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The air around her is cold, the breeze striking sharply against her warm skin. Her eyes are squeezed shut, relishing in the peaceful moment despite the scene happening all around her. The screams in pain, the sound of bloodshed, the murder happening all around her. From her spot above, perched on a tree branch, she's invisible to the tragedy of the battle.
Still, her grip around her weapon, a bow, tightens. The cold metal warms in between her fist, the other hand drawing back the string to line up the arrow at her target. She breathes in deeply, fingertips tightening around the string as it pulls back towards her cheek. The thing about a shot like this...is that you don't miss.
The loud buzzer brings her back to the Ark. The door swings open, just as her fingertips release the objects in their grasp. The rubber band slingshots the pencil into the air, sending it full force into the metal wall right besides the door. Her dark eyes open at the small snapping sound it makes before the wooden object clatters to the floor.
The guard doesn't even glance at the object that missed him by a few inches. His gaze is stuck on her with an unimpressed glare, although his words are more encouraging than his demeanor. "You're getting a lot better at that."
As usual, Anthony Easton is the one to tear her away from her typical daydream, where she lives her double life as Hawkeye fighting alongside the Avengers. If not for the personal relations the guardsman has to her best friend, she would've actually aimed for the pencil to hit him the first time he interrupted her heroics.
"You know, I do believe you are a few days too late to celebrate my birthday with me." Her lips twitch into a small smirk, ignoring the sweat itching her skin as her nerves begin to build up. This is her death day, adulthood had creeped up on her days ago. There is no review for her future, only the decision of floating. The Ark has no mercy for murderers.
"We celebrated, Miss Jade. Didn't you get the cookie I sent you?" The man retorts with an amused grin, although it fails to reach his blue eyes. There's a small hint of sadness buried in them, as though he's grieving a loss that he shouldn't be. He clears his throat, swallowing down whatever words that will reveal what is bothering him. "Now, turn around, face the wall, and hold out your right arm."
"Anthony, what's the magic word?" Her humor builds up a wall around her true emotions. It not only blocks the emotions from others, but keeps her fearfulness for her death buried deep. She might not have anything to live for, but that does not mean she wants to die.
The guardsman exhales deeply through his nose, showing more impatience than annoyance. His boots are loud against the floor of the cell as he crosses it, reaching his hand out to grasp her right arm. He pulls an object off his belt, something silver that reflects the light of the cell back into her eyes. The object, a cuff, wraps around her wrist. He clicks it into place, pinching her wrist in different spots as small needles puncture the skin.
