Re: Mean-Eyed Cat: Isaiah / Cat
The Russian? Not a good idea. It put Cat back into the past. It placed her in the center of the docha in the dead of winter, and she could almost feel the chill air swirling around her. It wasn't cold in the bar, not really. The press of bodies always kept the place on the warm side, and tonight was no different. But Cat, she heard snow whipping outside the windows. She heard screams from beyond her door. It felt like Hell. And the key to surviving in this particular Hell? Was being the most lethal, was being the best.
Her return Russian was fluid, seamless, no traces of an American accent to be found. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? I don't feel sorry for you. Everything comes with a price, and only a fool would have thought they could work in such a high-clearance facility without loyalty being expected of you. What price are you paying, Isaiah? Are they torturing you? Are they making you kill people every day? Are they testing serums on you until you would rather die than live through another dose? If not? Then you won't find any pity from me."
It was heartless, sure, but Cat? Cat was in a bit of a bad place at the present moment. Her hand on the weapon was still, and there wasn't a twitch, and there wasn't a tremor. "And don't you ever come in here and grab me." That was in English, just so there wouldn't be any misunderstanding.