#animakerma

THERE is, however, no stopping now, Alma the only person who has yet to receive the news - so Galahad persists, making her way down long corridors with shortened, somewhat wavering steps, unsurprised to find the other working. Of course.

❝... hello.❞ What else could one possibly say.

     She’s sick of nightmares of black tar and dark tunnels. Of people she knows are dead and of things she knows won’t have followed her out of those sewers.

       Suddenly Jacksons gut takes a dive, plummeting through the bed, the ground, the foundations of the building. Maybe one did. Then her blood begins to boil, the fire in every nerve fueled by equal measures of hatred and fear for something so pale white and slithering. 

     Something stiffens her in the bed. Like a finger hovering over a switch, all that energy held back, waiting for something. For what? She still stares at her though, the pale-haired woman whose serenity has always made her uncomfortable. Always will. But there’s something arrogant about it now, something she can’t ignore ( whether it’s really there or not. )  Capitolites. She never trusted them, not one, especially not this one. A place full of lies breeds liars. 

     She’d never trusted her, she thinks as she throws the bedding back from her injured legs. Capitol. Liars, puppets, and manslaughterers. And that was 'best’ of them. So what did that make her then? As far as Jackson was concerned, this slippery bitch was edging closer and closer to MURDERER by the second.      She only grabs one of the crutches from beside her bed, and it isn’t to help her walk. In fact, she barely notices the violent spikes of pain drilling into her legs with each step, not at this speed. No, the crutch is held in a vice grip like a bat in her worn fingers. Tired fingers, tired hands. Hands sick with carrying the weight of weapons and dead soldiers. With every step she hears the splash of blood and stagnant water echoing off the walls of tunnels. No, she isn’t hallucinating. But she can’t separate the swarms of lizards and the bodies face-down in the water from this woman ----- why hadn’t it occurred to her sooner? That didn’t matter. She’d thought of it now. Liars, all of them.

     Has she seen her yet? She doesn’t care. She wouldn’t care if she ran, either. She’d break her own legs chasing her if she had to. Jacksons eyes haven’t left her, trying to hook into her and hold her to the spot. Trying to hold the target in place. She gets there quicker than she ought to be able to, her legs thick with bandages being forced across the room and out into the hall. With a quick swing of her arm the crutch crashes into the womans ribs --- Jackson doesn’t even blink. There’s barely a moment to enjoy the satisfaction before the length of metal is jerked up under North’s chin, pressing her neck into the wall with every ounce of strength left in Jacksons body. It’s only now she notices the pain in her injured shoulder. But instead of holding her back, it fuels her on, driving the pole harder against the others throat. Then with her face barely an inch away, teeth bared, she almost spits in her eyes:

          “ YOU KNEW. YOU KNEW IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. ”

the tiny prez and tiny megalomaniac say hi to the wife