They both topple to the floor, Clara in shock and Venus from the weight of her bloody, screaming cargo dragging Venus' bruised and beaten shoulders down. Clara's still thrashing too much for Venus to get her hands around her head and snap her neck.
She throws a punch into Clara's gut, buying herself a moment to scramble to the side and try to grab the knife. Her hands scarper under the cabinet but find nothing. She won't have much time before Clara's getting up and running away, or before someone comes and responds to the screaming.
She can at least stop the noise. She lunges back to Clara and straddles her, pressing her hands against that pale, taut throat expelling shrieks like a water fountain. Trying to cut off the air. Venus has never strangled someone to death before, and to tell the truth she doesn't know how to do it efficiently. She doesn't know where the jugular is to block off, and Clara's wriggling makes it difficult to find anyway.
"Just die- please, just die already!" she huffs, trying to swallow the distaste for such a violent, intimate kill. Her disgust for herself passes through her like a wave of nausea, leaving an undertow in its wake. She wants to apologize. She honestly wants to.
She almost thinks she can't, with an audience expecting the murderess they know, but the audience doesn't love her anymore and the gruesome mask of her face reminds her of that. So as she presses as hard as she can on Clara's throat, she says it out loud, too.
no subject
She throws a punch into Clara's gut, buying herself a moment to scramble to the side and try to grab the knife. Her hands scarper under the cabinet but find nothing. She won't have much time before Clara's getting up and running away, or before someone comes and responds to the screaming.
She can at least stop the noise. She lunges back to Clara and straddles her, pressing her hands against that pale, taut throat expelling shrieks like a water fountain. Trying to cut off the air. Venus has never strangled someone to death before, and to tell the truth she doesn't know how to do it efficiently. She doesn't know where the jugular is to block off, and Clara's wriggling makes it difficult to find anyway.
"Just die- please, just die already!" she huffs, trying to swallow the distaste for such a violent, intimate kill. Her disgust for herself passes through her like a wave of nausea, leaving an undertow in its wake. She wants to apologize. She honestly wants to.
She almost thinks she can't, with an audience expecting the murderess they know, but the audience doesn't love her anymore and the gruesome mask of her face reminds her of that. So as she presses as hard as she can on Clara's throat, she says it out loud, too.
"I'm sorry!"