#The Illusionist; Zorin Blitz

[deadandbound]

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Like cattle to the slaughter, many members of the original elite had fallen victim to a gruesome defeat, 'victim' to those who had chosen to be apart of this disgusting movement. Rip had known exactly what she was getting herself into from day one, being only a washed up, used, abused, scrawny little girl from the slums of Austria ; no where to go, and no one to turn to, less it be the cold streets once again, selling her body just to fill her stomach for a single night.

She was comfortably numb to all emotional pain, her world was so bright because she could no longer feel at all, driven to the very peak by a madness that had consumed her from birth, she was born broken. The huntress had always had these violent urges, a way to make her feel anything at all, and the freaks who had taken her in were all too pleased to use this to their advantage. Music gave her a voice, violence gave her emotion, and authority gave her resilience. 'Nutcase' didn't begin to cover it.

Guns were rather stimming for her, it gave her something to do with her fidgeting hands and restless mind that ran on maybe 30 minutes of sleep, slumped over her desk at work with a 98K that had been jammed, making adjustments here and there while she humming in approval with furrowed brows. She really didn't rely on the things, but she found them enjoyable.

❝ Mm. ❞ is all she answers with at first, still concentrated on the trinket before her, before skillfully clicking everything back into its proper place and twirling it from one arm to the other, tapping the butt of the rifle on the ground a few times, and allowing it to rest against the makeshift wall. Slowly she turns to face the illusionist, faking a surprised look on her face, even squints and fiddles with her glasses to see if her eyes were deceiving her upon the visage of the ex lieutenant. Pulls white gloves up her heavily scarred hands once more.

❝ Täuschen mich meine Augen? The Zorin Blitz has dropped by to pay me a visit? I'm flattered. ❞ she chuckles humorously, shrugging her shoulders as she leans against the desk ❝ No, not yet I'm afraid, but I'm not entirely alive either~ ❞

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[ ⍖ ] - Zorin had last been at the current base of operation months ago. How long, she had no real way of telling - didn’t bother to count the sunsets and sun rises as they passed by.  A damn phone would have been fantastic to have just for that. Of course, it wasn’t like they were going to waste the resources of getting the illusionist one when she had been downgraded to a simple soldier. Just another piece of meat among the masses at this point, and that point was no doubt constantly driven home to humiliate her.

She’d severed as guard dog for some people now labeled more important than her, faces and names she couldn’t bother to keep to memory; some piss poor excuses for the new generation of Millenium’s elite. 

Strangely, however, there’s a burning curiosity within Zorin to know if she had been missed in the least. Only one or two probably even noticed she was gone to begin with…and there’s a strange bit of relief to be found in the familiar sight of that pestilent singing nutcase. 

“I’m surprised to see you’re still not dead yet.” she mocked, though her tone held far less animosity than it had on previous occasions.