little frilly doll

The first time the Prima met the Ninth Warmaster – and for that matter, the first time I did – it was like oil and fire. …Well, oil, more oil, and a spark provided by our new Warmaster. …It was sort of cute. One of the only times I’d seen her slip back into her drawl. She only did that when she was fighting with her sister.  Usually.

Took a little bit for me to piece it together, between the unintelligible accent the Ninth Warmaster brought to the argument and the squeaking of the Prima’s voice when she got upset, but according to Malal, this was over some kind of forbidden love between the Warmasters. …Guess I’d be upset if somebody fucked my sister, too.

It was probably stupid not to expect this to escalate, between the Prima’s reputation as Queen of the Psychopaths in our Officio and the Ninth Warmaster’s penchant for blood and gore. For almost a full second, I was even surprised when, as if they’d planned it beforehand, the Prima’s Luck and the Ninth’s wicked, jagged-looking sword clashed in the blink of an eye. …When the Ninth’s sword started to roar and move, though…that got me.

What the fuck is wrong with Russia?

Sparks showered the Prima as she yelled…well, pretty much that. My hand slipped to my knife – I didn’t transform right away, didn’t usually feel like I had to – but Malal grabbed my wrist. Said to let ‘em get it out of their systems. …Seen a lot of shit, but I know better than to tell a Culexus to go fuck herself, and opening up the Ninth while she was fighting would have been a pretty terrible idea. Not worth it, no matter how mad the Prima seemed to be.

Probably wouldn’t have gotten that far anyway, though – their expressions were surreal. Inhuman. …The Rabbits are monsters. We threw away our humanity a long time ago. But the Ninth Warmaster was…something else. Something worse. She didn’t look…angry at all. She looked thrilled, as her freaky fucking chainsaw sword dug into the Prima’s katana. It was blinding just to watch, and a tiny shard of Luck dug into the wall between Malal and me as it was chipped away.

And the Prima…well. The Prima I was used to. As Luck met Vodkasaw over and over, the horrible screech of tearing metal filled the air. They seemed to clash for hours, each quick strike from the Prima countered with effortless ease, and each heavy blow from the Warmaster blocked with foolhardy determination, even as Luck wore thinner and shards of metal dug into the both of them.

Then, they pulled apart, as though they’d found some kind of truce, the Warmaster’s manic grin fading into an almost…hurt expression. Disappointed.

“Is not seriously all you have! I heard you are the smart one, but I thought you would have more strength, at least, than this.”

“Bitch, Ah’m a heroine.” The Prima’s anger seemed like it was gone, replaced with a smile we’d all learned to fear. She ran her hand up her blade, like she’d done every time she thought she might have dulled it. …As the blood from her fresh cut dribbled over the metal, it just…filled in the missing parts, as though it was nothing. Freshly-drawn. “And a heroine’s luck never runs out. ‘Bout time Ah stopped fuckin’ around, though.” That’s when she stopped fuckin’ around.

Guess that was obvious.

With a flick of her wrist she summoned Luck’s sister, Pluck, and the two of them met again. I glanced over at where Malal was sitting to see if she thought we should do something yet, but she’d disappeared. Figured it wasn’t anything to worry about, then, but once Pluck came out, the Prima usually got kinda…carried away.

A mad giggle echoed around the room as she flew at the Warmaster, the screech of chain-on-metal replaced with a quick, repeating clang as the Russian struggled to keep up with the barrage of slashes, though there was still an uncomfortable rain of metal as their weapons collided. Even though it seemed like it was starting to tilt in her favor, every glancing blow the Prima managed seemed to be deflected by the Warmaster’s freakish black armor, and the threat of her sawblade meant not even the few blows that sunk in were very deep. …To be honest, I was already having trouble following what was happening. When they broke apart again, I couldn’t tell why, at first. Then, the Warmaster spoke.

“Where are your big words now, silly little frilly doll? We are not past third blood and already you are tired! Too much American hamburgers in diet, maybe you need workout?”

“You keep talkin’ shit, Russia. Ain’t none’a mah blood on that sword. Thought it was for takin’ skulls, not takin’ hits like a little bitch.”

She was breathing hard. I’d never seen the Prima…well, I’d never seen her have to fight so hard before. …I was pretty good at opening people up, but the Ninth was on a totally different level.

“Then you are not going to run and cry? Good!” With a cackle, the Warmaster snapped into motion. Bore down hard on the Prima, forced all god-knows-how-many pounds of crazy Russian chainsaw onto her. She stood her ground, for a minute, as her swords were ground into a silvery powder over her. The wild bloodlust seemed to return to the Warmaster’s eyes as they stared each other down. Something about the way The Prima was looking at her, I guess.

There was a sort of snapping sound as one of the blades finally gave – Pluck, it was in her left hand. Had to be. At that moment she slipped out from under the chainsword and whirled to get a swing in at the Warmaster’s side, only to have it caught by a black knife-hand.

What happened next...shaped my perception of both of them forever. The chainsword roared as it came down in an arc, nearly drowning out the Prima’s cry of ‘Fuck you!’ as she jammed her broken, jagged sword up into the Warmaster’s abdomen. Right under her ribs. At the same instant, the horrid sound of chain cutting into bone filled the room as the Warmaster’s weapon dug into the side of the Prima’s chest, blood and little fleshy bits spraying along with little bits of black cloth as the two froze.

The chainsaw slowed and stopped, the Warmaster’s grip loosening as they stumbled apart, Pluck still buried in her.

Couldn’t have been far from her heart. At the time, I figured she’d killed her. …Well, killed her body. Temporarily. Real bitch to do permanently.

Then, the Warmaster reached up with her gauntlet or whatever the hell it was and yanked Pluck out herself, holding the wound just under her breasts and laughing weakly. She seemed to chastise herself, then forced out a much stronger laugh, and dismissed her weapon. The Prima did the same, forcing out a little giggle as she tried to stem the blood coming out of the gaping wedge taken out of her torso.

“Yer…you’re pretty hot, Russia. …Guess I forgive you. You wanna…like…do something?”

“You are like frilly, starving dog, Annie May Springfield.” …Nobody used the Prima’s name like that except for the Warmaster and me. I was almost confused for a second. “Luck and Pluck, eh? These are not great names. But they are good names.”

“Well, I was thinking about Killer Queen and Bohemian Rhapsody, but like…”

Don’t remember most of what they talked about. Wasn’t really paying attention. They…neither of them should have been standing. …This is what it meant to be at a Warmaster’s level. …You had to be batshit fucking crazy. …I was lost in thought until the Ninth looked over at me.

“…You know, rabbit is a delicacy, back in the country. Maybe I can have little, tiny taste?” It was probably the most disturbing pickup line I’d ever heard. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

“Well~ We do die if we get too lonely. …If you really want rabbit, you’ll have to take us both.”

… …

…I don’t really want to talk about the rest.

… …

…Never did get those panties back.