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Let the Hunt Begin

A short and chubby man stood in the middle of the arena that everybody was sitting around, his lips pulled back into a wide grin. "Ladies and gentleman, one and all, may I welcome you to this wondrous event! Tonight we have another witch on our hands. She was accused and given a trial, and she was proven guilty! You know what that means, don't you?"


"She must die!" The audience roared these words back, erupting into cheers. They became a frenzy when the woman was brought out. They sneered at her, especially the rich, shouting out comments of all sorts. They were crude, mean, degrading. The woman kept her head down, the clothes she wore making it obvious what part of the Metropolis she came from. She looked to be in her late twenties, perhaps, young but not too young. The government never chose anyone too young, for that would upset their audience. They wanted the audience to be happy, and so they would give these people a show. A kid got up then and threw an old boot at the woman. It hit her on the shoulder and she stumbled, the kid laughing like crazy. What a snob.


Shiloh watched with distant eyes, her hands behind her back like the woman's were. She was tied up, but Shiloh didn't feel bad for her. Her eyes were closed as she imagined what it would be like to be in her place. To be hit with an old boot, to be called plenty colorful names. She wouldn't hang her head like that. It showed defeat and hopelessness. The people who wanted to die that way were imbeciles. All of them. It wasn't like she herself wanted to die, but these people could at least go out with a bang.


She stood in place where her chair had been, her feet aching yet her mouth kept shut. She wasn't one to complain. Before the stoning, the crowd had of course suffered a long speech that had lasted longer than it should have. And of course, the crowd would suffer through it again after the stoning was done. Anyone could see how desperate the government was for support, yet they were all blind to it and kept the support going. Several years now, the same people have ruled. Shiloh clenched her teeth angrily, for she knew she wanted to change that.


The emotion of the crowd hit her hard as the woman was tied to the pole in the middle, right where the short man had stood making his announcements. There was no misery or sadness, just an overwhelming sense of excitement and anger. "Burn her, burn her!" One person shouted. Another one cheered and blabbed to the person next to him about how good the government was for clearing their city of these vermin. The emotion left her breathless, but it wasn't the crowd that did her in. The wave of misery coming from the tied woman got to her. What was worse was another emotion, a more serene one. She was accepting her fate. The acceptance made her grimace, as always. All of these people were so weak that it sickened her.


Then, the stoning began. It was mostly done by the members of the government, though the crowd could throw as well. The upper and middle class both got stones so they could throw, and a few of the working class got to as well. Shiloh stared at the rock as it was dropped into her hand, then looked out at the woman. Her face was bleeding badly, her arms and legs were bruised. She passed it to someone else and shuddered. Maybe if the woman had been a little less weak, she would have thrown the stone at her.
 
God, Oscar thought as the screaming of the witch began, could this bitch be any more annoying? He was trying to focus on a very important task, and quite frankly her wails were becoming distracting.


Sat up with the rest of his family in one of the prestigious viewing boxes, Oscar was, as all of the invited elite were, attending a stoning. The viewing box was positioned over the top of the crowd below, and was angled to allow them to pelt the witch or wizard of the day's event with the provided stones. To be honest, Oscar was rather disappointed with the whole affair; throwing rocks at people was little fun when you were allowed to do it. Plus, the target was tied up, and more often than not they were some weepy man or woman who just wasn't any fun.


Fortunately for him, he'd found his own method of entertainment. That day, the Wakefield family was sharing the coveted viewing box with none other than the Ashcroft family. The Ashcroft family consisted of a frigid bitch of a mother, whose mouth was shrivelled like a prune and she had a horrid beaky nose, and the father was permanently red in the face, morbidly obese, and trimmed with a moustache that looked like it belonged on the rear of a squirrel. It was thus a miracle that these two cretins had somehow produced three gorgeous daughters, aged twenty, sixteen, and eight.


The eldest was a blonde girl named Caroline, with a pretty face, a womanly figure that was a stone or two overweight, and a personality like a wrung dishcloth. Oscar had once invited her for a quick fuck in the gardens during a dinner party and she had slapped him across the face, before storming off to tell her parents. He'd found the whole event rather unsettling; he had thought that he'd been being rather noble. He'd listened to her prattle on about fashion and her newfound passion for boating for an hour, bored out of his mind and seriously contemplating strangling her, and still he'd offered to fuck her. If anything, it had been an act of charity.


During the stoning, however, he'd discovered a way to make up for it. Whilst his father discussed business with Mr. Ashcroft, and his mother accompanied Mrs. Ashcroft in throwing their allotted stones, Oscar was attending to the back of Caroline's dress. There had been a recent resurgence in victorian style fashions lately, and corsets were all the rage amongst rich young women who could afford them. Bathing in the screams of the stoned witch, Oscar was leaning forward and carefully unlacing the strings of Caroline's corset through the gap in the back of her chair, which was seated before him. So far, she hadn't noticed, too caught up in the act of torture occurring below.


Perhaps, given his own magical gifts, he ought to be concerned about all of this. The woman down there could perhaps be thought of as his kin, far more so than the people surrounding him. That thought alone made him yank out one of Caroline's chords a little too roughly, threading it so that one side came undone entirely. He would never allow himself to be thought of as someone like that; he wouldn't allow himself to get caught for starters. And he most certainly wouldn't go out tied to a pole screaming.
 
Shiloh's hands were sweating a bit as she watched, but she simply wiped them on her meager choice of dress and placed them behind her back again. She was used to clammy hands, since she spent more than half her time under the sun working. Living in poverty wasn't the most fun thing in the world. Shiloh stared at the woman slowly being stoned to death and let out a light huff. Perhaps she understood the circumstances, at least a little bit. It was because of what had happened just yesterday.


Yesterday, everything had gone to hell. All the possessions the poor owned had been neatly wiped out by a large storm carrying a copious amount of acid rain. It had destroyed so many lives built. The people there had worked so hard for what they owned, only to have to restart again. A tedious process, that was what it was. It had made Shiloh curse the government and the rich a thousand times over. It made her begin to understand the woman, though it wasn't enough. No, she was still incredibly weak. And now she was screaming, which meant she was making more of a fool of herself. Didn't she know that? Shiloh rolled her eyes in disbelief.


At least the acceptance was getting buried under the emotions of misery and pain. Shiloh liked that. Her shoulders slightly slumped down as she relaxed, not realizing how tense the woman's emotions had made her. Everybody around her was going wild now as the desperate screams of the woman began to die down. She was near death, Shiloh knew. The thought made her heart race. It was so strange to watch someone die like that right in front of you. Even though she had seen it countless times, Shiloh still shuddered at the thought of humans having this kind of power. A simple stone held in one's hand symbolized the power of death. Someone in this crowd would have blood on their hands. Or was it that all of them had that blood on their hands, dripping down their fingers, creating a large red lake from how many times someone was killed here? Could be.


The screaming was getting to her ears. All it was at this point was annoying. Someone blocked her vision, a man pumping his fist up into the air. These people were thirsty for bloodshed, that she could see. Shiloh grabbed the guy's shoulder and shoved him out of them way, wanting to see the death with her own eyes. The guy gave her a glare, though soon enough he turned back to the stoning and began to cheer again. Did these people have any sense of consideration? Jeez, she was trying to watch as well! Imbeciles.


People continued to throw at the woman as Shiloh watched. The woman was unconscious now, but people didn't care. They simply screamed and threw, becoming a frenzied crowd as before. Shiloh once again imagined what it would be like in her place. She knew it wasn't normal to be able to sense emotions so clearly. They didn't make your mind spin like that, especially if you weren't feeling the same way. She also knew it wasn't normal to coax shadows out of their stillness, or to make a spoon levitate off the table. It meant that she was a witch, just like the woman that was getting stoned. Shiloh lifted her chin the slightest bit. Even if she ended up like the woman, she would show more strength than anyone ever had in the arena. She was not afraid to die. However, that was easier said when one was not facing death.
 
Much better, Oscar mused to himself as the bitch's screams died down, finally getting closer to death. He successfully unthreaded the last of Caroline's corset, and pulled the material aside, exposing the bare, pale flesh of her back.


From his pocket, he then pulled out a flip knife and flicked out the blade accessory. Caroline was leant forward, too boring to scream on in enthusiasm as the end drew near, but too much of a bitch to not be interested. "God, it's so horrible," she whispered to the sister sat beside her - the middle one - although there was no sympathy in her tone, just a morbid fascination that was fuelled by commenting on the gruesome quality of the act. It was considered fashionable for girls her age to seem against the stoning of witches, a mix of rebellion and saintly goodness seen in the act. Everyone knew they didn't believe it, however.


Pressing the knife to the dip in her back that marked her spine, starting from the top of her ribs, Oscar cut a quick, shallow line from the top of her back to the small of it, a crimson slit appearing. Caroline screamed in surprise, the pain not all that much considering the location and severity of the wound. She jumped to her feet, turning like a dog chasing its tail to try and inspect what on earth had happened, the scene perfectly comic. When she realised what had happened, she turned to glower venomously at Oscar, but her expression fell to ashes in seconds. All of a sudden, she returned to her chair, sitting in silence.


"Caroline? What on earth is the matter?" Her mother demanded, staring incredulously at her daughter for causing such a scene, and in public too. Several other people gathered in the viewing boxes were looking over with a mix of smug curiosity and disgust.


"Nothing, mother. I thought I saw a spider," Caroline mumbled, keeping her head bowed, staring at her lap.


Too easy, Oscar thought to himself, smiling as he pocketed the knife. He couldn't quite explain how he did it, even to himself, but these things just came naturally to him. He could rip all her defiance from her in an instant, forcing her back into her chair, suffocating her mind with complacency and fear. It was easier than playing a puppet, the effort coming into finding her 'mind'. Oscar understood what this meant without ever having been told; he could play with people, their actions and speech, with merely his thoughts. It left him feeling a little dazed, almost high, but the sensation was not unpleasant.


Standing, Oscar came forth to join the senior women at the balcony. "Mummy dearest, may I have the pleasure of throwing the last rock?" He asked sweetly, leaning against the railing to look at her, smiling politely. She turned to look at him, her gaze steady. She said nothing for a moment. Oscar fiddled with the knife in his pocket, flipping the blade out again, running his thumb down across the sharpened edge. It drew blood, but his expression did not falter. Nor did his mother's.


"Of course, darling," she said eventually, mirroring his smile. She bent down and offered him the basket that had contained the rocks, only one left. Oscar took it in his hand, smearing a streak of blood across the surface with his thumb by accident. The rock was smooth and pale, the red of his blood contrasting brilliantly against the creamy colour.


He turned to face the witch, watching her for a moment. Her cries were raw and tear-filled now, exhausted and drained. Such a disappointing day.


Bringing his arm back, he took aim, and then lobbed the stone. It hit her right in the middle of her forehead, colliding with force and even from that distance he could hear the crack of her skull. The audience was quiet for a moment as the woman slumped against the pole, and then erupted into cheering. "The witch is dead!" The announcer called over the roars of the audience, barely audible.


"Too bad, darling," Oscar's mother said from beside him. "I would have liked to watch her die a little slower."
 
Shiloh's eyes were planted onto the woman. She watched as her forehead was hit, her skull cracking at the force of that throw. The woman slumped, still now, obviously dead. Faintly, she wondered who had thrown the last stone, the crowd around her erupting into shrill cheering. The happiness was overly nauseating, especially since every member of the crowd was emanating it.


"We're free from the witch! We're free!" "Their evil magic won't be hurting us anytime soon, no siree!" "Ha ha, she's dead! Dead!" "Did you see that, Son? That's how you kill a witch!" Everybody was gleefully laughing around her, patting each other on the back, shaking hands, all in all celebrating as if the murder was an accomplishment. Even dear old Father was up on his feet from the chair he had tiredly been sitting on, endlessly blabbing to a couple of his friends about this whole thing. He was just like the rest of them. Shiloh turned her head away, then looked ahead as the cheering slowly began dying down.


A man, the same man she had shoved aside, comfortably sat in the chair in front of her. Shiloh lightly grinned, for she had a plan. A big one. After this, she'd see if they would still be celebrating on not. She concentrated, slowly taking her hands from behind her back as she shut her eyes tightly. Some concentration was necessary, since she hadn't mastered it yet. It was a shame, but she had promised herself to practice this power of compulsion more often. This act would leave her looking completely innocent. Or at least, that was what she was hoping.


The short man was beginning his speech excitedly after everyone had settled down, absorbing the wave of respect from the crowd. "As you can see, we have succeeded in destroying this wretched witch!" He talked and talked, his words aplenty, most people by this point excited to hear what he had to say. "If you have any information regarding a witch or wizard, please report it to us! There would be a very nice reward in it for you! We would be quite glad to receive your help, for we cannot cleanse Greyloch Metropolis without you..." So on and so forth. Shiloh had stopped listening by then.


She reached out, mischief in her eyes as they opened, and firmly placed her fingers on both sides of the man's head. Right on his temples. "What the-?" The man never had a chance to finish. He never even had a chance to turn around and look at her. Everybody else was too busy focusing on the government member to notice what she was doing. Shiloh was influencing the man's emotions. She quickly took her fingers off then, placing her hands behind her back again nonchalantly, like a good girl.


He stood up. Shiloh watched calmly, acting like she was watching the short man instead. The man that had stood now looked over at the person beside him. There was a glare in his eyes. Time seemed to slow as his fist flew towards the other's face. There was a loud gasp from a few people when the fist hit its target. And then? Then chaos ruled. Shiloh was laughing softly as anger ruled all around her, people even punching friends as well as enemies. Anger was a much better change of pace, especially once she saw the chubby man's expression twist into a look of dismay. The government was not about to accept violence like this.


Soon enough, a few officials broke up the crowd. It had been so interesting to watch who turned against who, who had another's back, who was another's enemy. Shiloh was content now. Not many would be leaving this place still happy after the fight that had ensued. She turned her head to see her father watched her calmly. "Shall we go home, Father? We have a house to build." She smiled an angelic smile, though it fit not the look in her eyes nor her ratty clothing.
 
As the government member droned on and on with his lies and his marketing scheme, Oscar remained leant against the balcony, his hips at an angle. Looking down at the commoners gathered below, he studied them with amusement. Many were moving from one foot to the others, tired from standing so long. He glanced back at the plush sofa at the back of his viewing box, and the cushioned chairs upon which they were sat. He smiled to himself, and then looked back at the poor.


He noticed, with curiosity, a girl as she touched her fingers to a man's temples. It seemed odd, even to Oscar, so he continued to watch her, leaning his head into his fist, humming quietly to himself the old tune of 'ding dong the witch is dead'.


He knew what she had done when the man punched another.


Oh. Oh.





Positively grinning from ear to ear, he watched on with wicked delight as a fully fledged riot broke out amongst the poor, fists flying, anger burning amongst them, fuelling hotter and hotter, multiplying and spreading like an infection. Amongst it all, the girl - witch - standing there, neither screaming nor joining in. Nothing could be better than this moment, and he stopped fingering the knife as he leaned forward further to watch, not taking his eyes off of this girl as she brought about total chaos. She, he decided, was perfect.


Then the officials had to be the usual bunch of party poppers they were and break up all the fun, pulling one man who was nearly murdering another up and leading him away. Why did all things so brilliant have to end so soon?


Tutting to himself, Oscar straightened, bored now, wanting something else. He looked back a the others to find Caroline watching him, her wide, pretty eyes hard and brooding. He blew her a kiss. "Oscar, get your things," his father said, as Caroline averted her eyes. His father then turned to Mr. Ashcroft, and the two men shook hands. "We'll continue this discussion at dinner. See you in, oh, what, an hour?"


"I'm looking forward to it," Mr. Ashcroft said with what might have been a smile, but the expression was obscured by his impressive moustache and jowls.


Grabbing his jacket and slipping it on, Oscar gave the lovely Caroline a parting kiss on the cheek before following after his parents, hanging back, his hands resting in his pockets.
 
Shiloh and her father waited as the crowd slowly thinned. Some people were dragged away by officials, while others gingerly nursed their injuries as they walked away. She watched them all with her dark eyes, patiently waiting. Even though her feet ached like crazy, she still stood and watched the injured people passing by. She looked over at Father, noticing how frail he looked sitting in his chair. Waves of tiredness crashed onto her. She could feel it. It made her angry. Shiloh looked at the others as they left, wishing she could have bashed some faces in as well. Her fists urged her to punch someone, anyone, but she'd do that when she went home.


Father got up slowly when the crowd looked thin enough, and Shiloh tucked his hand between the inside of her elbow so that she could offer support. They walked with the crowd, both deciding not to speak. It was a silence strangely filled with tension, but Shiloh couldn't care less. She was busy with her thoughts. Perhaps she would challenge Billy, but he was such a wimp who practically begged to be punched in the face. Carlos? He'd try to gang up on her with his friends. It usually offered at least a good challenge, but her feet were too tired for it. Eric. No, he fought like a girl. She laughed privately. Correction- He fought like a lady.


She continued to walk with him until they got back home. Her eyes scanned over what the disastrous storm had done. "Dammit," she simply spoke as she dropped her father's hand and went to where their house had been. "Fuck the government," she angrily proclaimed. A few people around her gave agreeing mumbles, though some glared. She couldn't believe that they were glaring. Their houses were gone. Who did they blame? Oh not the government, because the government's the best thing in the world isn't it? Shiloh was fuming inside. The rage constricted her throat. She hit what was left of the door and it fell, her eyes soaking in the disaster with misery.


Yet again there was no place to sleep. It had happened to her before, lots of times. This time would be the same as always. It would involve a lot of sunburn, hard work, and clammy hands. Then, when the rain came again, all that work would go to hell. "You shouldn't swear," her father hoarsely told her. "Don't tell me what to do," Shiloh growled, shooting him an angry look as she stalked off. First she needed a fight. Then she'd get to building.


There he was, right where she thought he'd be, kicking a rock as he stood outside of his melted house. Storms this bad didn't happen often, but when they did the government offered a tiny amount of building material to the poor. In a pathetic attempt to bribe, anyway. Shiloh came up to Gregory, also know as Greg, giving him a sneer. She had already made it clear to everybody in her neighborhood that she wasn't looking to make friends. "Up for another fight?"


Greg looked up, saw her, and laughed. "Is this really what you do with your time?" he asked.


"Not always," Shiloh replied with a shrug.


Greg tilted his head, his attention not on the rock anymore. "They all call you a really strange girl. You know that, right? They say you're kooky and violent."


She scowled at him. "They all call you a jackass. You know that, right?"


"Better than being called kooky," Greg replied with a laugh.


Shiloh saw that as an excuse to get mad, and so she did. She felt really satisfied when her fist crashed into his left eye, but she wanted a real fight. She watched as Greg covered his eyes with his hands, whining about it. What a baby. "Don't act so dumb, I could have taken this time to injure you further. Come on boy, let's fight!"
 
Home was… home was lavish. Oscar had been surrounded by it all his life so he was used to it, but after returning from the stoning, the contrast between his home and what he'd witnessed of the slums on the way back was highlighted again. Where the poor had fuck all, he had everything but. His parents' owned the top three floors of a skyscraper, and to say it was in pristine condition was like calling the slums dirty. Everything was exquisite, designed to resemble the ornate furniture of past eras, only enchanted by technology. He never had to lift a finger if he didn't want to, but really, where was the fun in that?


"Oscar," his mother said quietly when they returned, resting hand on his shoulder. She leaned in close, her fingers tight. "Go dress for dinner."


Oscar said nothing in return, plastering on a smile before brushing off her hold on him, gladly escaping to his room. It took up half of the second floor, and whilst yawning and stretching, he meandered into his walk in closet, a room in itself. Normally during a business dinner he'd throw on something outrageous, preferably in hot pink if he really wanted to spice things up, but Caroline was coming. Caroline was so much more fun to play with when he was on the down low. She was so easy to toy with when he was being subtle enough to go unnoticed by the parents. And so much fun.


Slipping a dinner jacket, shirt, and pair of trousers off from the formal attire rack, he stripped, and then went downstairs, his clothes slung over his shoulder. "Evening Rose," he said in a sugar sweet tone with a matching smile as he walked into the kitchen, butt naked, going to inspect what she was doing.


"Good Evening, master Oscar," Rose the cook answered flatly, raising on eyebrow at his lack of clothing but saying nothing. She was a hefty women in her late forties, who had never married, and her appearance made it obvious why. Oscar found her bizarrely attractive, however, drawn to her grotesqueness.


"You're no fun anymore, you know that Rose?" Oscar said rather hotly, scowling at her before pulling on his shirt, buttoning it up. The first time he had done that she'd at least had the decency to scream and pass out, but now she was all 'used to it' and such. Boring, boring, boring.





"Oscar, our guests have arrived," his mother said, coming to stand in the doorway as he went about pulling on his underwear. She made no comment on his state of dress, watching him with the same steady gaze as before. "Come and say hello."


"Coming, dearest mother of mine," Oscar snapped back, irritable now, his fun and games ruined. Belting up his trousers and slipping into the dinner jacket, he gave Rose a parting smile. "Goodbye, my love. I enjoyed our time together."


As he walked past his mother, she rested a hand on his shoulder, and then moved it to rub the back of his neck. Her touch was affectionate for a moment, tender as she brushed the sensitive flesh there, before her fingers turned and her manicured nails dug in sharp, breaking the skin and dragging down to scratch it. Oscar said nothing, instead doing up his jacket buttons. Rose, perfectly capable of watching, averted her eyes, focusing back on the meal she was preparing.


The contact was broken as wordlessly and swiftly as it had been made, and the two Wakefields went to the living room to greet their guests, neither speaking. The Ashcrofts were assembled, done up in matching attire, the girls all in doll-like, babyish dresses in pastel colours, and their father wore a baby blue suit with ruffles. Oscar thought they looked ridiculous, despite his mother remarking on how fashionable they all looked, and watched on in silence as the adults made the usual chit chat. His eyes quickly moved to Caroline, but instead of glaring at him like usual, she kept her gaze averted, looking anywhere but at him.


God. Was no one going to be any fun tonight?
 
"Stop circling. You're getting on my nerves." Shiloh huffed as she continued on to command Greg to stop being such a baby. "Come on, I thought you were a man! Can't take on a girl? Really? Pathetic! You know that? You're pathetic!" She continued to taunt him with words of all sort, even shamelessly swearing right at his face. It was a nice way to get the anger out. Taking her anger out on others had always proved to be effective, at least in her case, so why not now? She watched Greg, scanned his shaking arms and legs, looked at the way he avoided her as if he were the plague. Maybe she hadn't chosen right. She would have thought that he would "provoke" her, and he "had", but that wasn't enough. She needed to spatter his blood all over the ground. She needed to punch him.


"You really are a kook," Greg said nervously. He looked quite unsure, not knowing whether he wanted to attack or not. Everybody that lived here called her a temperamental wild animal. You couldn't say much to her, for she'd take it the wrong way. Sensitive? No, there had to be a better word for her. He wondered what it was.


"Want a roll in the dirt? Don't fight me and you'll get it!" Once she had him on the ground, she could punch him all she wanted. Shiloh grinned at the thought. And the power... The power of death was completely different than the power she felt surging through her when she managed to pin her opponent beneath her. Now that was the kind of power she liked. She lunged at him, then, so suddenly that he was too stunned to move. She got him down onto the ground.


"Oh my god, get the hell off!" They rolled, with Greg quickly getting back up. He looked into her wild eyes. What an untamed girl, hadn't her parents ever taught her how to behave properly? He looked down in disgust, dirt all over his already dirty clothes. "My friends were right about you," he said as if those words would help.


Shiloh laughed bitterly. Was he an idiot or something? "You're so worried about your clothes, are you sure you don't deserve the title of 'snobby rich kid'?" She glared at him, deciding it was time to take her anger out on him because of the upper class. They had everything. She swung her fist at his face. They didn't have to rebuild their house almost every moth. Her fist met its target. They didn't have to worry about money. He was bleeding. They had clean clothes. He was crying too. No worries about disease. Down on the ground now, holding his nose and wailing. The government actually liked them. Blood was staining the ground. Shiloh looked down at him, kicking the bloodied dirt into his face. They didn't have a care in the world. No responsibilities, no health concerns, not a problem in the world. She spat at him and, satisfied, turned and walked away from the scene. Her hands went behind her back as she went back home to help her father out, just like a good girl would do. Just like a good girl.
 
"This is delicious," Oscar said, gesturing to the food before him with his fork. "Really, Rose has truly outdone herself."


No one gave him any verbal response. His father merely made a point of talking louder about his proposed business plan, and his mother gave him another one of the her classic steady looks - classic mummy dearest - before pursing her lips and picking at her own meal. Apparently it was considered uncouth or some bullshit like that to comment on the quality of the food or the cook; 'it makes you seem so lower class, darling'.


The evening had continued in a more promising light when Oscar had been seated opposite Caroline. Throughout the dinner, he'd been sliding is toes up the inside of her calf and thigh, having slipped off his shoes. She had said nothing, hadn't even looked at him all evening, but every now and then her face would contort in discomfort and that was enough for him. They still had the rest of the evening to come, and then the younger daughters would be sent through to play together, the adults would go through to the drawing room to make conversation, and Oscar and Caroline would be expected to roam the gardens. Of course, the gardens were like every other rich family's gardens, artificial, cultivated atop the roof, but the point still counted all the same. He was pretty sure he'd be able to finish what he'd started by the end of tonight.


But was that really enough? Would that truly humiliate her enough for it to count as payback? Oscar did not take well to being scorned, just as he did not take well to most things, but Caroline possessed the great ability to induce in him the desperate and compulsive urge to destroy something. Just watching her as she pushed her food around her plate, not eating a drop of it, made him restless, fidgeting in his own seat, his fingers clenching and unclenching under the table. He moved his foot up to rest against the skin of her stomach under her dress, waiting, trying to find the perfect moment.


"Eat your dinner, darling," his mother reprimanded him, without so much as glancing in his direction. On that note, he kicked Caroline in the stomach, hard. Spluttering, Caroline buckled over, clutching her stomach and looking tearful. She was clearly on the verge of crying, and finally, finally she looked up at Oscar with a glare.


Then something truly horrific happened. She smiled at him.


Oh fuck, Oscar thought, suddenly dizzy. He knew what this was, knew what was happening. He could feel it coming, the way you could sense a storm in the air during the calm before. His head started pounding as he refused to acknowledge it, and he too then ended up buckling over, panting slightly. He could hear his father still discussing business, hear his mother compliment Mrs. Ashcroft on something, but he couldn't see any of it anymore. Instead he could see the stoning, the two people tied there, and the stadium; the stadium was burning.


"I've got to go," he said suddenly, pushing the unwanted vision aside and standing, so quickly his chair fell back behind him. "I'm not feeling well."


"Darling," his mother said, a shard of ice in her tone that was subtle, but definite, "you're to stay here and finish your meal."


"Mother," he said, his voice quiet, because he genuinely thought he might be about to faint, "please."


Then the doors burst open, and everything went to hell.
 
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Shiloh placed the building materials she had stopped to collect right next to her melted house. She looked at it as if it wasn't her own, as if it held no memories of any past. 'The past... It is better to be forgotten,' she quietly mused as she got to rebuilding. For the most part, the supplies she had were metal. It was the cheapest thing for the government to give out these days. There was an abundance of it, but the thing was was that it melted easily. The rich had no metal whatsoever present on their houses. It was a symbol of the poor, not the rich. The rich just couldn't fall as low as the poor, would they? Of course not, they wouldn't stand for that.


She clenched her fists, wondering if she had enough time for another fight. The crunch of Gregory's nose breaking had been satisfying, but not satisfying enough it seemed. She was about to leave again when she saw Father. He had been crouching and rummaging around in the destruction, as if to salvage something that just wasn't there. "It's all gone, isn't it?" His nod brought a desperate rage inside of her. Shiloh felt like she should cry; her eyes stung badly but remained dry.


There were no words exchanged between father and daughter as they went to work, slowly rebuilding. It was strange for them to not share a word or two, especially when they had to rebuild like this, but Shiloh payed no attention to it. She kept replaying the scenes of her fight with Greg, relishing the memory as she worked. Her hands absently placed things where they should go, absently sealed pieces together, absently moved as if she was a robot. It was better to be in her mind during these times. Times where she just needed a fight over and over and over again. It was like a need inside of her, threatening to destroy her. Perhaps she was a bit too used to it.


Her mind then focused on Father when she realized he hadn't said a word. She turned to him and picked up his emotions easily. Nervousness hit her as if a stone had just been chucked at her out of nowhere. Like she knew what getting hit with a rock felt like. It had to be painful, though, just like his emotions were hurting her now. She hugged herself, shutting her eyes as she waved the emotion away. Father was nervous, which was a first. It would usually be fatigue she'd pick up, sometimes happiness, but what did he have to be nervous about?


He looked over at her, just a glance, but she could see it in his eyes. It had something to do with her. Shiloh gave her back to him as anger radiated all around her and began to build up the house in a more forceful manner. What right did he have to be nervous about her? Lots of kids were, but why him? Why? She had been way more considerate with him than with any other person and he had the nerve to be like that? She had always offered him her arm for support, she had always walked him home when he went places, she had always been a good girl around him! She had even held off joining in the riot she had caused, for his sake. The few times she had ever apologized were all for him. Shiloh huffed in disbelief.


She had wasted kindness on him. She had wasted apology and consideration and anything good she had ever done. He wasn't as strong as she had thought. He was weak. Shiloh darkly bet that she could easily win in a fight against him. She could snap his neck in 10 seconds and kill him, just like that, maybe even in less of that time. He deserved death anyway, just like her mother had. Yeah, just like her mother...
 
City police were hot. Oscar was pretty sure it must be universally acknowledged that they were hot. Regardless of what they looked like, they all wore tight white uniforms with gold trimmings that were pretty darn body-hugging, the perfect balance between ornate and badass. Everybody looked good in them, regardless of what the hell was going on with their face or bodily proportions.


Now, however, was not the time to be admiring the fuckability of the city police, despite the that that four were standing in the door way, and at least six more being gathered behind them. Now was the time to panic.


There was silence in the dining room for a moment as the city officials looked in, and the two families looked back. Both parties seemed to be waiting for the other to make the first move, and as the stalemate remained, the tension grew, until Oscar couldn't take it anymore. Dropping all pretence of dignity or pride, he turned and ran.


It wasn't the most well thought-out plan, because there was nowhere to run to, only one door leading into the dining room. In the end he ran to one of the windows, seriously contemplating jumping out of it. Yes, this seemed the way to go, plummeting to the earth to escape the humiliation of what lay before him. His parents watching on, Caroline watching on, all as he threw himself to his death.


God, he made himself sick.


As he turned away from his suicidal escape, two police members grabbed him, lifting him off of the ground by his arms. "Get off of me you scum," he spat, kicking out at them and struggling for all he was worth, but their iron grip did not yield.


"Your son has been accused of the use of sorcery," Another policeman announced, standing at the head of the dining table. "We are to take him for interrogation. If he is found guilty, he will be executed. We thank you for your co-operation."


No one at the table said anything. Fighting desperately against the two individuals who were holding him, Oscar twisted his head around to look back at his parents. Even he, after all these years, expected more than this. His mother wasn't even looking at him, nor the police, nor anyone. Instead her eyes lay on her soup, and she was blowing daintily on that which she had scooped up in her spoon, her poise and serenity perfect. His father was watching him, but said nothing, drumming his fingers on his palm. He held Oscar's terrified gaze for a moment, before he looked away and back to Mr. Ashcroft. "Sorry about the disturbance," he said, his voice betraying no emotion other than mild irritation.


Oscar stared at them for a moment longer before he started screaming every profanity under the sun at them, turning red in the face from the force of it. He cursed them to hell, to the underworld, to the void, to every horrid place he could possibly think of, all whilst he was dragged from the room, still lashing out. "I'll kill you," he yelled back at them, fighting against the guards' grips so that he could turn back and look at his parents. "You'll both die at my hand for this." Then the doors shut, and they were lost from his sight.
 
Shiloh took a metal sheet and looked at it. It was so dirty that there was no shine to be seen, even if she was standing with it under the sun. 'Used,' she knew. Very used. The government obviously didn't care about the well-being of the poor. Thinking of metal sheets made her relax a bit, but any mention of the government in her thoughts and she felt as if she were going crazy. She looked in the direction of Father. He worked quietly, stealing several uneasy glances in her direction. Her mind growled, 'No, Father. No. You don't get to look at me like that. After all I've done for you, you do not get to look at me like that.' She walked, her feet blocks of lead, and stopped right in front of him.


He was ignoring her, all his attention on the sheets he was layering. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, shaking lightly. He shrugged it off and she inhaled sharply as she felt her anger dramatically spike. "Father," she said quietly, her voice a whisper. No response. "Father," she said a little louder. His breathing was shaky and she could feel his nervousness wrapping around her, coaxing her anger out. "Father!" The scream startled both of them. She had never spoken that loudly around him.


Father swallowed nervously and turned to her. "Yes honey?"


Shiloh's breath shuddered as she breathed from the intensity of the anger curling inside of her. "Why are you nervous?" It was asked menacingly, as if he was definitely in trouble now.


"I-I'm not." Father looked alarmed, his hoarse voice filling with denial. Shiloh slowly shook her head in disbelief, staring at him. He was lying to her. He was lying.


"Liar," she whispered. Her hand slowly went up. "Liar... Liar... Liar..."


A cough demanding attention made her freeze. Shiloh looked up, noticing her hand wrapping around Father's throat, and pulled away as if severely burned. The look in her eyes made her seem like a child again, innocent and scared. A police officer stepped up and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from her father. Their uniforms said it all. Shiloh had never felt so betrayed in her life, not even a little while before when Father had betrayed her.


"Hello, Mr. Effler. Thank you for reporting your daughter..." No. No. No. It couldn't be... "No," she said as she looked up at Father. "You wouldn't... Daddy, you wouldn't..." Shiloh whispered what she had used to call him back when she was a child as she was slowly taken away. The officers were patient, even when she dug her bare heels into the dirt. "Daddy! No! No!" She was screaming now, her voice an everlasting wail. She seemed so much like a child, stripped of all the comfort she had left. Her anger skyrocketed when Father turned away from her, refusing to acknowledge her. He was talking to another official, holding out his hand. He had given her up for money. He had turned her over in order to get a few dollars. She tasted bile in her throat. "Let's go, stop being so difficult!" One of the police officers was getting annoyed by her stubbornness.


"Fuck you! Fuck you!" Shiloh was screaming all kinds of obscenities now, every bad word and phrase she had ever learned. Half didn't make sense, but she continued screaming her rage out at him. She planted her feet firmly onto the ground and managed to escape the grip of the officers. She ran towards Father, though he wasn't family anymore. No, he was just a greedy man. He was such a selfish bastard! She leaped, pinning him, and began to strangle. So much rage was planted inside her. They pried her away, Shiloh still screaming at the top of her lungs. "She's insane," one mumbled. "A real kook," another agreed. Five men held onto her as they dragged her away in order to prevent her from escaping like that again. Shiloh felt torn to pieces, she felt as if she was a plate that had been broken beyond repair. For the first time in years, tears escaped. Her eyes burned like hell.
 
Dishevelled, sweating, and panting, Oscar screamed again as he was dragged downstairs, out towards the door to the elevator. "Wait!" A voice called.


Obeying out of curiosity, the officials halted, Oscar pausing his screeches to see who it was who had come to his rescue. The words mummy dearest were on the tip of his tongue when Caroline walked through the door, her eyes resting on him. "Can I just say goodbye to him? Just for a minute?" She asked, her voice as drab as ever.


The officials looked at one another before one of them said, "You may." And they released him, stepping to the side so that she may speak with him, but hovering so that they might contain him if he put up a fight.


Keeping her eyes on the floor, Caroline walked up to him, her hands clasped before her. Then boring, bitchy, wrung dishcloth for a personality Caroline rested a hand on his arm and leaned in as if she were to kiss his cheek, stopping just short of his ear. "I'm not the one who turned you in," she whispered, so quietly that Oscar barely caught it, let alone the officials. Then she drew back, gave him a small smile, and turned to return to the dining room.


Oscar lunged. His hands were round her throat in seconds, but that was hardly enough. He tore at the front of her clothes, cursing himself for leaving his flip knife in his other jacket, trying to scratch and claw at her freshly bared skin with his nails alone. Rot in hell, bitch, he seethed mentally, and over and over he clawed at her, his nails digging into the supple flesh of her cheeks, his mind racing ahead as he imagined tearing her ugly, gorgeous face from her stupid empty head. Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.


"Fucking hell," one of the officials said as they tore Oscar off of her, dragging him back whilst another rushed to attend to her wounds, also swearing. They'd all doubtlessly be in a hell of a lot of trouble for letting the daughter of such an influential businessman be harmed.


"Fucking monster," another whispered, clearly horrified by what he'd witness. Oh, if only you knew.


Spitting on Caroline's bleeding, mangled body, Oscar didn't shout this time as he was hauled into the elevator, and the doors closed in a hurry. He was too riled up to scream, his shouts occurring internally, his mind racing. Blood pumping, heart thumping, everything red red red. He was methodically condemning them all to die, everyone to die. On some level, he was in a state of ecstasy, imagining it all in wonderful high definition. He didn't have anything to lose anymore. There were no more limits. All they could do now was kill him, and that was going to happen anyway. In a way, he was grateful to whoever had turned him in.


Finally, someone had freed him. And by god was the world going to pay for it.
 
Shiloh only stared at the smog-filled sky as she was literally carried by the officials. They held her legs so she couldn't kick, her arms, though they didn't need to for she was calm. She was quite calm. She felt as if the life had been drained out of her so she acted like it, still and lifeless. She had no life left anyway, which made it easier to accept her death. Acceptance... Was she really going to accept it? Was she really going to be like the other witch that had gotten stoned just today? Shiloh closed her eyes to the world.


She was so tired and this was just a dream. Tomorrow she'd wake up, dusty on the ground, and she would go get some food for Father. Tomorrow she'd challenge Carlos and his little gang, and she'd kill them all. Now that she thought about it, Father needed a good death as well. He had betrayed her, but this was just a joke wasn't it? He'd never turn her in. He'd never do that. After what she'd done for him, after how good she had been... She decided that it was indeed a joke and that she would be home tomorrow.


Time inched forward like a snail as the officials carried her to their destination. Shiloh knew that they were passing by regular civilians. She opened her eyes at some point to find people staring at her with wide eyes displaying several emotions. She could feel all the hatred, the fear, the pity. Some feelings wrapped around her, some jabbed her side, some hurt her mind. She hated them all. 'Burn in hell, all of you. You don't know what this is like. You don't know anything.' Shiloh desperately wished there was somebody to punch, but her arms were firmly held. She couldn't escape this time. She couldn't scrape the fear out of anybody's eyes no matter how badly she wished to.


When they arrived, she knew even though her eyes were closed because they stopped to have a long talk with someone. This was still a joke. It had to be. Shiloh opened her eyes slightly when they entered the musty place. Her eyes scanned the others that had been brought here. Most people were sleeping, others looked up at her with misery or curiosity in their eyes, some had their backs to her. She wasn't thrown in with the majority, however. The officials marched her farther in. By the way the bars looked, this was a prison. A bleak prison that looked even worse than the poor section of Greyloch Metropolis, in fact. She felt rage rising withing her yet again.


They came to a cell and opened it up, throwing her in quickly. The official that closed the door scowled deeply at her. "You interrupted the event, Witch," he spoke, the last word sounding much harsher than the others had. Shiloh glared up at them, her head held high. She couldn't burst out into tears, she couldn't beg or plead. It was weak, and she didn't want to be weak now did she? "You'll stay in here until the Detective comes along to interrogate, though I wonder what the point of that is? They might as well burn you at the stake. I hope you rot in hell, Witch."


Bravely, Shiloh spat at him, "Screw you," she snarled back. The official angrily made a move to open the cell again, but the others held him back. "Come on, she isn't worth it," one nervously whispered. They pulled him away and walked off. Shiloh tucked herself into the left corner of the cell and sighed softly. She rubbed at her eyes to cure the itchiness and stared at the wall across from the one she pressed her back against. It wasn't a joke, she knew that already. It was real.
 
When the guards brought Oscar into the prison, he was humming. Humming a merry little tune that he had just invented; Oh, what a virtuoso he was turning out to be! He'd even developed a few amusing lyrics to accompany it, just a ditty really, but he thought it really showed that he had promise.


Kill them all,


kill them all.


You're a monster now,


let's kill them all!


Ah. What a waste it would be if they stoned him to death; he still had so much left to give.


As he was tugged past cells filled with the scum of the streets - by god did they smell - his humming evolved into a cheerful whistle, for which he earned a whack over the head with the back of someone's gun. Excuse me, genius composer at work here. Those in the cells looked out at him with more contempt and malice than he knew such lowlifes were capable of harbouring. Surely their brains were not evolved enough to actually think enough to conjure enough reason to hate him? Perhaps it was his clothes; still in his dinner finery, with his shirt collar dotted in blood - Caroline had bled rather impressive, he'd thought. The gash in her neck especially. Perhaps he'd been lucky enough to strike an artery - his wealth was obvious from his attire alone. His perfect hair, winning good looks, and million dollar smile were just the cherries on the well-bred cake.


"Put him in with the other one," some man with a deep voice said gruffly. Sure enough, Oscar was thrown into a cell with yet another cretin of the underworld, the barred door slammed shut behind you.


"Thank you, my good man! Your service was much appreciated!" Oscar yelled back after them, not sounding quite as noble as he'd hoped, for his voice had been worn hoarse from his previous shouting. My, he really had gone a little overboard there hadn't he? Still, he was a young man, filled with raging hormones; he had to let out his tumultuous emotions some time, and when better to do so than when you were condemned to death? Caroline's presence was all the confirmation he needed to know that he'd done the right thing. Let them think him weak and foolish, screaming profanity and death threats. All the better when he finally carried them out.


Gleeful with terror, falling into a stage of happy denial, he turned to face his fellow companion, the good street rat of the slums. She really was a mess, just her hair alone made him shiver internally, and for a young lady her age she really ought not to smell so foul. However was she to attract a man this way? Perhaps that was what she was here for; public indecency, for looking like such a mess.


Then, as he squinted at her, making a show of looking disgusted, he realised he recognised her. Oh. This was his perfect girl? His look of disgust was furthered as he reeled back. Surely not? His perfect little riot starter couldn't be someone this unpleasant in both appearance and scent. In his mind she had smelt of sweet roses, and fresh rain, and that elusive, salty smell of drying blood. Today was just one big chain of disappointments, wasn't it? "By god," he said, quite plainly, "you're foul."


Suddenly, everything became a little bit too much. The adrenaline in his veins turned from making him high, happy and free, to panic. He could not be locked in a cell like this, with a girl like this. He was supposed to be out there, executing his grand plan for revenge, not locked up in here with a walking, talking sewer.


As he turned on his heel to protest to the guards about his living conditions, however, he was interrupted by them talking amongst themselves. "She was a nightmare too. Nut jobs, the both of them," one guard muttered from where he was leant against the wall, a short way off from their cell. Another stood beside him, scratching his head.


"He assaulted the Ashcroft heir. He's fucked even if they get discharged of the accusations."


"Didn't you hear? There's not going to be an interrogation."


"What?"


"Yeah, I know. Execution has already been scheduled. They're trying to make a point or something, I don't know. It'll be the first ever dual public execution. Detective is coming by to make a show of it, rough them up a little I bet, and then that's it. Doesn't matter, the boss said. Doesn't matter if they show or not."


"But the boy, he's the only heir to the Wakefield Empire isn't he? How can they-"


"His parents were the ones to suggest it."


Silence. "Fuck."


"I know."


Swallowing his protests, Oscar turned back, facing away from the bars. He looked at his new companion for a moment, before he leant back and slid down the bars, collapsing back on his rear. Christ.





And just like that, he began to cry.
 
Shiloh's head slowly turned at the shouts of another. Her head was already pounding from having cried before, the shouting made her all that more annoyed. She clenched her hands into fists, sneering at him when she saw what he really was. A rich boy. Seriously? They couldn't find her a better companion? A real snobby one too, to be sure! He looked disgusted when his eyes found her appearance, though there was no surprise felt at his reaction in her case. The wave of repulsion that came from his emotions made her want to give him a good sock in the face, instead. Fuck surprise, how about anger? Oh how she felt it.


It was in there, wriggling furiously deep inside her chest, making her throat constrict and her eyes harden. Her mind wanted her to act off of this anger, like she always did. It was the best outlet she had these days. She had tried other things, but nothing beat the satisfaction of winning a fight. Nothing beat the power. Shiloh nonchalantly watched the boy, examining her filthy nails in front of her as if terribly bored with his little show. And indeed she was, on the outside. On the inside, anger raged on and on.


He was squinting at her. She strangely felt exposed, but her bored expression succeeded in not revealing her discomfort under this boy's eyes. Something, perhaps the screamings of a lunatic a she had heard a little while back, made her feel like there was a screw loose inside this boy's head. Oh well, she had taken on loony boys before. The thought made her absently smile.


The smile dropped like a bowling ball when she heard his next words. Foul? Foul? Had she heard right? Foul? Completely snobby. Where he came from, it was all just ball gowns and the finest tuxedos. Her hand dropped and clenched into a fist so tight her nails drew blood from her palm. She needed to hit him. He was rich, wasn't that a good enough reason? No, it was be like him hitting her because she was poor. She had to list a million reasons, and so she did. The top reason: he was rich.


She lazily watched as he turned on his heel and, deciding to suppress her anger, positioned her eyes back to looking at the opposite wall. It was a nice wall, dirty and ancient, but it was nice. Mainly because she could see bricks stacked neatly. Bricks... It was built better than any of the other homes back in her neighborhood. Grudgingly, Shiloh took it back. This place was much nicer than the slums would ever be. Even a wall couldn't help her to tame her rage. It was in there, planted, and the only person to hit in this place was the boy. She stood, sure that she could do it, needing some satisfaction, needing to empty out the rage that lurked deep inside of her.


'She was a nightmare too,' her thoughts echoed in a whiny mimicking voice inside of her head. They were wrong, she wasn't loony. She hadn't done anything. Shiloh folded her arms across her chest, digging her nails into her forearm. She needed to draw blood, and at this point it could be anyone's blood. A nut job, huh? She'd like to leap at that guy and show him who was the real nut job! Speaking of nut jobs, where did he get off talking about her right in front of her? Rude and a nut job? She wondered if this guy had a wife.


Oh, so she was right. This boy had assaulted some bitch. Shiloh gave a nearly silent scoff. She probably deserved it. Or maybe it was a he... A bastard, then. She decided to shut up her thoughts in order to eavesdrop, casually leaning on the wall as she stood. So no interrogation? Good for her! Shiloh gave herself a mental congratulatory pat on the back. She didn't like the sound of a dual public execution, however... How dare they place her next to a rich boy! That was complete shit. She felt as if her veins were pumping ice water throughout her body. She was going to die whether she could hide her powers or not? That held even more shit in store.


Some anger fell away when her ears caught that one sentence. "His parents were the ones to suggest it." Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the boy's back. "You wouldn't... Daddy, you wouldn't..." All she could do was stare in shock. God... She hadn't wanted this. Sure he was a rich kid, but his parents? His own family? Just like her. Just like her. Her mind was swimming in a stormy ocean now. Shiloh gave a slight jump when he turned away from the bars, her eyes glued to him. She shook her head and attempted to hide the stupid expression on her face when he looked at her.


Tears. May God strike her down, that was what she saw. Actual tears sliding down his face. The tears of a betrayed rich kid. A part of her reveled deeply in the moment, for seeing a member of the upper class cry was like an elation that took her high into the sky. She decided to get closer. "Don't be a baby," she said, some anger in her voice. Him showing weakness like that did make her angry. It was weak people in general that made her furious. She kicked at his leg, with force. Shiloh needed something to get her frustrations out, a good kick ought to do it. He may have been in the same situation as her, but he was still a rich kid. Now that she thought about it, it was a good reason.
 
Oscar wasn't sure how he felt anymore. He knew he was supposed to be handling this with gravitas, with anger, with indignant fury with a mad genius spark. He was supposed to be being a monster, not crying. So why couldn't he stop? It felt like someone had dug out all the anger in his chest, hollowing it. His body was crippled by the emptiness, no longer able to support itself, collapsing around the hole. A black, empty hole into which he would be glad to disappear. Everything was warped and ugly, and it made him feel sick.


Thank god for the walking, talking sewer. Too long a name; WTS. Abbreviation. Also meaning What The Shit.


Perfect.


WTS kicked him and fuck it hurt. Where did a bitch like this learn to kick like that? But what mattered was that the pain helped, it focused him, it dragged him away from the breaking sensation inside his chest and the terror, and helped him remember who he was. He was his mother's son, and he knew how to hurt back.


Tears still going, he lunged back at her, not holding back a jot as he went to tackle her too the ground, catching her waist. The full force of his body latching onto hers at least brought her down. A baby? A baby? He was surely older than her, although it was hard to tell with peasants; they all looked like the same ugly slug replicated over and over again. An ugly slug who dared to try and even touch someone like him. He was more than this, more than all of this. She didn't deserve to be allowed to hit someone like him. Due to inherit the most powerful business empire in the city, due to go on to exploit the poor, manipulate the rich, destined to do great and terrible things.


And look at him now. He paused mid punch to cry again, rocking forward and bowing his head. His arms he brought before his head, cradling it, and he half whimpered, half sobbed. This wasn't right, this wasn't where he was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be brawling with street brats, who could kick and it would hurt. That was his job. He couldn't play with this girl with any intelligence or finesse. He'd been raised for a different kind of pain, a different breed of hurting others. This wasn't his game, so why were they making him play it?


"Be quiet in there," One of the guards yelled, whacking a gun against a metal bar from where they stood, releasing a metallic clang.


"This isn't right," Oscar whispered, his voice hoarse. "This isn't right, this isn't right, this isn't right." Wasn't this the part where he father was supposed to send someone to pick him up, to get him out of whatever trouble he'd delved into? He'd never even scolded him before; how could that have turned into this?
 
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Shiloh stepped back slowly as she watched the rich kid. He looked as if he were having a breakdown or something. It looked pretty snobby to her. Then again, anything he did looked overly snobby. She made a face, hating how he looked as if he were breaking apart at the seams. Not for his sake, though. She didn't care one bit about him. It was for her sake that she hated it. It reminded her of her own tears, her own betrayal. Her eyes burned at the very memory. She had to blink quickly in order to forget about it.


The blinking didn't help her defend herself against the animalistic lunge of this snobby, snobby boy. Shiloh gasped as he tackled her, ending up on the ground with him on top. Him on top? Him? Not a chance. She growled up at him, fury in her eyes. There was no fear, for she wasn't afraid of such a snobby boy. He was heavy, however, obviously heavier than her if he could bring her down. 'I wasn't prepared. Could have dodged it. Could have-,' her thoughts rambled, but she stopped them when she saw her chance of escape.


She looked up at his fist, bracing herself for the blow so she could take over, but he never did punch her. Shiloh watched in satisfaction as he cried again. She laughed, the sound somewhat bitter and broken. Those tears reminded her of her own. She wished her mind would stop, wished it with all her heart. Breaking down right here and then would have been the worst thing to do. She steeled herself, preparing to haul him off for she hated being like this. She wanted no one on top but herself.


It was quite successful, since he was such a mess at the moment. Shiloh was surprised that it required little to no effort. All the fury came back as she rolled him to his back and pinned him down, staring at him with her expression drawn into that of a wild child. Her teeth bared, her lips pulled back into a snarl, her eyes showing her rage. She really did look like a wild one, her brown hair messy and all over the place along with her dirty face. She hoped she looked aggressive enough. Shiloh felt like her mind would hardly be able to handle this. All the fights she had had in the past roared through her mind, her eyes burning yet again. "I told you not to be such a baby," she began. But of course, Shiloh was rudely interrupted by the guard. She wished she could turn her head a sweetly tell him to shut the fuck up, but she was sure that that would ruin this moment. How she wanted this moment to last. She controlled herself, steadied herself. She was good at that, most of the time. Emotions were barely a match for her.


Emotions. Fuck. Shiloh inhaled sharply as she froze, her eyes opening wide. This close to someone and she was thinking about emotions? How stupid could she be!? His barreled into her, almost knocking her off of him. 'Hold steady, hold steady...' God was there plenty of them! It was annoying her, but they wouldn't stop showing up, dancing in her mind, wrapping around her. "Dammit, dammit all to hell," she growled. She could hear him faintly, chanting about something not being right. "To hell with shit being right," she said in a pained voice. It wasn't her fault, all his sorrow was threatening to destroy her.


Somehow, she got her composure back. She pushed those emotions away and threw them right back at him. Whoops... Wouldn't that make him hurt more than he was already? She was touching him, for God's sake! The contact would just make things worse for him. Shiloh took a deep breath and looked at him through her watery eyes. That wasn't her fault either. It was his. Nonetheless, she placed her fingers on his temples. She slowly soothed his pain, easing it, wanting it to just stop. It needed to stop, she didn't want to cry like he was. And so she soothed him, just like that, manipulating his emotions carefully. Carefully? Now, that wasn't right. Shiloh wrenched her hands away, looking burned. To hell with careful! She then remembered her anger, made up a quick excuse, and socked him a good one.
 
The day was turning into a bit of an emotional roller coaster, and Oscar didn't want to offend anyone, but if he was going to be honest, he didn't much care for it. Especially not the sentenced to death part. The bit with the WTS could do with a bit of work too.


He could tell what she was doing when she did it - pushing his emotions back into him tenfold - but despite his own abilities he could do nothing to stop it. He was used to 'normals', people who were ignorant and unaware that he could mess with their minds as if they were mere toys. This girl, she was a forced to be reckoned with, her own psychic abilities like a bludgeon to the skull. He barely had time to try and block her out, let alone fight back, when she attacked him.


Fuck.


Fuck.





All Oscar could do was make a strangled choking noise as he felt everything. From anger, to fear, to panic, to heartbreak, all of it magnified and terrible and infinite and all of it exploding within him. He thought his heart, chest, and mind would combust from the force of it, and in a strange sense he felt nothing, all of it so over-whelming he shut down for a minute, staring from some strange third perspective at what he was feeling. He knew that he was crying, could hear himself screaming, shrieking out for help, but he didn't feel himself do it. By god, this girl was something else.


Then everything went numb, his tears stopped, his pain was soaked away, and a moment of great serenity overcame him. He understood in that moment. He had been acting foolishly - like a baby - and that really was no way for a gentleman to behave. He had other things to do, revenge to exact, a life to save. He was Oscar Wakefield, victimiser of all who dared get in his way, and all who merely took his fancy, and that wasn't going to end here. Just because his heritage had been destroyed, did not mean his self would.


It didn't matter that she punched him, he almost wanted to hug her in thanks for the moment of clarity she had bestowed upon his person. He felt only a mild tingling sensation on his face as her knuckles connected with it, and he could hear his nose breaking, but barely felt it. Instead, he grinned back at her.


And then he shoved her off.


Leaping to his feet, he paced the cell twice, and then turned to face her. Didn't she see? This was all how it had to be. They had to escape, had to become fugitives. Outlaws, free at least of this hellish city, free of everything. They were more than human, more than the cretins surrounding them. Lower and upper class alike were children to them now. This girl, with her terrifying power that she barely seemed in control of, she was key. Together, they'd get out of here. "You're perfect," he said, voicing the thought he had for the second time. Oh, let it not be said he did not hate her - foul girl had kicked him, punched him, and those were both acts he would not forget - but for now she had a more important role to play. Now, in his mind, they were kin, whether she liked it or not.
 
Shiloh watched the boy beneath her as he reacted to what she was doing. This ability had always come in handy, even in the worst of times. Just a touch could influence any emotion she wished to bestow upon her target. She had to be careful, however, for rage was able to untangle her control as soon as her concentration and serenity were gone. Just like it had when she'd pushed all his emotions back at him. The strangled noise he had made had been rather lovely for her ears to hear, but her 'emotion detector' could barely stand it. Which is how her mind ended up nearly exploding, just like his almost had.


She had overwhelmed both him and herself. He was screaming, crying shrieking. Like music to her ears, but still, she'd had to calm him. She had used the manipulation ability to shape his emotions into a much calmer form, which had relaxed him as well as herself. It was an amazing feeling of relief as her shoulders slumped and she was able to breathe again. A wonderful thing, breathing. What wasn't wonderful was breathing in this rather disgusting air. Her lungs certainly didn't like it, though it wasn't like she wasn't used to it.


The grin she had received upon punching him was quite bizarre. 'A maniac,' she quickly decided, 'A maniac who wants to make my brain explode from his babyish emotions. What a baby. What a nut job. What a grinning fool.' He shoved her off, then, interrupting her angry thoughts. 'Oh well. At least his nose looks prettier now.' Shiloh herself grinned at the thought when she saw the fabulous job she had done on his nose. It made his face look less snobby, at least. She felt satisfied, the anger drained out of her.


His blood was on her knuckles. Shiloh looked at it, fascinated. Rich boy blood. It was quite interesting, for it looked the same as her own. She held up her bleeding forearm and compared the blood, quite intrigued by this. The boy had gotten up and was pacing now, which didn't interest her though did annoy her somewhat. Shiloh continued to sit on the cold ground, her legs curled. She did stick her leg out at one point to try to trip him, but only paid little attention to the attempt. Her eyes were glued to the blood. She wondered. It would be an interesting experiment. She lifted her fist to her mouth and licked. The metallic taste repulsed her taste-buds immediately. So it was true. Rich boy blood didn't taste any good, just like everybody else's. It was fascinating.


It was getting cold to remain seated now. Shiloh got up and turned, only to meet the eyes of the rich kid. He had stopped pacing and was looking at her now. She faintly wondered if he had been a witness to her little experiment. "Perfect?" Both her lips and mind asked the question incredulously. Shiloh looked down at herself and her attire. She was dirty all over from her earlier delightful roll in the dirt, her clothes obviously very worn, her feet bare. She wore an over-sized shirt tucked into men's pants, the hem of them rolled upwards a few times so it wouldn't be annoying. Her clothes were obviously too big on her, simple hand-me-downs. Shiloh bit her lip as she looked down at them. They had used to be Father's pants. She looked up to get her mind off of it and took a step closer. "I punch your face, break your nose, and all you have to say is 'you're perfect'? I think you've got a screw loose, buddy." The words were said honestly, some annoyance lingering in her tone as she stared at him. He sure was a weird one.
 
Hmm. The perfect girl was speaking.


Heh.


Oscar laughed. She thought he had a screw loose? Please, he might be a little mentally unstable, but he wasn't stupid - far from it, in his humble opinion-. He knew he had a screw loose. But that self-awareness was what kept him on the right side of insanity. He knew what he was, how people viewed him, and through that, he knew how to play them. Puppets on a string.


Ah. Running a hand back through his hair, Oscar decided it was time to pick himself up and dust himself off, metaphorically and spiritually speaking. He was done with panicking, with screaming, kicking, and hurting. Time to put all those mental instabilities back in their drawers to fester for another few weeks. The mental breakdown had certainly been refreshing, but all the same, it was debilitating. He couldn't play the game right if he was allowing himself to be a piece.


Keeping on eye on her, he'd watched her as she licked his blood from her hands. Disgusting habit; he approved. It amused him how she accused him of insanity, as if she were free of it herself. He wanted to retaliate with a patronising sneer of have you even seen yourself? but that wouldn't help with what he really wanted now. Antagonising her was best kept to a minimum; he needed her now, and besides, he'd been eager for a new doll to play with; Caroline had been growing dull.


Observing the girl, he knew she wouldn't be as easily toyed with as the others. For starters, she too was a witch. Manipulating her through his powers would probably be detected, as he had done with her influence upon his emotions. The differences and similarities in their capabilities intrigued him; he too could influence emotions to some extent, but it lay more in the actions of the person, in the movements of their bodies and the workings of their mouths. He could implant on them a sensation, a word, an impression, but nothing more. She could sway the human psyche, torrent emotions down on them, and as he'd studied her, he'd seen it reflected in her.


He had read sci-fi novels and was familiar with such concepts. She was an empath, then. A curious ability. He could not imagine experiencing the sensations of others himself. Whilst he understood the mechanisms of other people, he could not quite grasp how they felt. Playing their emotions like clockwork was easy, but relating to them; not so much. Perhaps, if he possessed her power, the complexities and sensitivities of other people, and how they should be treated with care, empathy and genuine kindness would not perplex him so. Hah; as if this girl seemed concerned with such things. Indeed, she seemed more psychotic than he did.


And that was exactly why he knew they could make this work.


Turning his back on her for a moment, he studied their habitat. The guards posted were lazy and distracted, chatting amongst themselves, their body language relaxed. Within the prison itself there were only three of them, albeit a fourth in the form of 'The Detective' was due to arrive soon according to their word. Outdoors, Oscar had counted another four; two stationed by the entrance, another two patrolling. Eight in total, worst case scenario. Potentially two more round the back.


Ten.


It seemed manageable.


Swivelling around on his heel, Oscar looked at WTS, his face lighting up with a smile that he had carefully composed to be charming. Women and men alike had stripped when met with that smile, adults had forgiven the darkest of deeds, and scorned friends had taken back vows of exile. With WTS, all he needed was an agreement to comradeship. "Indeed, perfect," he said, walking closer and looking down at her. She was dirty, unkempt. Studying her features, however, he supposed she might clean up alright if a decent sum of money were put her way, along with a deep-cleanse bath. Maybe a soak in some antiseptics too.


He held out his hand to her, at first in the manner in which a gentleman would do so when asking a lady for a dance, and then he turned it into a proposition for a handshake. Lowering his voice, he said with that very same smile, "How about you and I join forces and get out of here?"
 
Shiloh gave the rich kid a very weird look when he laughed at what she had said to him. So he really was a maniac. Her scathing thoughts had been right about him. She let out a little scoff and turned her head, her eyes resting on the gray wall with the bricks perfectly lined up. She was getting bored with him already, the only thing that had interested her being that little fight he had started. Then again, even that had been boring. The realization made her somewhat annoyed. He had been such a baby. She hated fighting babies. She wondered if he would act like a real man the next time they fought.


Her anger was already rising yet again. It clawed at the inside of her for the littlest things he did, from being a rich kid to laughing at her punch. Shiloh's hands were curled into fists, her eyes on him again, watching his every move, absently looking for an opening in which she could strike him again. This time, her fist would hit harder. She'd make him scream instead of laugh. Maybe she'd break something else, like an arm or a leg. The thought lifted her spirits, and she grinned wickedly. It sounded proper for a spoiled brat like him.


She discontinued the grin when he began to observe her. Shiloh glared at him, then turned away to face the back wall. She twiddled her thumbs as she counted the bricks the wall held, moving from one foot to the other. The nervousness of being in here was getting to her, giving her more energy than she knew what to do with. Her mind switched from one thought to the other, starting with the rich boy and ending with the stoning. They wanted to kill them both, tomorrow. Stuck side-by-side with the rich kid. Was she really going to die that way? Really? It made her hate the government even more. It made her hate everything.


A nervous energy was all around her. She knew not where it came from, just that she wanted to move. She wondered if that was normal as she began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth... She was feeling restless. She faintly counted her steps as she walked this way and that, briefly noting that the kid had turned towards the bars. One-two-three-four-five-six, turn. One-two-three-four-five-six, turn. She kept her eyes glued to the floor as she paced.


He was observing the outside of the cell. Shiloh paused and looked at him. She studied his posture, though it told her nothing. She read his emotions, though they didn't help either. They were rather thoughtful. It seemed like he was analyzing something. She went up to the bars and looked at them. It was tempting to touch, but a part of her knew. Nonetheless she slowly reached out, only the tip of her fingers touching one of the bars.


Zap! She snatched back her finger. They had electrified the bars. Shiloh gritted her teeth, not making a noise as she stalked to the back of the cell. Goddammit... She guessed that they must have electrified them when they had thrown the rich kid in. That meant that she had had time to escape. It would have been easier, escaping without electricity. They just really wanted to keep them in, it seemed. Was using magical abilities during a stoning really that bad? She wondered.


The smile the rich kid gave her made her pull her lips back into a sneer. He was looking at her again, his little face all lit up by that smile he had so easily created out of thin air. Nobody had ever smiled at her like that, but that was how she liked it. How she wanted to carve that smile right out of his face with her own filthy nails. Then again... Her sneer dropped and her expression stopped looking so vile when he walked closer. She looked up at him, and for a moment the look in her eyes showed that she was being charmed. Her expression softened, making her look like an actual good girl.


She looked down at his hand as he held it out, pausing for a moment as if really considering this proposal thoughtfully. Why yes, for good girls considered. Good girls weren't rash, were they, or reckless? Shiloh looked up at him, her hand reaching out towards his own. Her fingers touched his, looking as if they were going to twine and accept the handshake.


Just like that, her 'good girl' act faded away. Her hand drew back and slapped his own away as hard as she could. Her sneer was back, as was a death-glare in her eyes. "You think I'm going to work with a bastard like you?" She spat, right into his face. She had made sure to form a lot of saliva inside her mouth during her little act, to make it a REAL wet one. "Think again, you asshole."
 
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