building outta sweat and spit

If this was a battle of wits, Cyanide came to the table armed to the teeth. It was hard not to be-- she'd gotten this far on her own. She'd survived for this long on her own. She needed to be smart, sharp as a tack to get by. A battle, but it could also be a game. A game was okay. The wraith of a girl could play, and play she would. Hell, Cy was damn near allergic to mundane at this point. Mundane meant a false sense of security. A false sense of security spelled death. She was always on her toes, always in wait for something to jump out and snap her neck. There was danger around damn near every corner out here, and she wasn't going to be anyone's victim.

Says me the boy says. He's around her age, young. Cy wouldn't be the first one to bow, to break the eye contact that she held so fiercely. Catlike steps over the soft ground, and she's drawn towards him with a strange, brilliant curiosity. Her head quirked to the side, gaze calculating. Strange. All of it was strange. Still... Cy didn't hate it. She narrowed her pink gaze as she drew closer to the boy. Ugh, boys.

That makes you new to me, dramatically, Cyanide rolled her eyes. "Who died and made you the center of the universe?" Her words are silver, not venomous. They dance and play in the space between them, a breeze picking up in the willows. The woods around them seem to be alive. It makes Cyanide feel more alive too. She'd come out here to explore, and she'd certainly get her money's worth. This place, as strange as it was, happened to be fucking brilliant too. "Who are you?" The question slips past her lips easily, curiously. Cy would study the strange boy and his answers. Learning. Always something new.

"speech"