More or less a Vermouth drabble. She's such an interesting character to play around with.
She had to get out of here.
Out of this whole situation. The whole mess.
It's been so long, she barely knew who she was anymore.
The daughter of the mother, or the mother of the child; Sharon or Chris. But did it really matter? Both didn't exist anyway. She had neither daughter nor mother-she was herself. But that didn't satisfy her anymore. She went so far into disguise that she created her own storyline, a one actor movie with many roles.
It kept her mind occupied with keeping loose ends tied, it did. But when she was about to sleep at night (sleep? ha! don't kid her, sleep was for weaklings) when she didn't have to worry about who she was, that was when the self-questioning started. Who was she?
Her worst nightmares are when she's unmasked. Not by herself but by someone else, when she's discovered to be fake. Because she had driven herself so hard to completely replicate and perfectly become (in all sense of that word) another person. She became the person she'd disguise as so well, it was difficult to come out of the mask into the fresh air and present who she really was.
When her plain skin lay bare on her face, she'd look in the mirror and see a stranger. Sometimes she pinched her own skin to make sure that she was actually looking at her own skeleton, but she grew to detest herself, preferring to be others.
Waking up was always difficult. She always had to ask herself, once, twice, three times who she was that day. She had no real continuous memory, and her mind was full of those she had copied and pasted into herself.
It's been so long, she no longer knew who to trust or turn to anymore.
She only had herself, but even her own memory was unreliable. So did she take notes or plan out what she was going to do for the day or the next? Hell no, she lived only and precisely for and by the moment. Her life wouldn't work any other way.
Gin? Honestly she just used him for the sex. It put the youth back into her, and for the moment, she could pretend she was normal though she doubted he thought her as anything else but a tool, even when his bass voice would grumble otherwise when she trailed a finger on his bare chest.
That was something she enjoyed for only the moment. Commitment was a bitch.
And when he was sucked dry of life and long rotting in his grave, shed find some other prey, to let touch her curves and hold down, when it was really her that was bonding him.
And when she saw real couples walking down the streets, arms intertwined, hearts given to the other, she guessed she should have envied the bond between them. But each time she thought she could have, she knew better than to. Her life was different from theirs, and it required a nonconventional approach.
Besides, she doubted anyone could actually keep up with her.
It's been so long, she didn't know what her life would lead to.
She had no idea what to do with the rest of her life, especially since it was indefinite.
She had joined the Syndicate thinking she could spare the time to do whatever they needed from her, but she didn't like what the Organization had boiled down to. It had gotten too screwed over time, and she liked to see change-the rise and fall of pattern that she had for so long observed in the mortal beings.
Did she envy humans because their lives changed directions? That they would be born and die over and over again? That in the face of failure they'd still stand up again? Yes, she did harbor jealousy, when she was rather weary of what the world had to offer, but the real answer was no.
Being alive forever had its perks.
And since the only constant she had in her life besides immortality was the Organization, she decided she had to continue working for it.
But she still had to get out of here.
She had just set this entire building on bombs.
This place about to blow.
And…Ke$ha gets the credit for the inspiration, lmao; never thought I could be inspired by her crack, lmao.
thir13enth