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THE GRASS ALWAYS APPEARS GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE. For Chrissy, the open landscape of Volterra feels like this saying applies, and her gut instict was to run the second she stepped foot in the place. Perhaps it was the fact that River hadn't been talking too much with her, something that was both uncommon and strange, or maybe the unrelenting stares from too many in the Clocktower-Castle hybrid gave her the feeling of uncanny valley.
The young woman despised new surroundings that felt eerie, she'd learned her lesson that curiosity didn't kill the cat, it killed humans. Volterra was a trip of complete doom, and the blonde haired freak who openly whispered nasty things about her in Italian under his breath did not help the growing tensions.
Right now Chrissy was in the gardens, on the grassy floor of them, deciding whether or not it would be immoral to pick the flowers that were comfortable growing beneath the well tended soil.
It would piss off people if she did pick them, fuck, she might get cursed right back into her bedroom by whoever was responsible for the things, but it was the principle of figuring out what exactly was wrong with the place that compelled her to desire such an unholy thing. What laid under the flowerbed? Could it be the dead bodies of previous secretaries of the three men in charge? Chrissy desperately wanted to know, for some reason, and she didn't exactly have the best track record for keeping her curiosities about odd men to herself.
She didn't get the chance to pick the petunias or the daisies, one of her least favorite men in the whole entire world had come up behind her, staring into her very soul and scowling at it's existence. Shame on her for existing, his face read, shame on you for being here when I wanted to be.
"Are you going to stare or scream at me, little man," Chrissy teased as she rolled around, getting her outfit dirty as if to prove a point to him. To prove that he was right, she was below him, dirty and common and utterly unworthy of being in his presence. "Or is your face going to stick like that?"
"At least I am not mooching off my friend's boss," Caius retorted, his face going horribly sour and twisted.
Chrissy Destarri did not like Caius Volturi. The feeling was mutual between the two. From the first time they met, from the time that Chrissy had come into the castle with him standing in the corner pouting like an embarassing child, she did not like him. The young woman couldn't say if it was his face that she hated the most, or his overly blonde hair that had to be natural.
Yet she loved it when she had the chance to pick a fight with him. He wa san annoying, pompous, self-rightous asshole, and she knew exactly which spots angered him the most. It angered any man with any slight interest in a woman they shouldn't be interested in.
See, Chrissy knew men like him. She felt it was in her friend's best interest to keep an eye on the men that undoubtably found interest in her. River's judgement was beyond clouded in her eyes: she'd been the one to fall for their shared abuser first while ignoring every red flag about him. Chrissy felt the gaze of men, and she wasn't willing to let River fall pray to one ever again.
