Emily doesn't bother looking at her opponents - she is above it all, there will be plenty of time for profiling later. The only things that exist in this moment are her and the Cornucopia.
The part of her brain that deflects pain with humor mimics Reid and his innate ability to find the least opportune moments to bring up useless, albeit pertinent, facts.
She tenses each muscle, ready for a fight, as the numbers burn themselves out. She knows she probably isn't the fastest, considering she may well be one of the oldest tributes, but she's willing to bet that she's probably killed more people than them. She isn't about to let them intimidate her - if anything, they should be intimidated by her. She was a federal agent, after all.
That's right, a federal agent. A supervisory special agent. Of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. That's about as elite as it gets.
All these other tributes were UNSUBs, she told herself. Just her and twenty-three UNSUBs and it was her job - no, her duty - to kill each and every last one of them.
But first, she needed weapons. Not that she needed weapons to kill someone, she'd proved that more than once, it just made the whole ordeal a lot faster and easier.
She threw more than a few punches in the scrabble to reach anything that might be of use, not stopping long enough to register if she landed any of them.
[Interruptions welcome! But according to her death roll, she survives the cornucopia.]
Emily
The part of her brain that deflects pain with humor mimics Reid and his innate ability to find the least opportune moments to bring up useless, albeit pertinent, facts.
She tenses each muscle, ready for a fight, as the numbers burn themselves out. She knows she probably isn't the fastest, considering she may well be one of the oldest tributes, but she's willing to bet that she's probably killed more people than them. She isn't about to let them intimidate her - if anything, they should be intimidated by her. She was a federal agent, after all.
That's right, a federal agent. A supervisory special agent. Of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. That's about as elite as it gets.
All these other tributes were UNSUBs, she told herself. Just her and twenty-three UNSUBs and it was her job - no, her duty - to kill each and every last one of them.
But first, she needed weapons. Not that she needed weapons to kill someone, she'd proved that more than once, it just made the whole ordeal a lot faster and easier.
She threw more than a few punches in the scrabble to reach anything that might be of use, not stopping long enough to register if she landed any of them.
[Interruptions welcome! But according to her death roll, she survives the cornucopia.]