the lioness

Meme | Accepting | @vvarmonger

     ❝  Top of the hanger, up there.  ❞   He points to the walk way on the side of the building before glancing back to her expectantly. He smiled at her response, about as much of a thank you she was going to get. The whole thing was suspicious and maybe later, he’ll hunt down the employer to do more than just ask about why he hired another person for the job and not tell him.      For now, his leg needed to be seen to even if he could just limp back to his flat on Conduit Street and tend to the wound himself. But he wants to see where she’s going to lead him. 

     “ Good. ” He let out. “ Keep it interesting. ” He would be extremely disappointed if he was going to be killed off so easily. But he was also glad she wasn’t here to kill him off too. A small noise left him as he let the cigarette hang from his lips, the bottle of whiskey being poured into his glass, refilling the some he already drank. “ I’m listening, darling. ” Scottie let out, his gaze turning to the woman. “ Unless you’d like to talk privately about it. We can go to my office. ”

@dieleeuin·

     By now, Alan was well acquainted with her file. Significant trauma, extensive gang history, emotional breakdown–for a “problem” agent her story wasn’t terribly atypical. However, the list of problems agents was few and far between–and for good reason. But she’d been recruited, from what he could tell (what wasn’t blocked out to him; some was above his clearance level) by extraordinary means and so it wasn’t strange that her case was an extraordinary one in and of itself.

     He knew the clean, clinical setting his office provided didn’t ease much of the tension. Though Alan would have preferred a calmer palette, the stark white and subtle greys left the room feeling cold, bleak. But like most things in his career he had little control over it.

     ‘My file begs to differ,’ was his response to the young woman, his tone easy, almost casual. If there was any scrutiny in him, it didn’t show in his face. ‘But you’re certainly not the first person to think this all a bunch of pointless guff. It might surprise you, Zonia, but I’m not here to pick you apart like some mad scientist dissecting a corpse; I’m just here to talk. About you, about life, about what you had for breakfast–whatever it takes. We’re only talking.’

A sound escapes her. It hung somewhere between a huff and a scoff, and her eyes rolled, hands coming up as she crossed her arms over her chest, gaze once more drifting from him to fix itself on the corner behind him. She knew what the file said, whether the terminology had shifted in favour of the medical or not. She knew what they all thought about her. She didn’t want to talk about her file

Zonja was struggling to accept this. An ultimatum hung over her head; unspoken, but present, and heavy with the consequences no one was talking about. She was useful as long as she could follow orders. The good doctor might not see the problem with that, he might be too glad to mark her as insane, and cross her off his list. But as long as that was an option, Zonja wouldn’t be safe. From their mutual employers... or from herself. Which was why she was so scared. Fear, though, was not an emotion she embraced with ease.

Even locked in that tiny room for weeks - on the wrong side, enduring what they threw at her, the cold and the dark and the constant, agonising assaults. Pain was familiar, but that didn’t mean she was immune. The bearings and the questions. Cold water thrown over her when she fell asleep - or passed out - it had been endless. But she hadn’t let herself get scared. What did that mean? She almost asked him.

She didn’t answer him, didnt acknowledge him beyond her initial snort of contempt. Not for a while. And then, nearly a full minute later, she threw herself back into the chair, and fixed her attention on him. He might think that they were only talking, but she knew that this was bad for her, couldn’t rid herself of that paranoia. “I’m sure what you do is very valuable.” She said, only sounding slightly sarcastic, “But I don’t have anything to say about myself that isn’t in that file, I think life in general just fucks with people and I didn't eat breakfast. So. What does that mean?”

Me internally: I still can’t decide if I like Spotlight (Oh Nostalgia) from Truant Wave or Spotlight (New Regrets) from Soul Punk more and it’s been 7 years why did Patrick Stump do this to me?

dieleeuin:

On a similar note who remembers when 2 of my best friends met for the first time and @marksmanmoran helped the other one break into a graveyard cos I do

WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME OUT LIKE THIS ???

#she had to pee #there was a reason behind it okay