We Own The Night

[Deamon]

A smile was forced. There was fear behind it. A gun was raised, not at her but the inference was clear. A threat, as if they mattered. Violence was the only currency the prey dealt in. They required it to keep their act afloat. The character they were playing was defined by threats and violence. So when they were met with a new obstacle they reacted the way they were written. The way they were supposed to.

The bow and words drew a grin from her. The act was fun, harmless. A shield against the truth. Maybe it was understood by all, maybe it was a wink. To the victor went the spoils and the prey had won, the metamorphosis into the predator had been finished. A grand quest complete. Drunk on victory the prey threatened again trying to establish it's new status, consolidating the power it had earned from the cameras. Everyone had seen their actions and therefore knew what it could do now. It had a reputation to uphold after all.

Their grins matched, they were a mirror. Although one was playing a part while the other merely existed. She moved a step closer. Eyes unblinking, smile unbroken. A laugh escaped from her as the second threat was made. It was as empty as the last. What could she possibly do?

They were all dead until they weren't.

Her hands ran through the dancing flames and she continued to step closer. Her footsteps taking her in a lazy rotation. When she stopped she was closer still to the prey, close enough to take in her features as the fireflies danced around them.

She continued to grin, focus entirely on the girl in front of her, watching her face. A small chuckle escaped her lips.

"Move me."

[Wham Yubeesling]

For the record, Maxwell was a part of this scene too.

Specifically, far away from it. He was behind a shipping crate, roughly ten meters and a look-around-the-corner away from the convergence that made Kris and Bunny. There was Saachi’s cleaver in his right hand, a bag dumped on the ground to his left, and exhaustion and sweat and tension all surrounding him. Wendy was down. Chuck was down. All who remained were himself and the two who — now, in hindsight — would never have let the plan work. Who never would have allowed peace. Who never would have given Maxwell the one chance he had to beat this game. To bend it over his knees. To show that it had never changed him. Never compromised him. Never gave him that change of heart he imagined everyone watching had hoped for.

Evidently, everybody else on this island had failed him. If Maxwell wanted something done, it was clear now that he had to accomplish it himself.

So that was what he was doing. Accomplishing it. Staying still exactly where he was, only ever taking the occasional turn right to look around the corner and see whether one of the two girls had killed the other yet. If Bunny was the one to fall, then that was great. If Kris died — even though this was admittedly more petty of him — that was fine as well. Whichever one survived, Maxwell would beckon over here. If they took the bait (which he hoped they did, because it would be very awkward otherwise), he would go for them. Do whatever he needed to do to make sure they couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Find Chuck — wherever he was — and sit down. Wait for the boats to arrive. Celebrate, as his head got blown off, the fact that he had finally did it. Finally achieved something.

It wasn’t perfect. Anybody he’d theoretically vocalize this to would criticize him, but there was no other choice. This was the only plan left. All he could do was stand here and wait for his turn, and even if that wasn’t what it took to maybe get that one last good deed in, he would’ve been and was more than happy to do it.

[Pippi]

Now she pointed the gun directly at Kris’ chest.

Her grin faltered, even as Kris maintained her own, standing closer to Bunny than she was wholly comfortable with. She didn’t seem to have realised there was an SMG pointed at her. Or, perhaps, she was fully aware, totally cognizant of her situation and her surroundings, yet carrying on like…… this despite that. On instinct, Bunny took a step backwards.

The longer Bunny stared at Kris, the more she hated what she saw reflected back at her. She saw the parts of herself that she really rather didn’t wanna have to think about. The fact that she’d managed to get herself - partially by accident, partially intentionally - wrapped up and lost in an act, one with no stage or audience or anyone she truly wanted to impress, but one that was keeping her alive. The fact that without it, all she was was just a girl, a girl with normal impulses of anger and joy and dreams of petty revenge and nothing beyond that. The fact that Kris’ jarring manners served as a perfect example that this whole thing was totally fucked, and that everyone still alive had been warped beyond who they had once been.

She didn’t want to stop acting. She liked it here. She had the upper-hand, the control, the edge. The adoration of all around her, forced or otherwise.

Really, she shoulda just shot Kris there and then, and, spoiler alert, that was still what she was planning to do. But she needed to pull herself back into this role wholeheartedly, needed to make up the stumble from a few moments ago. Maybe she could finally get some clue as to what Kris’ deal was, this way.

“You’re so weird, you know that?” Bunny said. She’d put on her brave and cheerful face again, weaving her gun in a figure of eight pattern. “Like, you’re a weirdo so you’ll probably take being called weird as a compliment, which it’s not! But I’ve, uh, ‘moved’ people before, you know? I’ll do it again. And, to be totes honest, I don’t reaaaally give a shit about you, so, like… Do you really think I won’t? Or have you just given up? Cause, like, I dunno…”

She shrugged.

“I pegged you for being less of a loser than Maxwell, is all.”

[Deamon]

The act dropped again. Impossible to maintain, for like the boy she was only pretending. Playing at being something she wasn't. The girl took a step back and the grin stayed where it was. After a pause, the girl centered herself, reestablished the role. The face perked up. Role reclaimed and re-established she could happily fade back into the act she sought to preserve. But the momentary drop, a repeat of the earlier occurrence meant the same. It established that the feeling and doubts of prey remained, no matter the amount of self-delusion. A self-created star on a self-created show, an autobiographical myth that revealed more about her doubts and weaknesses than her virtues

Then the girl started talking, a quick monologue, a small soliloquy with the focus solely placed on the behavior of others. Namely herself. An attempted verbal jab to finish, one she took. The grin did not drop. The girl, like the boy before her did not realize the truth. She merely tried in vain to hide behind her act, the version of herself she had crafted for the purposes of their stay.

Her eyes ran over the prey. She took in her clothes, her body language, and her gun. Then their eyes met again as the fireflies flickered all around them. The grin stayed on her face as one of her arms raised up to pet the dancing flames.

"Does it matter?" She said, focus returning to the girl. "Do you think it matters?"

[Pippi]

Did what matter? Did she think what mattered?

Bunny stared Kris down, eyes narrowed, glaring at the other girl. Shoulda known better than to think she wouldn’t answer with more cryptic, faux-intelligent bullshit. She didn’t have a clue what Kris could be referring to; whether her giving up mattered? Whether killing her mattered? Or maybe whether she being less of a loser mattered, which was clearly the most concerning factor presently.

And why, more than anything, did it matter whether anything mattered?

Now was not the time for philosophical bullcrap. Now was not gonna be the moment for them to start wasting time. Now was Bunny’s shining hour, whether everybody liked it or not, and the time to kill (Bunny) or be killed (these other four losers). That was it. Simple as.

Slowing things down was just forcing Bunny to look inside her own head. Turned out that was the last place she wanted to be right about now.

“No duh it matters!”

Bunny spat the words out, grin manic, eyes still boring holes into Kris.

“Everything that I do matters. But I don’t gotta explain myself to you, or anybody else for that matter.”

The machinenpistole was pointed at Kris’ chest.

“You’re a dead girl, after all.”

She pulled the trigger, moving the obstacle in front of her.

[Deamon]

The prey fired. She had been expecting it. Bullets tore through her. The first time. Every other shot missed. This was not that. She had known eventually her luck would end. The prey was right, after all, she was a dead girl.

Her body fell back, impact made with the hard concrete. A blink. A moment of nothing. No feeling, no thought. Then pain and a strangled laugh. The cold of the ground a contrast to the warmth around them and the burning from her wounds. Warm and wet the blood oozed out. Her blood. Dead girl fuel.

The final firefly rolled out of her hand. The glass bottle clinking as it ended up out of her reach. Pain began then, waves coming from the impact craters that served as the epicenter. The glass lenses of the cameras took it all in. So those watching could see the finale they had been eagerly anticipating.

The ebb and flow of her own life draining out was a giddy feeling. A shaky hand rested on her chest. She could feel her heart. Still beating. Disappointing. However not unexpected, there was still time and a door she had yet to open.

The prey had said it best after all. She was a dead girl and dead girls couldn't die.

[General Goose]

Chuck wasn't sure when it was that he noticed the cut over his eye had opened up again - that it even existed - but soon enough, he noticed it. Maybe he'd accidentally splashed or smeared a bit of the solution over it, because it was suddenly rather painful.

He'd sorta stopped paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have done. The gunshots, the crackling fire, all the shouting and screaming - it had all become worryingly anodyne. Like Chuck was, for the first time, desensitised to it. Here he was, in a critical life or death moment, the climax of his life - or perhaps the denouement, the coda, where Chuck would get the closest thing to an understanding of how he'd be remembered that he'd ever get. Maybe it was too late for him to have any prospect of survival.

Maybe his wounds were beyond the work of whatever medical facilities the terrorists had on hand, even if he did by some fluke end up as the last man standing. Maybe rescuers would arrive at the last minute, and Chuck would prove too weak to save. Maybe nobody would survive. That was the worst ending. Chuck couldn't imagine something more...pointless, something more insulting to the sacrifices and hardships that people, better people than him, had made in an attempt to fight the cruelty of this whole experience, than there being no survivors. No legacy. Nobody to carry the torch.

His eye was hurting.

He screamed when the pain from his wounds both acted up at the same time.

[Wham Yubeesling]

Thunder rang out. Struck someone down. There was a moment in the metaphorical flash — the brief pause that gave artistic complement to this kind of violence — that Maxwell saw as opportunity. He moved his head past the corner, turned it towards the epicentre, and saw the less preferable person dead on the ground. Now it was just him, Bunny, and Chuck. Peace, and the one person stopping it Maxwell was unsure he could stop himself. The plan wouldn’t change, of course — it was far too late now to make any sort of appendment — but it felt far more up in the air, now he knew that his opponent would be Bunny. He wasn’t even sure why. There was just some sense of… reputation, perhaps; that because of her actions, the people she had cut, she had worked herself to the top of the food chain. Become by far the strongest being here.

Maxwell would have noted the comparison back to the days where he himself was in that position, but that felt inappropriate. It was time to enact the plan. Wait for the thunder to fade out, make noise, and draw Bunny ove-

A new noise. A… beacon, was perhaps the most appropriate fictionalization. Chuck screamed and called all the attention towards himself and suddenly Maxwell realized there was nothing he could do to draw Bunny to his position from where he was standing. She would leave him alone and kill Chuck and suddenly what used to be sixty would then be two.

For a moment, Maxwell was entirely okay with that.

Because it would’ve meant quite a lot of things that ultimately placed themselves in Maxwell’s favour. It would give him time to ideally find himself a better position — a space where he could perhaps utilize the gun he had as opposed to this cleaver. It would perhaps give him the opportunity to take Bunny by surprise, kill her before she was properly able to fight back. It would allow him to perhaps win this game, if things went as planned. It would’ve caused his past self to whine and moan, and admittedly there was a twinge of guilt rearing its head in his current thoughtset, but honestly? There was no chance of beating this game at this point. It wouldn’t even last long enough for the boats to come and kill them all, at the pace this was going. If the option he truly wanted was out of the picture, then the least Maxwell could get was the option that provided the most personal benefit to himself, right?

Right?

He couldn’t quite twist that sentence into a proper answer. No matter how much he tried to stick to the point he made a few hours ago that this island had done nothing to change him, there was still a portion of his mind that wouldn’t let him be comfortable with himself, because if Chuck died, then so did all hope that the boats would come and beat this game. If Chuck died, then Maxwell would either have to kill or allow fucking Bunny of all people to step off this island. If Chuck died, then so would Yasmin, Lyndi, Paris, Zubin, Ramona, Felicia, Yumi, Michael, Brandon, Daniel, even whoever it was that set everything on fire. Perhaps their bodies had already gone, but their actions — the fact that they had all done far more to subvert this game than Maxwell had — still rippled, remained. If good died, if Bunny won, then Maxwell would’ve done worse than nothing, become something worse than evil.

But they hadn’t ever mattered. He had. This game hadn’t changed him, and this scenario wouldn’t change that. He would do it. He would let Bunny leave. He would find a place where he held the high ground, and after Bunny snuffed Chuck’s life out he would do the same to her, he would take his first life and this game’s last life in one swoop and then he would win. He would leave this island. He would go back home. He would become rich and famous and get anything he wanted with just a click of his fingers and nobody would ever hold it against him because they would know what he’d been through. It wouldn’t have mattered that he’d taken another life. It wouldn’t have mattered that he’d gone back on everything he’d ever said since he woke up here, because they would understand. They would know that everything that happened to him was just the result of a bad situation. They would make it clear that there was absolutely nothing he could’ve done to change this.

He could do that.

All he had to do was stay still.

Listen out for Bunny’s footsteps, wait for her to leave, and start scouting. Get the gun out.

It’d be easy.

All he had to do was all he’d done this past week.

…

…

…

...Heh.

He supposed that this game had changed him, after all.

He took one last look around the corner. Saw Bunny, not looking in his direction. It seemed as if she was right about to head towards Chuck. Perhaps he had caught her in the nick of time.

Oh well. If whatever force above elected to place the odds in his favour regardless, Maxwell supposed that he couldn’t hold this opportunity against himself. He took a breath, then moved, leaving behind every bit of pain from these last seven days as he charged towards Bunny, the cleaver in his right hand floating further towards the sky.

[Pippi]

There was no exhilarated, wild-eyed laughing and cheering when Kris fell. No disrespect to the girl - hell, out of everybody here, Bunny had the most respect for her, in the way you respected a crazy person because they might eat your eyelids otherwise. But Wendy had been the one, big, massive, heck-off thorn in her side this entire time. Now that she was dead, everybody else was kinda just…. Numbers being filed off. Just one more thing in the way of a well-earned victory.

Still though! A body on the floor was a body on the goddamn floor! That was worthy of celebration! So Bunny let herself grin, and she kicked a pebble towards Kris which bounced harmlessly away, and she tried to spin her gun on her finger and blow the smoke from the barrel.

“Woah, shit, fuck, fuck, goddamn-”

Her heart, lethargic as it was feeling, managed to muster up enough energy to leap into her throat as the maschinenpistole slipped through her fingers, almost clattering to the ground, Bunny kicking up mud as she stumbled forwards to just about catch it. She gripped it tightly for a few seconds, before letting out a long breath, looking around herself for a moment.

Right. Well. Hmm. That hadn’t been great, but, like, everybody liked seeing a winner with a bit of humanity to them, yeah? A bit of a reminder that they’re just like you, that they’re human too, right?

Ah, fuck it, whatever. Kris was down. Wendy, ding dong the bitch was dead. If Chuck hadn’t bled out by now, he didn’t have much longer for this world. That just left one more person, one final obstacle in Bunny’s way.

Huh. Speak of the devil.

Bunny spun, alert to the sound of rushing footsteps far too late, turning to face Maxwell bearing down on her, feet away and brandishing a hand axe aloft. She cried out in shock, stumbling to the left, just out of the way of the flashing blade, swinging her machine pistol up in retaliation, trying to smack it into Max’s jaw.

She spun again, facing her adversary, keeping her stance low to the ground. Flames flickered around them. She grinned, bore all her teeth at him. He’d already admitted it. He didn’t want to play. He didn’t want to kill. He was stupid enough, selfish enough to believe that they’d be able to ‘’’beat’’’ the terrorists with no more bloodshed.

This was gonna be the end. No doubts about that.

[Wham Yubeesling]

The sneak attack failed. It seemed as if good fortune could only take Maxwell so far. Bunny screamed and dodged his swing before she swung something straight up into his jaw. There was a flash of pain — a brief reminiscence to how Saachi had done the exact same thing even just earlier today — and when it all came back however many seconds later the two of them were still standing; Bunny facing Maxwell, Maxwell facing Bunny. There was a second of pause internally extended into far longer than a second should be checking the damage, grimacing through the pain and looking for any new loose teeth with his tongue, and then he was back proper, watching the illuminated shape of Bunny standing a bits away from one of Kris’ fires, saw how her shadow stretched in a straight line and smothered him.

“Apologies.”

However he was going to complete that sentence — some theatrical line that he didn’t have the inspiration to make good, probably — was forgotten as his eyes trailed from Bunny to the thing behind her. Kris’ fire.

Not too far behind her.

(and now you see it)

(now you know how to make her hurt)

Not something she could see right now.

(one way or another, you’ll make this end)

(one way or another, somebody here’s going to burn)

There were heat and goosebumps on his skin as Maxwell’s body found itself chuckling, matching Bunny’s smile with the many teeth he still had before he charged, brought the shoulder he could still use in front of him, tried to push her back and make sure she couldn’t put up her gun both at once.

[Pippi]

She moved to raise her weapon, swinging her arm up to point the maschinenpistole towards Maxwell, finger wrapped as tight around the trigger as possible, as though the whole thing would fall apart if she let go. Maybe if it had been a couple days ago, an hour ago even, she could have moved that fraction bit faster to shoot Max square through the neck and stop him in his tracks.

The injuries added up, though. The aches and pains, bruises and scars, bleeding and sheer exhaustion criss-crossing Bunny’s body was taking its toll, moment by moment. There was no gunfire. Only a yelp escaping her lips as Maxwell bodychecked her, barging her backwards, blocking her from moving her arm fully.

“Fuck off! Get the fuck off!”

Why was he trying so hard? Why was he trying at all? He didn’t want to kill. He didn’t want to win, outside of his fucked up, twisted definition of ‘winning’ that left everybody on the island dead and rendering this whole goddamn thing pointless. Why couldn’t he just stand back and get shot in the head like a good little limey?

God. Was he just planning on killing her then capping himself in the head to make sure his inane plan worked? Of all the selfish things you could do, that one was the shittiest. She wasn’t gonna let this bastard get his way.

Bunny lashed out with her foot, kicking against as much of Maxwell as she could, feeling her Converse slam into his legs, spiking her knee into his midriff. She snarled and locked eyes with him, the prey-turned-predator baring her fangs, as she grabbed hold of his shirt, trying to wrench him away.

She tried to give one of her favourite little one-liners, but all that came out was a noise of furious indignation.

[Wham Yubeesling]

There were noises — words, perhaps — that came from Bunny as Maxwell pressed his attack, but they were indistinguishable, insignificant compared to the pure fucking ecstasy rushing though his body. There was a kick against his shins, a knee to his stomach, arms trying to stop him from getting his prey but for once, Maxwell felt no pain on this island. Bunny was so, so close to the fire, and even if she’d never killed anyone Maxwell had cared for, even if his actions allegedly made him no better than her, he didn’t care. She was going to burn and she was going to die fucking screaming and Maxwell was going to stand there. Watch, as the flames consumed her. Smile and laugh in the knowledge that he had made her pay, that all she’d done had come to fucking nothing.

(because this was always what you were)

(this was what you should have been)

(that change of heart, those people you lost, all those words you preached?)

(you know that was all just an act)

It was. It was. It was it was it was and it felt so gratifying to know. So fantastic to finally attain clarity. He’d been inconsistent and hypocritical and searching all this time just to find a description that fit him and it was finally here, in this moment where he had the power. He wasn’t good and he was never good but he didn’t have to be. Never should’ve been. He’d known this ever since he’d beaten the Christ out of that girl on the cliffs and every moment since he’d done nothing but be scared of it even though it hadn’t mattered. Even though that was who he was. Even though this game of all times was the one where he could’ve been himself, could’ve put himself on the top of the totem pole for real, he’d pissed it away because he was just too much of a coward to look at all the blood he could’ve shed.

But there was still time. There was still prey waiting to be devoured. A poor widdle Bunny who didn’t know who the real predator was.

It was like his body had been refueled. Like all the things — the heat, the goosebumps, the feeling like it was time for him to get his reward — that rushed through him had doubled their efforts. He kept pushing Bunny, kept on gaining ground, felt like he was damn-near running as they both reached the fire, as her face finally realized what he’d been planning on doing.

He saw her hair enter the fire, saw her expression changed as some of the fire came back out with it.

He heard her scream, felt a sound that even if wordless, struck through him, gave its exact meaning. He was reminded of-

The feeling went. The heat, the goosebumps, the feeling like this was something he should’ve been proud of evaporated.

And he just stood there as her eyes focused back on him, as her expression changed one last time and told him exactly how she felt.

[Pippi]

He wasn’t giving an inch, no matter how much she clawed and thrashed at him, and she still had no clue as to why he was being so obnoxiously steadfast, but that barely mattered anymore. He was just addicted to contraryness, no matter who it fucking benefitted, just so long as he was going against the grain. He was pathetic. He was worthless. He didn’t deserve to be the last one standing, for so many myriad reasons, not least because he might just blow his goddamn brains out anyway if he was the only person left.

So she kicked and flailed even harder, even more violently, and still he pushed back, resisted. He wasn’t retaliating or trading blow for blow, though. He was just… shoving her backwards. She could feel her Converse slipping on the damp ground beneath them, grit piling up behind her shoe whenever she dug her heels in, but she didn’t think much of it. Just Maxwell being too much of a pussy to actually get his prissy British rich boy knuckles bloody.

But then she felt it. The heat on the back of her neck, slowly growing hotter and hotter, and spreading to cover her back and her arms and her legs, and her eyes widened as she realised just what Max’s plan had been all along.

He pushed once more, and she was alight, the flames eagerly reaching out, grabbing hold of her hair and her hood, and she screamed, terror audible in her voice, shoving back against Maxwell, fear giving her strength as she batted frantically at her back.

She was quick enough. She could feel holes in her hood, burn marks on her fingers and palms, the ends of her hair blacked and singed. But the flames dissipated, and she was far enough from the blaze again that she could only just feel the pinpricks of heat on her neck again.

Oh, but when she looked at Maxwell, there was still fire there.

She grabbed his shirt, slammed her knee into his midriff, and roughly pushed him back, shoving him down onto the ground with a sodden thud. Finally, once more, she could get the machinenpistole back into play. It hovered, pointed right at his collar, as she spat onto the ground, still breathing heavily.

“Nice fucking try.”

Yeah, like she was gonna finish this whole thing without a victory speech. Who did you think she was?

“You’re not the first person to try and set me on fire.”

She smiled, and pressed her foot into Maxwell’s stomach. It felt like the right thing to do, y’know?

“But I’m BETTER than you. That’s why I’m going to WIN.”

[Wham Yubeesling]

Once upon a time Maxwell Lombardi, eight years old, had made the choice to go hunting for foxes with his father. It was an attempt for father and son to find something in common, or rather, it was an attempt for father to mold son into his own image, a way to make Maxwell do the same things in an attempt for him to come out the same person as his father. It had… mixed results; while Maxwell attained an interest in music and literature that still held him to this day, everything else resulted in quite poor experiences, most of all the fox hunting trip. They had been with friends of his father and had watched as they fired their guns, felt a rush through his body as they let the hounds out. It built and built, as the hunt reached its climax, and when it ended, when the hounds finally caught up...

Until then, Maxwell had never known that foxes could scream. All the excitement and trepidation had vanished, just like that.

And that was what this was. Bunny was the fox. Maxwell was both the hound and the little boy watching. It was true that there was a part of him that’d enjoyed what he had done — something inside of him that couldn’t help but feel a pure rush of energy when he caused hurt — but it wasn’t like the rest of him was fine with it. Like that was all he was. Perhaps in another lifetime he would’ve been more than happy killing off half this island, but if getting the boats here required him to set a girl he used to know on fire, if hearing the fox scream was what it took to beat this game, then…

No.

He wouldn’t win. Not like that. Never like that.

So when he lost — when Bunny grabbed him, threw him to the ground, even stomped on him for good measure — he made no noise, gave no reaction. When he heard the clang of Saachi’s cleaver hit the ground, roughly two feet next to his right arm, he made no attempt to try and grab it. When death towered above him, sung her victory march, he made no attempt to run away, prevent her embrace. No. This was it. This was the end. Somehow, apropos of nothing he could discern, Maxwell Lombardi was entirely okay with that.

Didn’t stop him from getting one last word in, though.

“What a coincidence.”

He closed his eyes. Gave a little smile. Took any opportunity for Bunny to take pride in this away.

“I’ve won too.”

Waited for the end to come.

[Cake]

With singed strawberry shorts, blackened blonde braids and a slight trail of cauterized red - she crept out from between the fire walls, so quickly forgotten, lugging out her old friend behind their peripheral vision.

Mr. Dolph shine your might. Carp Lucifer, cornhobble our foe into the next dimension.

The scaly bludgeon was hefted ready, swung in an arc like pendulum, weight centered at the girth in a powerful curve as it made impact with uppercut-like motion, from the bottom of the chin, up. The surprise and by-chance physics of the stance and situation nearly sent the foe out of her boots and onto her ass, in a botched back-flip onto the pavement.

More significantly, the power held for so long, since day one by that lake, was sent flying, a farther distance, out of the way, somewhere on the floor base bottom of the fire.

Wendy herself, just about collapsed onto her knees, in an exhausted crouch as she held her loyal companion by the caudal fin by one hand, the other to her wound in deep breaths. She turned to look at the boy wonder, a slight twinkle in her eye. She had seen it all.

"You sadistic young Brit."