Malia can feel her heart pound as the procession arrives in the sands.  This isn't exactly the first execution she's seen, granted she was usually hiding in a shadow where she had a really terrible view and was focused on pick pocketing, but the<em>procession</em>is nothing new.  The skull mask in particular has made her roll her eyes on more than one occasion, cynical of the absurd pomp and circumstance surrounding what is little more than a legal offing of someone you're not fond of.  Still, that was then and this is now and this is quite a different circumstance.   The grim, looming, immutable specter of her imminent demise is unnerving enough without the braziers, smoke and what looks distressingly like a meat hook.  The thief's leg starts to wobble involuntarily, even as she stares at the Walker's fake yellow eyes with an angry glare.  Her heart stops when his finger ends at her but beats again when he starts pontificating again.<br/><br/><strong>"Fuckin' sickos!"</strong>She barks at the crowd when they start to join the chanting of sending souls to hell.  She figures she can probably count the<em>truly </em>faithful in this room on one hand while the rest are here for the blood.  Given how stomach-churning stabbing someone can be, she has a hard time deciding if she hates the voyeurs or the executioners more but she's willing to grapple with the question for a while, given that the more she thinks on how much she hates everyone, the less she's thinking about the apparatus.<br/><br/>When the girl and her father are dragged away, Malia gets a pained expression, partially from feeling bad for them and partially out of guilt for her relief that she's not first.  Now in Cheliax there's a very, very old tradition called Excruciations; you can hear the phrase 'tortured to death' without really appreciating it for what it's worth but it seems today is going to be a day of enlightenment in that particular category.  When the man is sentenced and executed in most brutal fashion, the blood drains from the thief's face and she can feel that twitch in her knee get a whole lot worse along side her bladder being much harder to keep control of.  Terror quickly becomes apparent on her face and as a cold sweat breaks out over her body.  Her eyes narrow and her gaze darts around the room, mind working in overdrive to figure out something, anything that will get her out of this.<br/><br/>As usual though, her 'companion' shatters her train of thought.  Malia's eyes dart towards Mina as she begs for her life to one of the guards.   A braver part of her mind wants to chide the pleading waif to at least<strong> try</strong>to have some dignity before she dies but when she opens her mouth to speak, only a terrified croak escapes her lips.  Feeling herself start to weep, she slumps forward, her body more or less demanding she drop to her knees and bawl.  Of course, her pride and dignity refuse this request outright, if just to keep the crowd from having any sort of satisfaction.<br/><br/>Ah yes.  ...The crowd.  The hatred.  That'll stop the fear.<br/><br/><strong>"Y-you twisted, scumbag...   If anyone deserves that treatment it's the freaks who enjoy that sort of torture!"</strong>She manages to say.  It's not a bark like before, her voice has most certainly weakened and quieted down...  a small part of her hoping all this adrenaline she's summoning up will just give her a heart attack before it's her turn.  Still.  Woe be to the man who has to drag her any appreciable distance in this state.