Worth it | F.O.

VI

If there was one thing Nivea hated above all others, it was none other than knives. 

Those feelings of endless and insatiable resentment rose up again in her gut as she stared down the steak knife before her, the main reasons not entirely what one would expect. Her fingers nimbly wrapped around the handle and lifted it to her face with a distance between the two much too small for any onlooker's comfort. The mixture of artificial lights and serene sunshine that worked to represent who she was now glinted off the silver metal, that perfect pinpoint of light nestling itself on the edge of the sharpened blade enough, she assumed, to easily slice through skin. 

Knives were rather beautiful, she had to admit. There was a kind of graceful maliciousness to the way they were crafted to kill with a single motion, whether it be animal or human. So many had come to master that very art but, even if it was considered the most versatile of weapons, Nivea could never bring herself to. 

They may have been crafted to make life easier for humans whether it be cutting meat, packages, or hearts, but many knew just how to manipulate the tool. Knives were weapons known to remain clasped in a clenched fist and delved into the back of a friend without a morsel of remorse. Backstabbing was something she just couldn't fathom as it stood against everything she had ever stood for. Even just holding a knife that symbolized such an act as she was made her skin crawl. 

But that was only a small portion of what determined her hate for the blade. 

A voice she hated without a second thought pulled her gaze from the shimmering sharpened metal and onto a makeup-coated face, “Is that your specialty?”

Nivea blinked in mild confusion, cold brown eyes escaping view for mere moments with each flicker of the eyelids. “What?”

Olethia somehow straightened her posture even further and reluctantly set her elbows upon the open space before her, hands clasping below her chin. Her head tilted the slightest but it was almost undetectable with her continuation, “Knives? Are they your specialty?”

Disgust roamed every curve and line of Nivea's features not even a second after the question had been clarified. She shuddered at the thought of such a weapon being her favorite though if the situation were sticky enough she would not pause to hesitate. No, it was most certainly not, and she made that clear with a firm shake of the head that sent a loose lock of brown hair slipping out from behind her ear and directly into her line of sight, annoyingly enough. 

A sharp, “Hell no” left her parted scowling lips. 

She was being stared at, that was for certain seeing as she watched every eye pin itself on to her every movement, but she didn't care. If they wanted to stare, she would let them. Her quarrel with knives was her business and her business alone, not at all a good thing for public sharing anyways as it could very well mean her death. Nivea certainly did not want to die just yet. There was still so much left to do for the world. 

It seemed she had finally truly caught Seeder's attention, or at the very least intrigue, when she shifted to face her. “Why's that?”

“I have my reasons,” was all that they were given and, until the arena broadcasted whatever talents and faults she had hidden in her lithe frame, it would be all they would be. 

It seemed the questionnaire between mentor and mentee had begun when Seeder clasped her dark hands and asked, “So what is your specialty?”

She took a measured bite of meat stocked full of proteins to aid her efforts in the arena. After swallowing it down with a want for more and denying her body that pleasure, she offered, “Creativity.”