wₕₒ'ₛ ₐfᵣₐᵢd ₒf ₜₕₑ bᵢg bₐd wₒₗf

“It’s not that strange - you’ve clearly never needed stitches when out.” Admittedly, he hadn’t had any floss or string on him when he’d gotten stabbed in that alley but Damian was dealing with the existentialism and disorientation that comes from being trapped in a reality where you don’t exist. She had no such excuses. Probably.

He caught the phone without a word, the screen displaying a rather grim scene. “Tt.” He may no longer be an assassin but he was still raised by the League. In his opinion, it was just sloppy and, quite frankly, tacky, displaying the body like that. He studied the scene silently, taking in the details. Oddly similar to the work of an unknown killer from his home Earth. Their doppelgänger, perhaps?

He looked up from the device and raised a brow as she dug around inside her arm looking for the bullet. She had her fingers buried in the open wound and yet, no reaction. Fascinating. “He was handled, yes.” Not dead, but terrified beyond words. Son of the Bat he may have been, Heir to the Demon he still was. He used just enough of his training to learn what he wanted and let the fool go. He’d stabbed him in the side from behind and never got a look at Damian’s face. If that wasn’t the case, he would not have been so lucky.

“What about your issue?” He asked, pointing with the phone at the bullet wound.

✘

You’ve clearly never needed stitches when out

Anya released the slightest huff of amusement. 

There were numerous occasions when something as simple as a needle and thread could have meant the difference between surviving another few hours or bleeding out in some random alley; however, that would have required Anya to be the type of person who entered a situation with even the vague notion of a plan. She seemed to enjoy living her strange, dispirited existence, constantly balancing on the precipice of life and death. Whether due to recklessness or tedium, the majority of her decisions were impulsive and solely motivated by a desire for stimulation and challenge. A petulant child with a habit of ramming the metaphorical fork in the socket.

But how would you live your life if you were incapable of experiencing real fear. 

“Handled?” she parroted back, an concerning amount of blood staining her flesh as she unconsciously widened the entry point to locate the bullet. She raised her lifeless eyes to his, her lips drooping into a thoughtful frown as she studied him. Much like she did the first time she met him. "I admit that I am curious. What type of killer are you?” she suddenly muttered, letting the question sink into the air. Certainly not considered a conversational topic, but for Anya this was her brand of small talk. It was also the first time she'd openly acknowledged that she knew he'd killed before. "It's in your stance, like a тир в клeтке," a caged tiger.

Ah, there you are. 

Oh, joy. It was the alleyway lady. Given how the pair met, the irony of the situation was not lost on him. With furrowed brows, Damian looked over the wounds. No major damage, it seemed. “I’m alright, thank you.” Despite his distain for the woman, he knew Alfred would be disappoint, but not surprised, if he was, putting it simply, a bitch for no reason. “I have floss and a needle if you would like to stitch your injury - that tourniquet will not be sufficient for much longer.” Indeed, the material already seemed to be coated in a layer of blood, whether that was from her wound or her hands, however, was a different matter.

✘

Anya simply nodded at his unusually mannerly refusal, tossing the half-eaten sandwich into the greasy bag between her legs and digging her fingers in for a handful of fries instead. "Do you usually travel with floss and needles?" Her face contorted into a semblance of amusement as she tossed a limp fry into the air and tilted her head back to catch it. The little assassin appeared far more established than the last time they met, the inadvertent essence of desperation replaced by a tangible assurance. Anya had to admit that she was impressed. She was convinced he would die in that alleway, yet here he stood. Resilience was an beneficial attribute. “какая странная привычка. Звучит гнуснo” what an odd habit, sounds sinister. “You are so weird”

He was right. She might not have felt the sting of the bullet as it entered her bicep, or the subsequent numbness as blood began to trickle from the wound. Regrettably, she would have to deal with the repercussions of losing consciousness if she did not properly care for it. Besides, she could just imagine the disappointed slant of Camille’s pretty lips if she showed up with an untended bullet wound. Irked by her own body's incompetence, she yanked at the tourniquet and rolled up her stained sleeve. Of course it was certainly bad luck that the shot was fired towards her non metal arm. What a nuisance.

The fragile skin stretched and contracted beneath the metal chain as it tightened with intent, a choked gasp was the only sound he could muster between clawing desperately at his own throat. But his fingertips couldn't even create a sliver of space to intake the necessary inhale of breath; her grip was firm, and he could only accept that he only had seconds left. And her blank expression, smoothed out in such utter indifference aside from the slight widening of her eyes in what he could only assume was some sick glint of excitement, would be his last images of this wretched earth. “I did warn you...” her tone passive and thick with the dialect of her mother country. The wicked split of her cracked lips was the final thing his mind registered before succumbing to the darkness. “...Do svidaniya”

“It’s you” 

He took note of her reactions. Curious. She knew death. Intimately. "раздражающий, да? А ты, Вы всегда начинаете говорить дерьмо, а затем просто- останавливаетесь?” ‘Irritating, huh? And you, do you always start talking shit and then just- stop?’ It probably wasn’t his best idea to start pissing off the weird lady with a knife but that had never stopped him before and he wasn’t about to start now.

He had to force himself to not laugh at her bravado. Damian very much doubted that - he’d already died at the hands of his own clone on an alternate Earth before coming back to life via alien crystal - anything in comparison to that was mundane. “A gift? That would indicate that you have friends; then again, with that winning personality, who wouldn’t wanna befriend you?” He added with a sneer. He knew he sounded childish, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

✘

‘Irritating, huh? And you, do you always start talking shit and then just- stop?’

Anya’s hunched framed visibly perked up at the sound of her native language rolling off the boy’s tongue. She waited a beat before responding. Her mouth curved, spreading across her face in a slow smile that morphed her expression into one of barely concealed insanity. “Любопытнeе и любопытнее,” she retorted back with clipped enthusiasm. Curiouser and curiouser. Slowly but surely, her interest in this random interaction was increasing. But having Anya take an interest was not a good thing; it was almost as dangerous as making no impact at all. At the very least, if you made minimal impression, you had a remote chance of surviving. Not because she was any semblance of merciful but rather because she might find you too insignificant to expend energy on.

With a blatant scrutinizing glance, or rather a second glance, her mind whirred with minute observations. The way he replied so boldly without fear of inciting a violent reaction when it was obvious, at least on the surface, that she was not of sound mind. He wasn't afraid of her, and she knew it wasn't because he was foolish or lacked natural instincts. His tightly veiled expression of discomfort, he was clearly in pain but obviously used to it. As if, despite the blood loss, he'd had endured greater injuries in the past. The protective arch of his frame; he was ready to defend himself if she made a move, and Anya had no doubt he was carrying a concealed weapon. By the time her gaze returned to his, it clicked and settled with certainty in her mind. Despite his young age, Anya was facing another killer.

Toeing around the equivalent to luxury shack, he turned his nose up at the disheveled state of affairs. Wrappers littering every inch like some calling card to every rodent within the tristate. If he’d know she’d needed a place for more than licking her wounds, he would sprang for something with more than basic electric and water. His hands tucked into his chest to avoid tossing the table where she was seated. “…and you’re pathetic.” Maddox fired back. Where was the fiery russian expats who laughed at the sentimental prey beneath her boot? 

Probably being choked out by cheap vanilla icing…

“Are you sure about that? It sounds like you’re stalling.” He leaned into the counter with a labored sigh. “If you’re not going to do it, I will. She got my little brother into some hot water. I’m the only one who can make him suffer.” 

✘

The muscles lining Anya’s angular jaw clenched in displeasure, a brief glint of resentment flashed behind her gaze before it was buried behind a flippant expression. She'd sooner have her organs plucked from her cyborg-infused flesh than acknowledge that Maddox's harsh judgment had any influence on her. Even though it made sense. Anya liked to believe there was no opinion that could ever trump her own. 

But given that he happened to be of the relatively limited few she genuinely respected, she took his criticisms personally. He was right, obviously. Her unwillingness to act was pathetic. She'd been idle for far too long, allowing herself to become engrossed in the domesticity of having someone to return home to. And allowing the mental tangles caused by Alicia's 'resurrection' to drag her to inactivity.

“I ain’t in the business to tell ya how to live your life but slummin’ it here and sparing that bitch ain’t a good look.” 

@anyaxthewolf​

✘

Her initial response was to lazily roll her eyes, violently swiping the rubber spatula laden with vanilla frosting across her tongue. Despite her fluency in English, there were still a few odd American phrases that took her a moment to digest. She didn’t particularly know exactly what ‘slummin’ it’ meant, but she deduced that it wasn't complimentary. “You are so annoying today,” she retorted monotonously, dropping the spatula into the bowl as her lips turned downward in a dramatic pout.

🌊🌊🌊

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 Anya that attracts her, but the princess didn’t know exactly what is it, since she always suppressed the carnal pleasures… Her lips, her curious eyes, body or maybe the air of 'mystery’ on personality that caught her. This is something she hasn’t felt in ages, but she was unsure what is this 'fever’, a suddenly unquiet heat on her body. There’s more than she wants to know but unsure how to even start it. If it’s not any politics matters, Mera is a tad awkward to approach people. She either can sound totally rude or completely shy but it’ll depends on who she approaches or how they make her feels. She was being utterly honest when she told what she thinks about Anya so far and a coy smile appeared on her rosy lips that was a tad dry.

AMUSING? When Anya began to laugh, drawing attention to the other people on her table, the blonde was confused briefly if she said something wrong or… She simply got confused, forcing a smile to the other woman across from her, and looked briefly to the people that were watching them, giving a weak and forceful smile, waving awkwardly as if it was everything fine. ❛ Funny? I’ve been called a lot of things but funny isn’t one. ❜ Her polished accent slip out of her tongue. She took another bite, holding the bread with only a hand and biting it on the 'lateral’ of her mouth, but chewing with mouth closed. She scrunched her face a bit at Anya’s description. ❛ Piggies?! What is that?! ❜ She is not really familiar with land’s animals. Only a few 'domesticated’ animals such as cats and dogs.

❛ SO–sorry?! I shan’t say such things, I guess. ❜ The Atlantean apologized, mostly because she noticed how the smile vanish so easily with her words, and this wasn’t her intention. She hopes she could make it up for her somehow. She look forward to see her more in a future, if Anya is up for it, course. ❛ Of course, whatever you want. ❜ Yet, there’s something… She was dying of curiosity, but worried what is going to be whatever Ms. Wolf wants to tell her. She really is praying that this woman isn’t either own father or Orm spy that will be taking her home and put her behind the grades. She never wanted to pray more for the Gods as she is at the moment. She sighs deeply as if it’ll help her suppress her curiosity.

❛ Sashish what!? ❜ She got even more lost than she already was, but anything Anya said seemed Greek to her. ❛ Hmm…'kay. ❜ She adjusted her posture on the chair. ❛ I’m open to know new foods, since on the land there’s infinity type’s of them. ❜ Majority of them she never heard about, but when the other leaned forward, she did they same thing hearing that she can eat with hands. ❛ Ah, that’s sounds 'cool’ for me. ❜ Not using silverware, seems like a dream to her.

✘

The remainder of the meal proceeded with the closest semblance of normalcy one would anticipate when a deep sea princess and a russian assassin were involved. With the knowledge that her confession could possibly put a considerable damper on the day when she finally got around to speaking it, Anya chose to avoid anything related to the she subject. She instead performed a frighteningly realistic impersonation of a charming companion. Entertaining Mera with conversation of safe topics and listening intently to every word that fell from her cherry lips. A well crafted and entirely false lopsided grin on her face, soft and inviting. 

It was so perfectly executed that it completely deflected from the lifeless, inquisitive sparkle of her stare as she gazed at Mera nearly without blinking. Absorbing every minute detail about her. From her mannerisms to her expression to the way she spoke. It wasn't hard to turn the charisma on, purely ironic from someone as cold, calculating, and callous as she. But she knew how to weaponize her allure when necessary, to be as charming as she was psychopathic. Unfortunately, Mera wasn't to know of the cold brutality that lurked behind the innocent exterior. That she took pleasure in trying on identities the way other people try on clothes. It was all mimicry. A game.

Max stretched out his long limbs in effort to get the blood flowing to them and wake himself up, letting out a yawn as he rolled his shoulders and straightened out his posture - tucking his firearm into the waistband of his shorts. His bare feet softly padded across the bare wooden floors as he made his way past her and into the kitchen. Again, there wasn’t any sign of food and if for some reason there was, it had surely gone bad by now. So instead, he poured himself a cup of water as he waited for her real answer.

“And this couldn’t have waited till the sun was up..?” He already knew that answer but it needed to be said. This woman had a bad habit of just doing what she pleased - much like his older brother - and he knew neither of them were going to change any time soon. He held her gaze as he waited for her to continue and, due to the abrupt wake up call, it took him a moment to recognize what and who she was talking about. And then it washed over him: Alicia.

Max was quiet a moment before letting out a breath. “I don’t believe I have any answers that will satisfy you…” he started honestly, not breaking eye contact. “She’s just a mystery to me as she is to you. She played into my need to help and I couldn’t say no. I think she sees what we want and….I don’t know, uses it?” Scratching the back of his head, he put down the glass and crossed his arms with a sigh. “She is a person who will only allow you to do something for her if she allows it.” It had taken him weeks of looking after her to finally come to this conclusion and it still wasn’t a satisfactory answer.

✘

And this couldn’t have waited till the sun was up...

Confused, Anya parted her lips to argue why right now was as good a time as any other when she cut her glance to the window. Of course, she’d been coherent enough to recognize that it was dark out, but she realized she hadn't given any thought to how late she'd decided to pay her surprise visit. Anya had to remind herself that just because she didn't always succumb in to her body's biological need for sleep didn't imply others didn't follow a regular sleep routine. Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the lack of typical societal norms she held, especially since it wouldn’t have made much of a difference to her manner anyhow. She hummed dismissively, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. Anya only planned on sticking around long enough to get the information she needed than she could leave him to his precious sleep.

Max was correct. As she listened to him ruminate aloud his own reasonings for allowing the deadly rose to puppeter him as she had done so many others she was not satisfied with the answer. Her face maintained a steely indifference mask, even as white hot fury was seething within, not in particular directed at the taller male but rather at the acknowledgement of the truth to his words. Anya didn't want to hear the truth or be reminded of what she already knew. That she’d been played. That she’d been made a fool of. She offered no other evidence of the heat raging inside her beyond the tightening of her metal fingers. She attempted a cynical smile at the end of his remarks. "How pitiful," her remark was not directed to either of them in particular, but rather the situation they shared. "Who is she to wield so much power?" she continued to ponder aloud, her eyes distant.

He watched her wearily as he packed his supplies, movements deft as he, once again, made a mental count of his weapons. He cursed internally as he closed his pack, batarangs and other weapons left useless in there. 1, 2. A knife in each boot. 3. A gun tucked into his waistband. 4. His belt. 5. Himself.

She hadn’t tried to kill him yet, Damian reminded himself. Yet. He kept his features neutral as she brought out a knife. Shit. She was clearly adept with weapons and yet, that was not what pissed him off the most. He was injured and stuck in alley, in the middle of nowhere, with a weird lady who loved to spout existentialist bullcrap, with another weirdo chasing him in the street and he might just have the fight said weird lady.

It was not his day.

She was really beginning to irk him, with her cynicism. His brothers would have laughed if they could see him now. Damian Wayne, once the most cynical realist they had ever met, was now the optimist. "We’re born, we grow, we have ambitions and desires - and a lot of the time they don’t come to be.” He agreed in that respect but it was still a sad reality of life; sometimes things suck. “But sometimes, they happen - not everyone wants to be a superhero or astronaut. Some people wanna learn to paint, or have a family, or just be happy. Death is inevitable; everyone knows that. One day, I’m going to die. One day, you’re going to die.” He reminded her. She might like to spew about how you were all going to die, but she would do well to remember that even her name is on Death’s list. “Accepting and giving in to it are two very different things and unlike some,” he gave her a pointed glare, “I still have a life to live and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna die in alley at the hands of a basketcase. So why don’t we just leave while we’re ahead, hmm?”

✘

The blade of her pocket knife, the last jagged slice of orange resting against the metal, stilled in its journey to her waiting lips. His impassioned rebuttal to her cynicism eliciting a derisive reaction. Anya’s eyebrows drew together and her lips twisted in irritation, like she’d just swallowed something sour. Though any other sane bystander might have found his words strangely uplifting, it was a little dramatic from her perspective. Any inkling towards a hopeful outlook on meager existence was downright laughable to her.

The clear undertone of animosity towards her presence was warranted, but instead of reining it in, Anya felt compelled to push even further. It had to be one of her favorite pastimes; poking the proverbial bear. Testing limits. With a sneer she shoved the last slice into her mouth. “Your voice is really irritating,” was her decided response, flicking the switchblade closed. "Do you always go off on such lengthy tangents like this because -" she released a humorless huff, leaving the sentence open ended, before raising her eyebrows.

Anya didn’t have to be reminded that one day she would die; she’d been thrust onto death’s doorsteps more times than she could recall. In fact, one could even argue she was an expert at diving headfirst into a near-death experience and emerging unscathed -- albeit with a few psychosomatic blemishes. She didn’t mind the inevitability of her demise, secretly looming on the horizon and ready to drag her to whatever purgatory existed beyond this plane of consciousness at any given moment. “At the hands of a basketcase” she mocked, exaggerated the roll of her eyes. She scooted across the tiny alleyway, shortening the distance between them until she was near his face “if you were to die by my hands, it would be a little less mundane than this. I assure you”

It took him a moment to register her words, his focus mostly on his side. Great. He didn’t bother answering her. “When did Arkham let you out?”, he muttered, scanning her over for any concealed weapons or otherwise. The term ’stuck pig’ certainly didn’t help her case. She sounded like a crazy Professor Pyg fan but her accent gave her away, not as a Gothamite, but as Eastern European, perhaps Russian or Serbian.

He just sighed and shook his head, shucking his coat off before tearing the lining off. Reluctantly, he took his eyes off the quite possibly insane stranger currently sharing the alley to peel his ruined shirt off the wound. Well, that was a relief. The blood wasn’t pumping or gushing, so at least nothing vital was hit, and his organs seemed fine enough. Small mercies. He made quick work of wrapping his ribs, tying off the end. “I don’t know what kind of idiots you seem to hang out with, but I’m not stupid enough to just give up and bleed out in an alley.”

✘

“Ha!”

The peals of laughter ripped from her core echoed throughout the vacant alley, her head thrown back with a smack against the bricked wall. Hilariously, the boy had hit it right on the nose. Though that wasn’t why she found herself in hysterics. The sarcastic remark that fell from his lips without a pause was what she found most hilarious. He’d caught her in one of her playful moods. “Oh, I like you,” she continued to cackle. Her stint in Arkham Asylum had been brief, the interim period between her defection from Russia to the United States and just before Alicia 'saved' her. It was scarcely a blip in her timeline. There were times when she hardly even recollected that she’d spent any time there, and this happened to be one of those times.

She swallowed in her chuckle and let her face crumple into a phony pretense of offense, her bottom lip twitching at his assertion about her mental condition. "That's not a very kind thing to say; you're going to hurt my feelings." But she only hold the emotion for a brief period before eventually unleashing a final snort of amusement. She brought the back of her palm to her lips, dragging it across her mouth with intentional languidness to clear away the juice before taking another tangerine from her pocket. She hurled it into the air and drew out the pocket knife concealed inside her coat in one swift motion. The fruit fell neatly onto the blade's tip, piercing it halfway through.

🌊🌊🌊

         𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐀 repeated her statement, Mera nodded. ❛ Well, you listen to me, instead of judging me without not hearing me talking, and you invited me to eat and speak to me in a way that makes me feel comfortable. Sounds like a nice person to me. ❜ So far, in their meetings, Anya was being ‘nice’ from her point of view. She had met people that think she was crazy and that she only talk foolishly, and don’t have any patience for her. Considering there are a lot of things she is learning like a 'baby’ in this place. ❛ On my first day on the land, I was sent to jail. I was getting sick because I need water to regain my powers. I’ve learned as a child humans are vile, monsters, and barbaric. I guess, my time here… Well… Not all people are like that.❜ Mera didn’t want to say to Anya that she hates humans, but a few of them are 'saved’ from her hating lists. She bumped into people extremely rude than nicer people during her time on the 'land’.        She entered the restaurant first, thanking Anya and she took a look at the locals observing the people, chewing her cheeks inside a little bit nervous and anxious. The princess thanked the waitress that set a booth for them, and she sat there and saw the bread. ❛ I’d say the second 'manners’. ❜ She refers to burping or holding silverware. ❛ We have sponges! ❜ She timidly picked one bread, and bites it, eating politely, with one of her hands. Bread is a 'sponge’ to the Atlanteans. When she forgets the name of the things on the land, she makes a comparison with the objects or stuff from the sea. She gave a timid smile to the other woman, as her eyes widened slightly at the confession. The curiosity grew inside her. ❛ Okay, then… What is it? ❜ Whatever she has to say to her, must be so serious…

Mera was clueless about what it could be. Anya worked for Orm, the ocean master ( her former fiancé ), and is about to arrest her in Atlantis?! Or she’s working for a secret organization that will make Mera a slave? All good things never last long. Or Anya is a secret person her father hired to meddle with her. All these alternatives are possible. Currently, the princess doesn’t have a good relationship with her father since the day she saved Arthur Curry and bailed on her own engagement and people. A sacrifice she made for the good and greater of Atlantis. In her thoughts.

✘

Anya listened to her explain what she constituted as a nice person with a thoughtful quirk of the brow. Who was she to pass judgment on anyone's conduct, whether it was a peculiar way of speaking or an unusual demeanor? Despite her inherently aggressive social tendencies, she was known to be purposely hostile in order to relish others' reactions. So if she was honest, the majority of the time she didn't view the things Mera did or said as strange. At least she wasn't boring. How she hated being bored. There was a single mundane thing about this otherworldly deity sprung from the depths of the sea. With a gaze like raging tides and turbulent currents; luring her like the waves did the day they met. To fall deeper and deeper, allowing the abyss to claim her.

Vile, monsters, and barbaric...

Anya let out a bark of laughter, eyes crinkling, at her presumption. Which, according to Anya, was not far off. "How amusing," she continued to chuckle, attracting attention to their table due to her inability to control her volume. "Oh, that is good one. You are so funny, printsessa" she shook her head as she finished off the last of her piece of bread. "They are more like...weak, dull, and easily disposable" she plucked another roll from the basket and began tearing it apart in small pieces. "Some of them even squeal" there was a twist of mischief to her grin when she added the last bit just before scrunching her nose up and snorting like a pig. "Like little piggies"

When Mera questioned her directly what she intended to divulge, Anya's gaze fixed on the scraps of bread she'd torn breaking them into even tinier pieces to make more mess. After a moment of hesitation, she raised her gaze to meet Mera's. All signs of mirth now vanished. She ordinarily savored in exposing her sadistic nature, so why did she halt here? For the millionth time that day, Anya wondered what it was about her. She couldn't describe it as mere attraction. She couldn’t call it simple attraction. Mera wasn't her usual 'type'. She was always more initial drawn to dark haired woman But there was something, something that was tickling at a long repressed memory. 

He held the small, vibrant green box between his fingers, building the courage to open it and inevitably cause himself insurmountable pain. Within the kryptonite box sat the bullet that was embedded in his gut many months prior. Camille had kept it to run tests and attempt a cure for his weakness for the element. Little did she know, Rok had taken it upon himself to expose the lead for moments at a time in order to try and build up some sort of tolerance. So far, no dice. Each instance left him sick to his stomach for hours, even if he was only exposed for a few seconds.

His index finger and thumb grasped the lid and prepared himself for agony, as he was rudely interrupted by furious knocking. Setting the box on the bed, Rok stormed out into the main room and threw open the front door. “What the hell could be so important that you continue knocking—” Words cut short as Anya shoved past him, muttering something unintelligible and assumingly in her mother tongue. “No, don’t walk past and just ignore me, why are you here and what do you want?”

Anya was in rough shape, that much he could see. Though, any ounce of care he had towards people was at an all time low and he didn’t have it in him to give any out to the woman who continually put herself between him and Camille. “She’s not here. She left hours ago, picked up a shift or something.” Rok’s tone began to meet hers, but only barely. There was still an edge to his words that the normal person might be threatened by. “I’m surprised you’re here, usually you follow her around like a little duckling, hoping for attention and validation,” He hissed, knowing that in typical circumstances, he’d be backing himself into a corner, but seeing Anya like this gave him ample opportunities to unload.

✘

She attempted to concentrate on his statements, even though they sounded like they were coming from miles away rather than from less than a foot away. His bitter sneer was familiar to her, and somewhere deep in her harried psyche she knew whatever he was hissing at her was definitely not polite. In any other circumstances, she would have been quick to fire an equally insulting quip back. But, with the phantom shockwaves of her encounter with the Doctor still lingering long after the forced session, all she could focus on was a single goal. And it was to seek consolation from the one person she knew who could provide it to her. Her instincts chided her for her inadequacy in searching for someone else to heal her. Camille was her one constant, therefore it had become her default. Her safe haven whenever she was caught up in a particularly vicious self-inflicted storm.

Left hours ago...follow her around...attention and validation. 

No. 

Her gaze was drawn to the light fixture above them, where the bulbs appeared to be unimaginably bright. Zapping at the energy she was gripping with the tips of her fingers. “I said stop talking!” As she turned her back on him and those damned lights, she let out a guttural growl, her lips curled over her teeth. He was the last person she wanted to see her in this condition. Weak. Weak. Weak. Her current fractured scope only seemed to terrifyingly and rapidly shift through different reactions. As if unable to settle on one version of herself for the situation. One second close to tears, and the next entirely blank of every semblance of emotion, then back to hysterics.

Damian sprinted down the street, his hand pressed against his side as he looked over his shoulder, cursing colourfully at the sight of his tail. He lost himself in a small crowd before tucking into an alley.

Shit. He wasn't alone. He put a finger to his lips before ducking behind a dumpster, watching his assailant run past. He waved in vague greeting before sinking to the alley floor, blood coating his fingers. "No hospitals."

@ccfstarter

✘

It was only a few floors up, she should have no issue scaling the side of the buil-

The commotion thankfully disrupted Anya's lethargic concentration on her internal half-cocked strategy to break into into Doctor Williams-Jacoba’s office. She watched the boy rush down the alley towards her, her figure partially obscured by the dumpster she'd considered using to propel herself to the fire escape. Her blank stare was brightened by a glimmer of curiosity when she spotted a second figure, apparently chasing the boy. Displaying the attention span of a toddler, her earlier intentions suddenly shifted as she watched the scene unfold. She waited until the adversary had passed, ostensibly not noticing any of them, before moving.

Anya sunk her hands into the deep pockets of her coat, barely registering his request. The temperature outdoors was a dramatic contrast to her outfit, but that was the good thing about the absence of sensation. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, she never felt hot or cold. From the pocket she retrieved a tangerine, turning it over and over in her hands before piercing the rind with her metal thumb. She peeled the rind off in shreds, almost as if blatantly disregarding him, and they accumulated at her feet.

🌊🌊🌊

              𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 following the way of Anya since she was the one to invite her to eat in somewhere. ❛ Well, we are talking. I feel like I talk more here small-talk than my hometown. ❜ Of course, she needed to understand how humans behaviors works. She can easily be blended with humans physically but in personality, the way she acts, or reacts to the things, shows how much she is not from this place. ❛ I feel flattered to hear that, Anya. You’re a nice person. ❜ Anya wasn’t the person that judge her behavior, how she acts and takes her serious, in which some of the ‘landlubbers’ didn’t take her as serious as she wished.

               Her baby blue eyes shift to the restaurant the other mention. Mera was trying to reminding herself what she should do, how to use fork again if it is not to combing her hair?! The knife… If is not to stabbing people and the spoon if it’s not to dig a hole?! Which hand she should hold it first?! The thought of it was making her nervous. Would the people complain if she just eat using her hands? ❛ Question, do you care about good manners? ❜ Depending on what Anya would answer, she’d make a big effort to pretend to be normal. The real meaning behind of her question it is if she would be horrified if she decided to eat with hands. The very first day on the land, the others costumers didn’t stop to look at her, in a way she feel rather uncomfortable with the eyes on her. Nowadays, the way people might look at her won’t affect her nerves. ❛ Do you want to swim with me? ❜ She feels as if Anya is inviting for right now to eat, she could retribute the favor by taking her in one of her favorite places in undersea.

✘

You’re a nice person

The statement's irony made her stomach churn in uncomfortable ways. Her intention from the start was to project this modest innocence to disguise her cold brutality and have Mera accept it completely without question, but the shame her achievement generated was perplexing. She'd perpetrated innumerable atrocities without a single moral fetter to hold her back. With guiltless, opulent joy. Yet somehow that statement, fluttering with such genuineness from her pretty lips, sent her into a tailspin. "A nice person?" she echoed, that was a new one. Anya couldn't decide if she wanted to continue to allow Mera to imagine this inaccurate narrative for her or to impulsively defy it. Would she feel satisfaction from showing her true self or remorse? Lately her intentions and the repercussions from them were up in the air. "It makes me questions just how vile those you've encountered before must be," she commented cryptically. And there was the conductor, curiosity. It was what continued to drive her to lead this interaction in a predictable direction, until she felt the need to ultimately upend it.

Anya tilted her head in question, yanking the door of the restaurant open for Mera to pass through first. She had no idea what prompted the inquiry; would she ever be prepared for the next words out of the blonde's mouth. "Good manners like what exactly?" she countered with a query of her own, only nodding at the hostess as she guided them to an empty booth. "Like the please and thank you kind of manners? Or not burping at the dinner table kind?" Anya barely acknowledged the waitress as she set a basket of bread between them, grabbing for one to stuff between her cheeks right away. Etiquette typically signified some type of personal ethics or a desire to fit into conventional society, neither of which described the assassin in the least. "The answer is no, I don't care"

catchmeifyoucanxcamille​:

and then I drowned her.

Anya’s colorful departure from normal conversational topics no longer bewildered the tinkering scientist. Had she become so desensitized by the violence after all of the trauma she experienced or had she accepted it had always been in engrained in her? Camille brushed off the thought with a drifting wave of her brow. The metallic tip of her probe tapped at the various components connecting the cybernetic interface to the bio-organic material tethering the new prosthetic to Anya’s sinewy frame. Much like the lean fibers of muscle that tastefully stretched in all the right places, Camille needed to ensure that the arm moved naturally and didn’t hinder her ability to brutalize. She couldn’t change Anya’s craving for violence but she could ensure that she, herself, didn’t have to suffer through another funeral for a friend. 

Blowing the few dark tendrils from her face, she hummed along to the whimsical cadence of Anya’s tale. “I need you to tense your fist,” she offered softly as not to disturb the woman’s rhythm. “..and yes I mean for the prosthetic. I want to test a theory about detachment and the connection between the chip implanted. It should continue to allow you movement even if there’s a failing part in the arm. Nothing should fail but having a fall back function doesn’t hurt..” she tipped her gaze up at Anya with a smile. “.. but they were splish splash, right?” 

Camille’s determined gaze faltered at his return. His even gait coupled with the flittering footsteps had ensnared her focus. Her heart jolted back into a normal rhythm knowing that he’d returned to them once more. Her hold on the instruments sustained because she didn’t want to mess up the fine balance she’d found between the boot up and Anya finally sitting still enough for her to do a diagnostic panel. 

“Hey,” she cooed. “Rough night at the bar?” 

@rokalofdaxam​ @anyaxthewolf​

and then I drowned her.

The familiar Russian accent was like nails on a chalkboard as Rok dragged his feet down the hallway to the apartment. He’d been looking forward to unwinding with Camille after a long night of bar fights and police reports, but it was obvious that wasn’t going to happen as long as Anya was lurking about.

Work started out like any other night, but things spiraled out of control quickly and Rok ended up in the middle of it all. Not once, but twice police cruisers pulled up with lights flashing, inevitably hauling the aggressors out in cuffs and taking statements from the staff. It was way too much contact with badges, given that he was in the middle of plotting against the CCPD.

Closing the door shut behind him, he glared at Anya whilst flipping her off. Nobody asked you, Russian. Rok maintained the angry expression as he signed, rather than spoke. There was far too much yelling and interaction with higher authority throughout the night, and he didn’t have the mental or physical energy to compile coherent English sentences. Turning his gaze to Camille, his expression softened easily. Yeah, that’s an understatement. You’re busy, I’m going to read. Rok signed, shrugging as he pointed in the direction of the dining room-turned-laboratory. He shrugged off his jacket before hanging it on the coat rack and shuffling past the women. I’m fine, he signed once more. Really, just a little spooked and more than tired.

@anyaxthewolf & @catchmeifyoucanxcamille​

✘

Anya couldn't have made her dissatisfaction with Rok's intrusion any clearer, unconsciously following Cami's directions and curling her metal fingers into a fist so tight she could hear the metal clank. Her lips twisted downward in an exaggerated frown. There was no possibility of them ever finding common ground, not even a sliver of a ceasefire. Anya wasn't sure if her hatred for him sprang from an unjustified possessiveness over Camille and unfettered jealousy, or if she simply refused to back down from the metaphorical western standoff they began with. Yes, she wanted her all to herself. Yes, she detested their intimacy, which she could never hope to replicate. 

But she also just hated his face. 

His big, dumb, insolent face. And his stupid impenetrable skin that made it impossible for her to just get rid of her problem through her usual means. Cami's presence was the only thing keeping them from tearing each other apart. Anya couldn't understand his hand gestures, but she knew the middle finger and quickly returned it. “Did someone cut out your tongue before I could, засранец?” she grumbled with a narrowed gaze. “пошёл на хуй”

As he continued to sign at Cami and divert her attention, she felt a spike of jealousy blur her vision, involuntarily she jerked forward -- violent instincts urging to take control. Only slight, but enough for her exposed titanium bicep to jab against the metallic prob in Cami's fingers. There was a peculiar muffled buzzing and the slightest of sparks, which from Anya's perception didn't seem like cause for concern. But only because she couldn't feel the electric shock coursing through her fleshy physique. Even as it forced her spine to straighten. Anya merely blinked at Cami inquisitively. 

"I really wish you wouldn't term it 'prosthetic,' it makes it sound so uncool," she requested, continuing as if nothing had occurred. "Perhaps ‘The Annihilator,’ has a better ring to it," she pondered as she crumbled her empty chip bag and hurled it at the back of Rok's head.