawing back into herself at the FEAR that she had spoken out of turn && was about to find herself dug into a deep hole .                                    ‘ satisfied ? karl , are you satisfied with what we have been ... given ? ‘               further speech falls from bare lips , && donna cannot quite seem to find her footing , the only thing keeping her upright was a sense of RECKLESSNESS that came from the knowledge that if all turned sour , she would finally be released from a life she could no longer believe in ; death would be better than living this way .