“Ah, the notorious Arsenic and Ghost.” 

[i]Damn right notorious[/i], Arsenic thought to herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood next to the others. Yet, here she was, slave to a man with tacky robes and a button that could end her life at any second. How many of the Operatives were dead already because of this Laraxis and his new possession? Oh well, it wasn’t like it mattered to Arsenic who died and who didn’t. To be honest, Operatives don’t live in the first place. They run and hide, run and hide, kill and run and hide. Arsenic’s whole situation was pathetic. 

Arsenic didn’t bother to comment on the current discussion, because as it was, she was already thinking of slipping some hemlock into Laraxis’ precious teacup when he wasn’t looking. His cause made a lot of sense though; with her superior abilities, Arsenic [i]should[/i] be able to do what she wants…or at least have the rights that normal humans do instead of running and hiding, running and hiding, killing and running and hiding. Arsenic breathed deeply to stop herself from throwing something again – she would never get that TV back again, and it was her first flat screen, too. 

Without realizing it, Arsenic had tune out of Laraxis voice which had the effect of a droning history teacher to her. It was all so boring, why psychoanalyze Laraxis? Why can’t Hannibal just label him a homicidal-freak with control issues? It was that simple. Yeah, he may have a past; yeah, that past may affect him in some drastic, oh-my-life-sucks way, but Arsenic certainly didn’t care. Snorting, the blonde followed Cheshire and Citrine to the armory room.

It was impressive, the armory, and Arsenic grabbed a pistol from the wall and tested in her hand. Aiming it, she shot at the wall, though it didn’t make a mark, and put it back down. 

“Woops.” She said, though it was definitely as unapologetic as it could be. 

Deciding that she should check her locker, Arsenic pulled out the black leather jacket, black leather pants, and the black turtleneck sleeveless shirt and grinned. Sleek and unnoticeable, just as she liked it. Arsenic tested the jacket out, sliding it on, though it felt tight and odd with a hoodie underneath. The Operative yanked the hoodie off and slipped the leather jacket on again, this time over a white wifebeater. It fit perfectly and Arsenic smiled.

“Neh, Citrine, where have you been these past two years?” Arsenic asked while putting the clothes back into the locker.