Scorpius:

Once elevated to offend or defend, the state of his arm never wavered, his handling of the gun somehow solidifying his handle upon his state of mind. Weaponry and their execution had never been a stranger to Seth, in fact, their exposure had been a paramount part of his rearing. A world of bullets and bribery was the single world he knew; this the single world he could live in. And somehow, she saw that too. How? His internal query stunted whatever quirk his tongue liked to retort, his lips tightening where his regular temperament would have let them loose. However, the return of his routine bearings quickened at the mention of the only other who mattered. 

"And how the fuck would you know where Richie’s gone?” The tether that attached his suaveness to his sanity thinned the further it was related to the man in question. Yet, as she continued, cool and not crazed, Seth submitted to the three letters she coerced him into asking. “What? You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t know shit about what I do, why I do it, so I suggest you move right along, sweetheart. Ain’t nothing for you here.” 

It wasn't that nothing else held her interest, but the further notion of his sibling at this very moment began to wear thin on Scorpio's nerves, an obstacle to answers she sorely craved— therefore it was temporarily gifted with a case of blissful ignorance. Action-reaction, however, seemed to have been the cause of his aggression and where others might find flinching the appropriate course of action; for Scorpio it was enough to bring apexes in upward motions, "Ah," A graceful arching of an eyebrow marked the introduction to her retort.

The entity found herself decreasing the distance between them a slight amount more, though it was more so done to assert the natural dominance which ran through the core of her essence, "Criminalism runs through your veins more than you'd ever dare admit or even realize. And it's the one true constant in your life— the only matter rewarding enough for you to pursue without halt." There was a prompt pause, "And you excelled. Or at least you did, until you turned a heist into a personal and emotional vendetta."

It surrounded him in its great, heady mass, suffocating him from the outside as the invoked anger within him kept to the same temperature; in the small space of minutes heat had become him. His fury’s instigator was nowhere to be seen, his brother having wandered away aimlessly, supposedly recuperating after their short-lived squabble. Seth, however, was rejuvenated. High on the influence of the liquid reviver known as adrenaline.  His fingers twitched as he moved forwards, their tips tingling as he twirled them around the hot air and climbed back up the slope he’d forced Richie down. Just as he arrived above it, he discovered another presence had arrived first — a poised female presence setting her sights on him and her hands on his. Fast fingers found his gun.

"Yeah? Well I can tell you something real personal is gonna go down unless you tell me who the hell you are and what you want with us.”

Slow grazing retreated to a gentle caressing of digits to the vehicle's steel surface, almost as if willingly reverting any incidental damage she might've caused, "I bear no interest in your brother at this time. Speaking of— he's well, wandered quite the distance, but well." No harm nor foul meant.

They're intricate, require planning up to meticulous standards— one misstep, inadvertent or not; and every detail you thought you had processed crumbles without a second thought. You can't make them personal, they'll cloud your judgement; revenge, wrath— each action-reaction which can claim your downfall. And this? This had catastrophe written all over it, this was proof as to how flawed these beings proved they could be. How mistakes which could encompass their lives could be made so easily— a determination forged so perfectly, yet was accompanied by such flaws which bore the incredible opportunity to discredit and leave the strength faltered, shattered in their wake.

Shadows concealed inquisitive oceans of blue from any outsider's perception— while each moment, movement; each passing second was carefully registered. At various times, her presence had been nearer than any mind could comprehend; entirely invisible to a human's eye. The mistakes were easy to identify; though it was marked as a devastation upon the first breach through that entrance door; since from that point forward, it was one bad call after the other.

"You made it personal." A whisper easily robbed of its volume by the surrounding body of wind— as the sound of the cuffs securing his wrists had surely been louder in her manifestation's ear than any other, except perhaps his own. It was the concept of failure embodied, a concept which resonated louder in a thief's ears than any other reality ever could.

Five years had elapsed, give or take a few days since his release— resolving concerns of personal significance, or rather, pursuing a piqued interest were pressing matters to the entity; and so no more time needed wasting. Surroundings were far from ideal, but she'd settle. Brother in the picture upon her arrival? Well, subtlety in such matters weren't exactly high on her list of importance.

     "… — nice timin’, Selina Kyle. One more step," he had already coasted to a standstill before she turned around, eyes fixed over his shoulder in an unimpressed gaze on this would-be thief. "— n’ I was contemplatin’ whether I’d have t’pull my gun or not.”

"—Pardon," A statement laced with a seeming genuine apologetic nature as arms collided; though the truth was far from it. For a skilled one, lifting a wallet was child's play and so was momentarily borrowing a U.S. Marshall's badge; but that wasn't how she'd play it out. Not exactly, any way.

After the slightest glance was gifted to the badge, Scorpio promptly enough turned right 'round on her heel, the metal resting in her hand's palm, "Marshall? Believe you dropped something." Apexes of lips rose the slightest bit; man, they were getting careless. That's what reality checks were for, no?

Rekindled focus fell askew with a head tilted. It was certainly a stimulating criticism— scenic sky hinted by suggestion of timely sunset, some darker tones would render it more ornate. Tugging the brush from jocular fingertips, upturning lips prodded towards keen familiarity. Dabbing finely amid the varicoloured palette, a serene response became uttered. “I didn’t paint it for clients. I had a very,” blending reddened strokes into thinning clouds, concentration paused her sentence for the moment. “— particular vision in mind.”

Call her curious. “Let me guess. A quick once-over and your instant dislike is based on principle? Y’know, because its new— different, and you didn’t put it there.”

Libra, the bane of an existence— torn from her, a conscience; on bad days one could even call her a walking curse. At best, lately? She was tolerable, but this wasn't one of those moments. "I do find myself questioning why you're so intrigued by these elementaries; a simple paintbrush on canvas— this is what you choose to do with your time?" Permitting the inquiry to drift amidst them for a moment, the entity found herself taking a step back; observing the process of darker tones blending in with the lighter. Somewhere within that scene, rested a beautiful symmetry; yet it remained invisible to Scorpio's eyes.

“There is a certain place where the scorpion with his tail and curving claws sprawls across two signs of the zodiac”, wrote Ovid in his Metamorphoses. He was referring to the ancient Greek version of Scorpius, which was much larger than the constellation we know today. The Greek scorpion was in two halves: one half contained its body and sting, while the front half comprised the claws. The Greeks called this front half Chelae, which means ‘claws’. In the first century BC the Romans made the claws into a separate constellation, Libra, the Balance. — (x)

Though select portions of Greek mythology could be considered as works of fiction to the entities of the Cosmos, there's a truth in various aspects of them as well; such as the origin of Libra and its connection to Scorpius. Upon the creation of each Zodiac; Scorpius, the constellation of extremes bore too intense in comparison to its kin— there was an instability which couldn't be rectified on the constellation's own terms. Which is why the constellation was subjected to a separation— the "balance" of Scorpius would become its own; not to merely function as a balance to each fellow Sign, but to act as an almost conscience to Scorpius directly.

“You want this one too?” The inquiry hung on a playful note, though her crystallised tone was sincerely bright. Her silent ambience wasn’t entirely lasting as bursts of colour were seeping into the ivory canvas, slender fingers popped the paintbrush into tinted water to cleanse. Meanwhile, footsteps came to shorten such a reserved gap between them, it was far from hospitable.

"— So, what qualifies it to be worthily set alight? Honestly, I figured you’d like it.”

"I'm certain you have clients who would enjoy it quite a bit more than I would." A strict glance had been shot in the other's direction; bare collision occurring between shoulders, as graceful steps brought the entity to pass the other; so a more investigative inspection could be given to the canvas, "It's missing contrast." A statement bearing a returned playful note; the smallest notion of a smile crossing feminine features, "—a deep red, perhaps?" As digits wrapped themselves around the paintbrush, twirling its tip along the rim of the jar, ridding it of any excess water remnants before holding it up for Libra.

"I simply have no interest in it; I do believe that should suffice as a reason."