"In a way, that sad excuse of a butterfly - one with ripped wings and a twitching body - reminded me of myself."
-Nicole Philips
Once, when Nice was scooping out dirt with her bare hands, creating a shallow grave, a creature flew before her with wings of blue and black, which shimmered in the sun like glitter.
She had no clue what it was doing, or even what it was, but there was one thing she was sure of. It riveted her, the way that it's beauty sparked through, like a diamond in a sea of rocks.
At least, it did until a guard caught her watching it, her body still and unmoving as she tried not to scare it away.
"Subject nine-five-eight," the female guard snapped her number out, eyes burrowing into the side of her head, "what do you think you're doing?" Nice looked up at the tanned woman, than down again, pointing a dirt-covered hand towards the insect.
"Isn't it beautiful?"
She remembered that instead of getting three days in the Pit, having her lunch privileges revoked along with having an increased training time, she had to hold the butterfly in the palm of her hand, for all to see, then slowly rip its wings off, leaving it a squirming lump on her hand.
She could imagine the agony it felt because later, she got ten whips on her back, each for the amount of graves she could have dug if she hadn't been distracted by a pest.
A pest...
As Nice opened the door to the same house that she had resided in, she did everything she normally did. She set her guitar by the table by the door, pulling off her boots and sitting them directly across from the case, next to the umbrella stand where there were an extra pair of shoes - Adidas, size 9 male.
As she made that observation, she stripped herself of her winter's clothing, which consisted of her hat, scarf, jacket, and gloves, rolling it up into a bundle and setting it in the dish held on the table. She turned on her heel, stepping into the living room.
Once she was there, she spotted Elmo and Luisa, the male with a gun held in his grip while the girl was covered in red dots, her eyes wide and glossy as her cheeks were stained red and wet. Nice tightened the fist her hand formed.
"Ah, you took your time." She turned to a man, a wool cap pulled over his brown hair as his eyes, dark enough to have the brown be considered coal black, were slightly red and glazed. He's high, she decided.
"I decided to enjoy the walk," she replied back smoothly, taking a step towards the father-daughter pair. In her vision, she could see a trail of red light, fuzzy and blurred, before she realized that he had a sniper turn one of their guns on her.
He grinned at her face, which was contoured with a slight irritation. "Ah, ah, princess," he teased, standing up and taking steps towards her, close enough to see the perspiration on her brow but safe enough she that she couldn't attack her, "we wouldn't want the party to end so soon."
"Andare all'inferno," she calmly said back, causing him to laugh lightly at her, like she was just joking around with him. (Go to hell)
"Now, now," he chided, his hands moving frantically and cutting through the path of the red dots, "I may not know Italian but I do know that 'inferno' is hell."
Her voice was dry. "Your intelligence wows me," she said, " so what exactly do you want?"
"I've heard stories of a rare prey, one that has nanites engraved in her DNA," he started, fingers curling like he was holding that prey in his hands, "I want to capture it."
She was quiet for a moment, glancing at the little girl, who's smile was something that she looks forward to everyday, then to the man, who took care of like she was his own. "I'm sorry," she mouthed, her voice muted, before she looked back at the man, who was grinning wolfishly at her.
Taking a step forward, she grasped his outstretched hand, him pulling her forward into his arms, wrapping them around her like a vice. "Thank you for being so cooperative, princess," He whispered in her arm, holding her like she was his lover, "It made things a lot easier for them."
There was a loud bang before Elmo slumped over, blood from his forehead dripping down onto the brown, wool carpet. Luisa screamed through her gag, one of pure sadness and grief as Nice flinched, jerking forward to go towards him before the man who was high tightened his grip on her. "Don't move or else we'll have her chock on her vomit from an overdose."
Nice froze and there was another bang, the man's grip loosening and he fell towards the ground, blood seeping through the back of her shirt from how his head skimmed over it. As soon as she was free, she raced forward, unlacing the cloth around her mouth and running the pads of her thumb over her cheeks.
"Passerotta," she breathed out as the girl shook before Nice pulled her hands away to the knot that held her to the dining chair, "Ho'm spiacenti." (Sparrow, I'm sorry)
"N-Nice," she said in a broken voice as the door opened, causing Nice to stand and face it. A frown doted her lips as a man, his hair smoothed back and shades over his eyes, walked in.
"Eight," he addressed politely, nodding his head at her and causing her to nod back, in respect (even though she truly looked like she'd rather gauge out her eyes).
"Six."
