#auguststarter

                It’s easier than it should be. The Chief of Police -- she’s not nearly as well guarded as one would think. It draws a smile to her lips, that ever-present glint in her eye seemingly brighter as she waits in silence, shrouded in shadows. There’s a lit cigarette balanced between two fingers. She hasn’t smoked in years. But as she taps it quickly, watches sparks of ash float to the ground, she relishes in the high it gives her. Red lips wrap around the bud as her eyes watch every movement made, and she scowls. 

                      They’ll die. Every last one of them, as far as she’s concerned. Oh, sure -- Ethan Holmes had been of some use and he’s unfortunately connected to her through Ben ( though the bastard may not know so ), but his colleagues are starting to get on her nerves, and her shooting had only tipped the scale towards their imminent deaths. Their Chief had signed their names in blood and, were Natasha to survive the night ( in which Rebecca can only laugh ), they should consider mutiny. 

                            Innocent, they’d say. 

                                             Rebecca wouldn’t care. 

                                                            When she looks up, it’s to the very woman she seeks emerging from the station. Her eyes darken and she pushes away from the wall she’d been leaning against, cigarette dropping to the pavement where she leaves it lit. Stepping forward, the streetlight shines and she watches from across the street as Natasha looks her way. Staring for a long moment, an eventual smile curves The Red Queen’s blood painted lips. It’s coy, and malicious, and she nearly allows laughter to break before she simply cocks her head to the side, and turns on her heel. She strides down the path with her back to the bitch, her hands itching to wrap around her throat, before she disappears around a corner, and comes to stand in an alley not far from The Chief’s workplace, where she moves to lean against another wall, and she admires her nails.

      Mourning surrounded her. Pain, despair, the thick and suffocating tension of loss permeated the air. Her mind wandered back to finding Malcom’s body. Reliving that moment over and over again in her head, watching Cate and all else who knew Marcus weep was only too much for her. Wonderland itself was a prison, but to be trapped in her worst nightmare with the ever present reminder that she was alone at the end of the day? She couldn’t stomach it.

      Crisp night air rose gooseflesh on her skin as she stared blankly ahead. Seated on a park bench with only a notebook to keep her company, she’d been trying to put thoughts to paper in some vain attempt to release the emotions she refused to show, but the pages remained blank. A soft rustling caused her to raise her head, eyes narrowed as she watched the newcomer, the interloper encroaching upon her space.

Of course, she swallowed her pride and her rage, and let her mind think tactfully. She had to work this right before those idiot sisters took her tragedy as their good fortune. Though they all knew how she felt, it was still disgusting that they would do exactly as she would. Monopolize.

With a sigh, she arched a brow and looked over as a person approached her. “Be warned,” she began softly, though her tone and posture remained natural and unmoved by disaster. “I am still a mother who has lost a child. I will bite, and bite hard. Tread lightly as you speak with me.”