#the serial killer is kind of boring BUT it’s interesting that the sheer presence of the surveillance state honestly seems to have driven

[fellhellion]

Eye Spy some of the most interesting textual exploration of a specific niche in 2099’s worldbuilding read it right fucking now 🫵

[houseofcrimerp-blog]

« THE ALBATROSS »           ❝ SOME JUST WANT TO WATCH THE WORLD BURN... I WANT TO POUR THE KEROSENE ❞

LAST NAME, FIRST NAME: Alyona Petrova AGE: 27 HOUSE OF CHOICE/INDIVIDUAL ACTIVITY/N/A: Death OCCUPATION AND/OR LEVEL: Level 1, Assassin (moonlights as a bartender) FACE CLAIM: Alicia Vikander NATIONALITY: Russian ETHNICITY: Scandinavian

CONNECTIONS:

HALF BROTHER - Erik Nilsen, her half-brother who she lost contact with but she feels responsible for his well being. even though she knows nothing about him anymore. She tried to keep tabs on him for a while, but then he started to look too much like her step-father/uncle and she couldn’t deal with that.

THE SUPERIOR - the one who witnessed Alyona at work (and the one responsible for original the idea to hire her as one of Death’s assassins). Interaction between them has been carried out by strictly covert and untraceable means. She’s never seen their face or heard their real voice; their exchange has always been nothing but subtle; an exchange done via easily manipulated messengers, bearing envelopes with names and location and little else. At first, the regular intake of funds in exchange for her efforts had been satisfying for both her ego and curiosity. She felt no reason to pry… then she got restless. The longer she blindly obeyed killer cues, the more she began resenting the situation she’d been reeled into. Nowadays, she’s no longer able to go on spontaneous killing sprees without a trace - there’s always someone observing her every move and reporting her successes to that unknown higher power calling the shots. She can’t stand feeling like she’s being kept as a pet of sorts; tethered to a leash of a handler that serves to direct her to the next target, sending her off at the word ‘go’ before reeling her back in until needed again. They refuse to kill her so long as she continues to be useful, but the closer she gets to trying to identify the mastermind pulling the strings at the top, who says she’ll dare return the favor? Her ruthlessness made her an attractive recruit in the beginning, but now resentment threatens to cloud her clarity. And it’s no secret that her blatant disrespect of rules and loyalty isn’t already on the house’s radar…

THE LEXICON - if there’s one person Alyona is frustrated by more than the unknown name of her employer it’s the record keeper of all her unsavoury pursuits. Until the term ‘assassin’ was attached to her, she’d been invisible. Written records risked giving her a reputation, and it’s a vulnerability she hates having around. After growing up constantly on the move purely to avoid having her actions reliably logged, to have even the vaguest form of documentation that acknowledges her existence is too incriminating for her liking. She knows killing them would solve nothing, not when another keeper would simply take their place. The lexicon forces Alyona to think more creatively on her feet. She pursues them with calculating and critical moves, ever-changing approaches between empty threats, lucrative bribery, secretive trade offs, and manipulation tactics to guarantee the erasure of her bloodstained tracks. Are her tireless efforts making an impact? That remains to be seen.

THE PROBLEM - the brother of Death’s murdered second commander’s secret plans to vengefully go after Eris would be too tempting a plot to ignore, should Alyona ever catch wind of it. She would 10/10 be willing to team up on any venture that entertained the possibility of taking the House of Death down from the inside out.

THE SACRIFICE - the heart donor who refused to surrender and die. It didn’t matter where they originally came from, they were in Bucharest territory now. Their take down was fair game. The catch? They were not to be harmed. The maintenance of their health was crucial, no poison was to cross their lips. A clean death was required. Enter the next best option - how else better to lure a runner out of hiding than to target their family? Alyona’s services are called upon to lace the relatives of the sacrifice’s foods with toxins, intermittently increasing the dose as requested. Weakening them, with well documented pictured evidence provided to show for it, should be enough to bring the runner to a stop. The longer they delay, the frailer their family members become.

THE FIRST CUT - technically, there’s a witness alive to confirm the one time Alyona miscalculated the amount of poison needed to kill a 6′7. It happened at least a decade ago, when she was still in the amateur stages of her current serial killer status. It was a project that required more supply than she was prepared with, but she’d been too determined to deny the chance at stretching the talent of her skill. It was easy to tamper with the wine, destine to poison a couple in an event that was supposed to go down suicide pact-style. No questions would be asked if both bodies were found together in the later phase of their honeymoon, right? In traditional post-poisoning tradition, she fled the scene as soon as the bottle was delivered. All evidence of her presence erased, by the next morning, she was in a different country planning her next murderous venture. She always assumed it had gone to plan. She was young and flawed with over-confidence, believing looking back over her shoulder raised unnecessary suspicions in comparison to keeping her eyes set ahead. Plot twist - the groom survived. Physically, he possessed a level of strength that rivalled a military man’s. Had she realized this beforehand, she wouldn’t have dared been so careless. Alas, the loved-up couple had seemed an harmless target; blinded into vulnerability by love. His wife was unable to recover, and died on site the way Alyona had intended them both to go. Though he didn’t escape the situation entirely unscathed - his system was negatively impacted by the toxins and he needed several months before his body was able to repair from the nerve damage inflicted. Forced to live on without the love of his life, sadness consumed him, then regret, then rage. There was only one remedy to this level of agony: to track down the person responsible. He couldn’t forget the face of his attempted murderer. Even if she had.

PERSONALITY: ENTJ She has all the makings of a natural-born leader. Charismatic and confident; she loves a good challenge, big or small, and they firmly believe that given enough time and resources, they can achieve any goal. This determined drive is often a self-fulfilling prophecy. She has the ability of pushing her goals through with sheer cutthroat willpower, especially where others might give up and move on. She considers emotional displays to be a sign of weakness. She’s content operating as a lone wolf, but often chooses to mingle in social situations because she enjoys receiving validation and feedback from others. Enneagram 7 - pleasure seekers and planners in search of distraction Sevens are practical people who have multiple skills. She knows how to network and promote herself and her interests. The stagnation that comes with a monotonous routine is the bane of her energy’s existence. Her pursuit of pleasure is compulsive. She constantly seeks to avoid boredom by finding distractions in her external environment and engaging in stimulation seeking of all kinds. She’s prone to obsessive behaviours/addictions of substances to keep her ‘upped’ in order to remain focus on her talents whilst downplaying her flaws. The extent of the her flight from her own darker emotions a prime example of her questionable mental health status. The more that she flees from her past, the more the strength of those memories grow and the more likely they are to erupt into consciousness in the form of a self destructive or a severe depressive episode. Chaotic Evil Alignment Does whatever her greed, hatred, and lust for destruction drives her to do. She’s hot-tempered, vicious, arbitrarily violent, unpredictable, ruthless and brutal glory. Any plans she composes are haphazard, and any groups she’s responsible for forming are impulsively organized. Force is the only language she complies to. ‘Business’ agreements last as long as they can until an attempt to thwart or assassinate each other arises and inevitably dissolves the bond. A symbiotic blend of self-interest and pure freedom. Willing to destroy beauty, life, and the order on which beauty and life depend.

THREE WEAKNESSES:

#1 - Body: based on physical strength alone, Alyona is highly disadvantaged compared to most. The level of fitness she possesses translates only to fast reflexes and footwork. Her muscles have never exceeded beyond a lean accentuation meant for supporting herself in climbing, not combat. Her hands are made for delicately handling tinctures, not for throwing punches. Overtime, her petite stature has been both a blessing and a curse. She uses her beauty and sexuality to fly under the radar which usually allows her to get out of being fought with physically. It’s the only reason she doesn’t throw caution to the damn wind cross every boundary she uncovers. She knows if she was ever to be cornered by someone she would lose, and (deep deep down) it scares her. She heavily relies on the fact that because she looks like an easy target, no one would bother wasting their time because the fight would be too boring… but evan that is a highly nuanced issue because the lack of her appeal fight-wise also somewhat offends her, because she lowkey longs to not rely on poison to do her dirty work for her, all the while she knowing how unrealistic such a goal is because she’s too tiny to do/handle anything significant. It’s mindfuckery level complicated. Basically, she’s a great dane mind in a pomeranian body. Of course she does her best to armour herself with words, sweet charm, and always dressing in heels that raise her height by at least 5 inches. But at the end of the day she’s keenly aware that wit isn’t a fair match against brawn. Should she ever get involved in a serious physical brawl she would only be able to rely on her spry mobility and quick reflexes.

#2 - Competition: your girl’s got serious impulse control issues. The idea of ‘no’ is practically impossible for her to grasp. Whether it’s a challenging dare or casual invitation, she’ll bite. Especially if the odds seemed stacked against her. Proving herself as the best at things is really important to her, though (on the surface) she’d be pokerfaced as hell as if she couldn’t care less. Whether it’s a egotistical or hedonistic urge is uncertain, but it’s definitely one of her biggest downfalls. She sees backing down as act of weakness and, as weakness #1 suggests, she feels she has a lot to compensate for in the physique department so is willing to put herself in demi to severely dangerous situations so long as it means earning praise and recognition (put simply, she’s literally the definition of ‘hoe don’t do it… oh my god’)

#3 - Pride: for years, she’s defined her self worth based on what she’s good at. The one thing she’s always been good at? Murder. And is murder a socially acceptable career to brag and discuss? No. Forced to silently celebrate her achievements with nothing more than untraceable tally marks and adrenaline, she’s always had to be private about how passionate she is about playing with poison. It’s the main reason she’s been successful at it - because she’s been forced to treat it as secretive. To talk about it to the wrong person would mean having to stop, permanently. To stop dealing in poisons would be like cutting out a piece of her heart. Her practically flawless success at serial killing without any repercussions is her longest running and proudest achievement. To insult her craft to her face would wound her more than a punch. Murder is as part of her DNA as what determines her eyes being brown. She’s deeply (unreasonably and dramatically) affected by critiques and criticism toward her technique mainly because it’s always been something that could only be talked about so little, thereby making the ultra rare moments when she can express herself about it all the more valuable. If it’s talked about negatively during those rare windows, she takes it very personally and will be launched into identity crisis mode. If she’s not this, she’s nothing.

BIOGRAPHY: DEATH TW

No one knows less about where Aлёна Aleksandrova Petrova came from than Aлёна Aleksandrova Petrova. An orphan, a daughter, a sibling, a killer.

Origins are complicated to retain when self erasure was imperative for the Petrova family. Supposedly born somewhere in western Russia — when she went on to live in ten different households before she could even walk — who could know for certain? Early on, nomadic living patterns set the tone for the years ahead and engrained into her mind throughout the early stage of infantry that to stay put was to be trapped. Aleksander was her father figure’s name, the brother of her biological father. Her birth biological mother’s identity was not shared. It remained undisclosed, undetermined, whether she died during child birth or abandoned the country shortly after all cords were cut. Considering Alyona was never taught beyond an elementary understanding of Russian, perhaps she wouldn’t have understood if it had been explained to her either way. [ тили тили бом ]

Alyona’s earliest memories all revolved around being with her twin sister, Диана (Diana). They were as inseparable as they were identical. Solitary was not made of one, but two. She was never on her own, so too was her sister. Where one moved, so did the other. It was the summer time. A few days shy of experiencing 4 years of life and they were already in the midst of a celebration. Something had gone well for Aleksander at work, and he returned home with a briefcase filled to the brim with wads of cash. They didn’t notice the swollen bruises or cuts on his knuckles, because that’s how he always looked when he returned home. Sometimes he would disappear for weeks at a time, though the time would feel considerably longer to the twins, they found ample entertainment in exploring the home-of-the-month they had moved into, under the watchful guidance of a Norwegian woman named Vilde Nilsen who’d been hired as their governess. The rooms were never properly furnished asides from the three mattresses gathered around the wood stove fire. Neither owned more than a book and stuffed animal each. They didn’t know what they were missing or abundant in; this was life. It was bearable. It was what it was. [ Close your eyes soon, ] Within 5 years, the twins had grown co-dependant on each other and never spent more than a minute separated. Their father and governess played crucial supporting roles, but their value lay in caregiving parental duties. Whereas the interconnected support Alyona and Diana experienced was a far deeper directly blood-related bond of inexplicable explanation. No one understood them like they understood each other. Then, with his briefcase of money, Aleksander showed them the power money had to drastically change a circumstance. A month later, for the very first time, they lived in a home they owned. A home with furniture in every room; a place of warmth; a place of safety. The twins adored the newfound freedom. Many lazy afternoons were spent roaming the acreage surrounding the Petrova household, wrapped up in their own little world, completely oblivious to a new development between their guardians. [ someone’s walking by the window ] A year and a half on, and Vilde Nilsen gives birth to a son, a boy named Erik that the twins were to refer to as their brother and treat like a sibling. Two years pass, spent in the same house. It’s the longest they’ve ever lived anywhere. It began to seem as though notions that their surroundings would constantly be in need of changing for safety to be achieved had been nothing but an illusion. A dream. Within those familiar walls, the twins’ foundations were built - it’s where they were taught to read, write, cook, and sew for the first time. Their highly spirited nature exhausts their governess easily, and each day lesson time is cut in half so that she may have time to tend to Erik and herself. Then it’s wintertime. Aleksander’s been off grid for three months. Alyona’s nursing a broken arm after slipping on the ice outside. Erik is asleep upstairs, his mother half-slumped over in the chair beside his crib after being kept awake all night dealing with the teething toddler. Alyona and Diana has grown used to a lessening in supervision. Erik had been fussy child since birth, and earned most of the adult attention nowadays. Suffice it to say, him sleeping peacefully was a novelty; and it meant the twins had at least 3 hours to do as they pleased before he’d stir and home school lessons would resume. [ And knocking at the door, ] Tea time was always the first thing to accomplish on their agenda of fun. So, after gathering every toy into a near circle around the miniature dining table set, 7 year old Alyona balances on a crouched Diana’s back, giggling as she awkwardly climbs onto the kitchen counter to reach the top shelf and get biscuits for them both. Diana was always the more adventurous of the two, but ever since Alyona broke her arm she’d let her lead. Sympathy weakened softened her. While perched on the counter, Alyona finds an open bottle of something sweet smelling. It’s bright green and looks particularly pretty when poured into the porcelain cups of Diana’s tea set, unlike the usual boring monotone swirl of hot chocolate. With a cupful each, they cheerfully clink glasses. Diana drinks. Alyona spills hers on the floor before she has the chance, too giddy with the giggles to keep her non-broken hand steady enough. Upon first sip, Diana makes a face and spits and splutters. It didn’t taste at all how it smelled. The reaction only caused naive little Alyona to laugh even harder, believing it was her sister’s intent to make her laugh. Diana, seeking to make her sister happy, continues to drink until the very last drop drains from her lips… along with the color from her face.

[ тили тили бом ]

Alyona learned that day that the telekinetic link between twins wasn’t a real thing. If it was, Alyona’s brain, liver, and kidneys would have been poisoned that day. Instead, her throat felt sore from screaming and all the water inside of her felt as if it had escaped of her eyes. For several hours, Erik and the governess try to soothe her in between trying to get answers to questions. Alyona is silent, unable to pry herself away from her sister, refusing to let her governess approach to cover the sickening sight with a bed sheet. Aleksander returns home within the hour, as if summoned. He turns up at the twins’ room and waits at the doorway, gruffly calling on Alyona to get up. She blubbers something, shocked and confused and vaguely profane. He strictly warns her that Diana is gone and it is wrong to hold onto someone who has already let go. These words finally click something inside Alyona’s head and persuades her to get up. It’s the first time she understands the significance between the living and the dead. Immediately embracing his surviving daughter, behind him, Russian-speaking men in suits appear and tend to the body of her identical. They move in an almost rehearsed precision. Despite being present for it all, Alyona can only understand bits and pieces of the aggressive conversation they have with her father. In her governess’ preference to teaching the children her native Norwegian tongue along with English supplements, her Russian fluency had declined. One word was repeated more than the others — antifreeze. [ Can you hear the birds through the night? ]

Concepts of the law were above Alyona’s 7-year old comprehension, but she felt it in her bones that there couldn’t possible be anything right about what she had done. Accident or not - she had killed her sister and hadn’t been allowed to follow. She was alone now as punishment. When she was was eventually pulled aside by one of the strange men, the last thing she expects is for them to hold out their hand, congratulate her, and then introduce themselves as her new headmaster. [ He’s already made his way into the house, ] The winds of change had returned with new ferocity, this time introduced under the guise of a boarding school center intended for youth protection and prevention. It’s purpose for her confused her at first, but she’s a fast learner. She sees the way they all turn to look at her when she’s found in the kitchen - glassy eyed and standing next to the an open cupboard of cleaning supplies. She’d never forget how peculiar fear looked on a grown man’s face, towards a child. It all seemed so bizarrely set askew. How could they be afraid? What she had done? Or was is what she could do that was so daunting? The moment Aleksander enters the room, all other eyes are averted. Since Alyona’s birth, she had rarely spent time with her father, but she knew he was powerful by the reactions he silently commanded. Though what he specialized in specifically remained a mystery, Alyona also had never thought to directly ask - for part of her feared what she would find. She never believed he’d lied to her about anything, even if omission of information was a form of lying. To be fair, he’d always alluded that he worked ‘with people, for people’. And the involvement of him + ‘people’ was undoubtedly true. When each return visit home came with a new ‘people-produced’ scar or bloodstain, it was clear he certainly was ‘dealing’ with ‘people’. She’d never read into it further. Never had time to fill in the blanks when she was so preoccupied running after Diana and Erik, swathed in the blissful ignorance of childhood. Now, in the wake of Diana’s death, it was as if her whole life she’d been under hypnosis, and witnessing death up close was the snap of the magician’s fingers designed to bring her to her senses. [ for those who cannot sleep, ] She’d never thought anything about her adopted father was odd. She’d never thought it was odd to be raised by someone he’d hired instead of managing the role himself. She’d never thought it odd that he wore an ear piece at all times. She’d never thought it odd when she’d once awoken in the middle of the night to see him adjusting a surveillance camera, planted behind the wall painting in the hall opposite the twins’ room. She didn’t think it odd that he correctly knew it was Diana who’d passed, not Alyona, despite them being identical and him never being around to notice their little differences. Nor did she think it odd that, as her father approached her after finding her standing in front of a cocktail of potentially toxic chemicals, in his eyes she saw nothing but pride. [ Hear his steps, he’s already close, ] In the days that followed, all dormant suspicions were stirred up and answered simultaneously. The reason Aleksander had deliberately stepped away from taking up too noticeable a fatherly role was to avoid bonding with the twins and becoming privy to one over the other. It was a bloodline issue; twins were a genetic mutation that created a problem in creating killers. Families were permitted one son and one daughter. Any extras were to be terminated, or adopted out. The twins’ biological father had been murdered by Aleksander, his own twin during their teen years. It happened at a different age for everyone, but once done, activated dormant genes into full expression. It was impossible to be the same after committing a deathly act. Upon discovering the Petrova twins trait had recurred with Diana and Alyona, since their first breaths it’s been a countdown as to who would knock off who first. Outside intervention wasn’t permitted, but there was a loophole when it came to subliminal indirect prompting. Around the house, objects and substances had been planted throughout their lives until one of them tuned into it. Until curiosity killed the cat. Their DNA represented the strongest generations of agency; bred for power, skill, and strength. It was their birthright to be inherit a profession of killer calculative skill. Alyona insisted it was an accident… but, all things considered, was there a genuine chance it hadn’t been?

[ тили тили бом, ] And so her official training begun. Still shaken by recent events, her participation kept to the bare minimum until she reached a more developed emotional maturity. The prescribed boarding school was intended for providing her with a ‘safe haven’ from the outside world until she reached legal age, and the ‘prevention’ part was the strict surveillance program that prevented her from causing herself harm. Absorbing so much in such a short time often had a whiplash affect, to say the least. The loss of her sister over a petty case of bloodline purity was nothing but revolting to her. It took her just over a year to shake though every stage - resistance, anger, denial, bargaining, acceptance. With blood, sweat, and tears to show for it, there was no way the traumatic memory could be permanently shaken from her system. So when they offered her a non invasive release from some of the wight of it through hypnotherapy - she gave in. [ can you hear someone next to you? ] Able to shoulder her circumstances beneath a layer of numbness, her thoughts were allowed a little bit of clarity. So long as running away wasn’t an option, she did the next best thing - equipping herself with the education needed to mobilize her emotions into something useful. If her sister had to die in order for her to be alive, she would fight to make it a worthy cause. The boarding school was traditional in the foundational courses that it offers - covering the basics of academics and physical conditioning. The exception was the highly illicit extra curriculum, where it would be decided if one’s skill lay in combat waging, combat strategy, or commanding. Alyona fared average in all subjects, and soon became an easy target for bullying. She shut herself off to it, kept her head down, introverted, and coped with it. As far as she was concerned, being there was a means to an end. As soon as she turned 16 she’d be released, even if that meant going rogue and crossing her own so-called family’s blood. Every time there’s a punching bag in front of her, it’s Aleksander she sees.

[ Huddled in a corner, ] At 12 years old she’s introduced to chemistry, and her bitter indifference at last gives way to a spike of interest. At first, she’s merely interested to learning as much as she can about antifreeze and it’s properties and dosages affect the body. It was strangely cathartic to know exactly how her sister’s system shut down; how little or severely she may have suffered, what system shut down first, etc. It was purely self-interested curiosity that led her deeper into from there. She began to explore and research different toxins to compare it’s effectiveness to, then wanted to know the most deadly, then what could be created at home versus what could be found in nature etc. Not only does the subject fascinate her, but it keeps her distracted from interacting with the heart sinking newest edition to the school: Erik. Less startling to the fact that her little half-brother is officially old enough to be a participating part of the system is that he doesn’t recognize her when he sees her. She forgets that she’s a Petrova and he’s a Nilsen. He was too young to remember her. It was better that way.

[ With a penetrating gaze, ] Slowly but surely, she goes on to learn everything she can about any poisonous compound, element, gas, and plant she could get her hands on. She was fast learner and incredibly apt at understanding each component of the chemistry, as if her brain was hardwired for it. Independent study soon began intermingling with private tutoring and class assignments. Putting her newfound knowledge to use required guinea pigs - and along with that realization, all of a sudden her reasons for being there all finally clicked into place and filled her with inspiration. No longer did she loathe the destiny she was being forced to live, not when she had the ability to send it up in flames from within. She kept it morally reasonable at first and targeted those who actually deserved the side effects of prolonged arsenic low exposure; the group that had been bullying her several weeks. Though she couldn’t remember exactly who was to blame, so she laced all the girls’ in her dorm’s water bottles until the end of term. Her moral ambiguity kicks in when she’s 14 years old catches the eye of a boy in the year above her. It’s not love by any means; merely a practice project in the effectiveness of infatuated persuasion. He’s done nothing wrong to her, never bullied her, or ever looked at her the wrong way… but he’s there, unfortunately for him. And simply by breathing within the walls of this boarding school meant he was affiliated to their twisted arrangement between highjacking the children of murderous families. As one of the system’s pawns - so how good could he really be? During the same term she has him on her radar, she’s studying latin to learn the official name for the plant derivative she drops into his drink (conium maculatum). She watches him the entire time, testing herself. It’s the second time she sees someone die in front of her, but it’s the first time she can’t that she enjoys it. There’s an addictive sense power to hurting someone without needing to touch them. It was elevating to her otherwise depressed default state. In the subsequent days, she feels nothing except the desire to do it again. Poison hemlock becomes her weapon of choice. When his body is discovered, his death is written off as foul play between him and a student of his same year he’d supposedly been in a rivalry with. She feels no remorse or regret that the fall is being taken by someone else. He is gone and it is wrong to hold onto someone who has already let go. To celebrate her 16th birthday and release from the facility, she uses the school’s lab to process ricin. Definitely without and clearance and permission, and in total abuse of school policy and resource, in true Alonya “Fuck You Guys I’m Out” Petrova style. She carries a sealed vial of it with her for several months before she encounters Aleksander. So blinded by his pride for his victorious daughter, she’s able to slip the power into his coffee before she leaves. She hasn’t heard from him since, and assumes it succeeded. No new is good news. Ten years of habit forming bad decisions later, and she’s become the informed, self-centered and self-entitled assassin she is today. Without regular installment of hypnotherapy she turned to cigarettes and other occasional recreational drugs on the days it gets too much. Embraced in full swing once again are her nomadic origins - though this time it’s an act of self preservation that keeps her on the go. In every countryside town she visits, a body usually turns up a day later. She tries to discern between those who deserve it versus the innocent, but sometimes all that can lift her spirits on a bad day is a little game of ‘watch the locals play murder mystery’ with each other and chill. Other than the occasional paid hit job, she keeps a very low profile. She travels from country to country without using the same name or piece of ID more than twice. It’s a game of chase that she never gets caught in. A venture which once began rooted in vengeance actually became fun. And if anyone asks, like Aleksander said, she had no choice. Her life was predetermined to go this way, the blood of tradition is woven around her DNA - can she really be held accountable?

[ тили тили бом, ] Always interested in anything mixology related, during her travels she took a bar tending course in order to have a steady side day job (purely for amusement and irony more than anything else). Highly suspicious of others, considering she doesn’t even trust her damn self, she never drinks in public personally unless she’s serving herself from a sealed bottle that originated from a trusted source. She quickly learned not all bars are created equal, and began spiking the drinks wherever she worked depending on her mood. The seedier the bar, the higher the body count. She’s made a lot of fucked up, reckless, impulsive, ruthless, downright horrible decisions in the past. Bucharest was intended to be another random place to pass through, but in the midst of serving up something lethal, she was convinced to linger by the House of Death when the right set of words and length of numbers was sent her way. Her life is a tragic mess of revenge, hate, self loathing, and nihilism. The one things that has been consistent in her life that she feels what she imagines love is like toward is her bundle of handcrafted killer pills and potions. She keeps all of them neatly organized and accessible within sight/reach at all times… but she never keeps track of a poison’s remedies. Some just want to watch the world burn.