Dex

HI OLD MAN, I got us matching keychains and id you don’t take it ill combust and turn into glitter

I'll keep it on my belt loop :)

The way you make your coffee is terrible.

The way you make your coffee is terrible.

Archer enters her apartment, prepared to collapse on her bed and fall asleep, but any tiredness leaves her when she sees Dex. She raises her hand to form a fireball, but the spark forming in her palm dissapates when she sees the blood.

Dex held back a laugh at the obvious statement and pressed down on his wound more firmly. He staggered around the apartment, nearly tripping while pulling a chair out to sit in.

Open rp -

The web hit Dex in the face as soon as he stuck his head through the open window. He cursed and clawed it off his face, the rest of him coming stumbling into the familiar apartment. He'd been on a small walk to treat himself for a hard day at work, his throwing knives casually sheathed in his belt, covered by the black jacket he always adorned.

Lucile tried not to cry when Dex asked her what was wrong but she couldn’t help it, tears were already spilling down her face as she nodded slightly following the older man to the kitchen. The young woman watched paused for a moment Lucile’s body trembling as she tried to find the words, no matter what it was near impossible to even speak.

Dex remained silent, a slight frown crossing his features as he heard Lucile begin to cry. He hated the sound of it. Of Lucile feeling upset. He rummaged through the drawers and cabinets for a suitable pot, then searched the pantry for ingredients he could use.

She took a deep brea in before slowly breathing it out, taking a moment to collect her feelings and find the worlds that kept slipping away. Lucile looked up at Dex nodding slightly, she found comfort in his presence something that not even her own father could provide.

Whatever light was in Dex's face immediately fell, replaced by simmering, murderous anger. Not at Lucile, but that man who was supposed to be her father. Dex wasn't new to abuse. He'd gone through a lot of it himself as a kid before his parents died. Dex crossed his arms and tilted his head down, his fingers tracing the patterns on the island to soothe himself from outwardly expressing his rage. Lucile needed a calming presence at the moment.

Lucile nodded and sniffled softly before taking the tissue and wiping away her tears, she dried the tears and took a deep breath once she’d calm down slightly Lu leaned against Dex. He made her feel safer she knew that he’d never do anything like that to her, shifting slightly she closed her eyes and started relaxing.

Dex gently rested his hand on Lu's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He let go and allowed Lu to cry as much as she wanted. He was here. He would help. Dex believed that through and through. He huffed out in fake annoyance at the nickname for him.

“I think I’ll always be safe when you’re in my life Dex, I mean you’re here for me so how could I not be?” Lucile reassured him softly with a small smile peering while she watched as he tended to the food, she didn’t even realize how hungry she was till he started cooking. “Sometimes I think I’m still that little girl, the one too scared to do anything .. but I think I’ll make it.”

Dex smiled and nodded, agreeing with Lucile. He thought she was a strong woman, someone capable of handling themselves. Warmth unfurled in his chest, and he smiled wider. For the first time, Dex felt truly appreciated by another human. "You'll make it alright, don't worry."

Lucile nodded slightly making her way to the kitchen, pausing to wash her hands before starting to dip the bread placing them on a plate for him to access. It was an oddly calming to activity, Lucile was finally starting to breath normally with a small smile on her face.

"Of course. You've gotta protect yourself," Dex reasoned, shrugging as if they were discussing the weather. He grabbed an empty plate and began piling the finished toasts onto it, then tended to the new ones Lu put on the pan. Dex quirked a brow at Lu's suggestion and glanced at her. He wanted to say no, but her smile did him in. "Fine, yeah, I can teach you. Just..nothin'. Nevermind."

@benjpoindexter

Dex casually entered the New York Office that the mayor sectioned off for the CIA, disguised in a security guard outfit, taken from a guard who was on their smoke break in the back. He sauntered into the elevator with his notebook in hand where Alcott's office number was written in red ink on the inside of the cover.

Dex stayed quiet until he reached Alcott's cubicle, standing right behind him with a smile that reached ear to ear. Smeared, cleaned off blood decorated his cheek, a sad attempt to hide the fact he'd gone and murdered someone inside the building. He removed the security guard hat and placed it on Alcott's desk, maneuvering into the limited space to lean up against the desk like they were good friends.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" He tries to snatch it away.

Dex swiftly moved his hand away before Alcott could reach it, then tucked it away into the back pocket of the security guard uniform. He gazed around the empty office, picking up a few pens to throw if anyone dared walk in.

Dex ignored the first question with a roll of his eyes. He pouted when Alcott hid the tabs, muttering something under his breath before hurling a pen at the agents keyboard to break it.

"I was." Thankfully his mother already went home and the nightshift isn't much acquainted with him.

"I wanted to," Dex countered back, pushing off the desk to sift through the crate knives sitting on the other side. "I knew you wouldn't arrest me."

"Thats because they aren't clever." Okay maybe they were, but Cattell wasn't going to give him that.

Dex blinked, another smile pulling onto his lips at the retort. He liked Alcott's wit. "If they weren't, half of the CIA would understand me."

"I'm not sure i do understand you...at least not most of them time." He flips around the blade

"You try," Dex said, almost uncharacteristically soft. He glanced down at his bruised knuckles, a hint of self-contempt in his eyes before he blinked it away.

Alcott completely ignores the comment. Dex was a bit to accurate.

Dex shrugged. He gave Alcott a look up and down, then focused on the floor, thinking. He could leave now and make sure Alcott gets home safe. He could stay and keep bothering the agent.

Dex saw right through Alcott's words. He noticed the slight furrow in his brow, the subtle distaste at every word, as if it was wrong. It was wrong. Dex just tilted his head, his brows raising slightly.

"Coincidence." He fiddles with the stitches on his trousers, watching how to stitches were made.

"You're lying again," Dex commented flatly, his expression neutral. He shifted on the desk, masking the way his back ached with each breath he took. Dex refused to take his medication. Hence, his spine injury pain flared up.

Without saying a single word, Dex simply turns his gaze to the office right next to Alcott's cubicle. He slowly looked back at Alcott through his brows.

@benjpoindexter

Dex casually entered the New York Office that the mayor sectioned off for the CIA, disguised in a security guard outfit, taken from a guard who was on their smoke break in the back. He sauntered into the elevator with his notebook in hand where Alcott's office number was written in red ink on the inside of the cover.

Dex stayed quiet until he reached Alcott's cubicle, standing right behind him with a smile that reached ear to ear. Smeared, cleaned off blood decorated his cheek, a sad attempt to hide the fact he'd gone and murdered someone inside the building. He removed the security guard hat and placed it on Alcott's desk, maneuvering into the limited space to lean up against the desk like they were good friends.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" He tries to snatch it away.

Dex swiftly moved his hand away before Alcott could reach it, then tucked it away into the back pocket of the security guard uniform. He gazed around the empty office, picking up a few pens to throw if anyone dared walk in.

Dex ignored the first question with a roll of his eyes. He pouted when Alcott hid the tabs, muttering something under his breath before hurling a pen at the agents keyboard to break it.

"I was." Thankfully his mother already went home and the nightshift isn't much acquainted with him.

"I wanted to," Dex countered back, pushing off the desk to sift through the crate knives sitting on the other side. "I knew you wouldn't arrest me."

"Thats because they aren't clever." Okay maybe they were, but Cattell wasn't going to give him that.

Dex blinked, another smile pulling onto his lips at the retort. He liked Alcott's wit. "If they weren't, half of the CIA would understand me."

"I'm not sure i do understand you...at least not most of them time." He flips around the blade

"You try," Dex said, almost uncharacteristically soft. He glanced down at his bruised knuckles, a hint of self-contempt in his eyes before he blinked it away.

Alcott completely ignores the comment. Dex was a bit to accurate.

Dex shrugged. He gave Alcott a look up and down, then focused on the floor, thinking. He could leave now and make sure Alcott gets home safe. He could stay and keep bothering the agent.

Dex saw right through Alcott's words. He noticed the slight furrow in his brow, the subtle distaste at every word, as if it was wrong. It was wrong. Dex just tilted his head, his brows raising slightly.

"Coincidence." He fiddles with the stitches on his trousers, watching how to stitches were made.

"You're lying again," Dex commented flatly, his expression neutral. He shifted on the desk, masking the way his back ached with each breath he took. Dex refused to take his medication. Hence, his spine injury pain flared up.

@benjpoindexter

Dex casually entered the New York Office that the mayor sectioned off for the CIA, disguised in a security guard outfit, taken from a guard who was on their smoke break in the back. He sauntered into the elevator with his notebook in hand where Alcott's office number was written in red ink on the inside of the cover.

Dex stayed quiet until he reached Alcott's cubicle, standing right behind him with a smile that reached ear to ear. Smeared, cleaned off blood decorated his cheek, a sad attempt to hide the fact he'd gone and murdered someone inside the building. He removed the security guard hat and placed it on Alcott's desk, maneuvering into the limited space to lean up against the desk like they were good friends.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" He tries to snatch it away.

Dex swiftly moved his hand away before Alcott could reach it, then tucked it away into the back pocket of the security guard uniform. He gazed around the empty office, picking up a few pens to throw if anyone dared walk in.

Dex ignored the first question with a roll of his eyes. He pouted when Alcott hid the tabs, muttering something under his breath before hurling a pen at the agents keyboard to break it.

"I was." Thankfully his mother already went home and the nightshift isn't much acquainted with him.

"I wanted to," Dex countered back, pushing off the desk to sift through the crate knives sitting on the other side. "I knew you wouldn't arrest me."

"Thats because they aren't clever." Okay maybe they were, but Cattell wasn't going to give him that.

Dex blinked, another smile pulling onto his lips at the retort. He liked Alcott's wit. "If they weren't, half of the CIA would understand me."

"I'm not sure i do understand you...at least not most of them time." He flips around the blade

"You try," Dex said, almost uncharacteristically soft. He glanced down at his bruised knuckles, a hint of self-contempt in his eyes before he blinked it away.

Alcott completely ignores the comment. Dex was a bit to accurate.

Dex shrugged. He gave Alcott a look up and down, then focused on the floor, thinking. He could leave now and make sure Alcott gets home safe. He could stay and keep bothering the agent.

Dex saw right through Alcott's words. He noticed the slight furrow in his brow, the subtle distaste at every word, as if it was wrong. It was wrong. Dex just tilted his head, his brows raising slightly.