who am i?

oh. honestly, it wasn’t an answer she knew to expect. for him to simply .. agree like that, was kind of marvelously flooring. in a nice way. as stated, her birthday was still a couple days out. and while she was insanely dramatic about it all and may have absolutely cursed the very thought of doing anything of the kind, waiting until the day of wouldn’t have actually killed her. it’d probably put her off of wanting to see him until the day, which would be a different sort of struggle in all actuality, but it wouldn’t result in her physical death. the surprise seems to color her features momentarily before the archaeologist appears to recover properly in the seconds to pass, noting his words with her usual tone.

“i’ll be here. .. not killing him.” despite whatever temptations lay present, naturally. mostly due to a petty level of disgust for the time the man had stolen, but that was unimportant now. .. yup. 

just as soon as she might wave simon off in expectation of his leave however, mimi doesn’t hear the door as soon as she might expect. instead, she feels simon’s eyes on her as she moves towards the would-be prisoner to ascertain what she might do with him next. fearful he’d changed his mind or that he simply didn’t trust her to keep her word, the woman’s shift in gaze moves towards the door at the very moment simon makes his actual leave, barely catching his eye. it was another one of those things that didn’t offer easy explanation or reasoning; it was merely a habit, perhaps. something that happened between them more often than she actually knew, lately. and just as she might think to truly question it, he seemed to disappear. as usual. this time right through the entrance.

and while she knew it was definitely her fault that he’d left at all, there was the hope he’d be back much sooner, a sort of emptiness filling his absence despite the unwanted guest still around. with a hand still on the cuffs and a thought to drag said guest on the balcony to dangle helplessly for a quick laugh thwarted by her supposed promise and a need to keep attention to a minimum, mimi opts for another alternative: a linen closet. cramped and dark and .. mostly soundproof on account of the thicker fabrics present there already. pretty perfect if you asked her.

Out in the hallway, Simon rubbed the wrist that he freed from the handcuffs. As he’d left Mimi’s room, Simon knew he’d managed to catch her eye the second before he turned to close the door.

He hoped Mimi didn’t think he’d been stalling for time. Or gawking. Because neither had been the case. Even as he stood in the hallway, he considered inviting Mimi to join him and leave his prisoner-slash-work-assignment behind, but immediately thought the better of it - his flat wasn’t in the best shape and by bringing Mimi back with him, well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?

Although Simon went well over the speed limit, he couldn’t arrive home soon enough. He knew Mimi well enough to know she didn’t want to be kept waiting. Within the vegetable drawer of his refrigerator ( the least checked hiding spot for grocery goblins interested in milk and chicken and a drawer Simon knew Han would never look in ), Simon procured a box small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

Simon always grew nervous when it came to giving gifts. Both Min and Han were easy to shop for. A family picture they could conceal, new blades, scavenger hunts to test their wits. But Mimi was another story entirely.

He hoped she liked his gift.

It still took him longer than he would’ve wanted to return to her flat. Waiting for the lift to take him to her floor felt like ages. And, despite the fact that he’d only just been over minutes ( or a half hour, give or take ) ago, Simon still made a point to knock on her door. ( Han could surely barge into Simon’s flat whenever he liked. And Simon always made himself comfortable in Min’s bar, but he didn’t quite know how Mimi would take to him simply walking in. So yes, he still preferred to knock ). 

Despite the fact that he’d taken the elevator, he still felt out of breath by the time Mimi called him in. He trusted she’d kept his job safe when, upon entering, he didn’t immediately see the handcuffed man he’d brought in. Instead, Simon held out the box he kept in his hand. “Let’s sit down so you can open it, yeah?” He suggested. “I...I hope it was worth the wait...”

Garrett was laughing with when he saw Simon. He lighlty patted Simon’s cheek. “Sigmund….baby…,lil squish.” He looked at Simon. “I never asked your ethnic background-” He took another sip. “But judging by your demeanor you ain’t Chinese?” He asked in an oddly amused voice. 

“But you should drink?” He smirked. “Don’t you know it will give you lots of luck.” He looked at him in wonder. “Haven’t you heard the story of Chinese New Years.” 

“...Lil squish?” It sounded like something his sister would’ve called him when they were much, much younger. But he swore he could smell alcohol on Garrett’s breath and wasn’t going to waste his words in criticizing the nickname. “I’m not Chinese, no,” He shook his head. “And I’ve never heard of the Chinese New Years story, either. My father wasn’t exactly the...story telling type,”

Rather than fire back with an immature retort, he earnestly thought about the clairvoyant’s question. It was – in the thief’s strange, unspoken way – a sign of respect. Given how often he swiped Simon’s wallet, it was otherwise difficult to deem if he respected his fellow associate at all. “It can be thrilling depending on the target,” he mused. “But now, it’s more a force of habit of these divinely nimble fingers than anything.”

Gilbert waggled his fingers, licked his index, and then combed through the wallet’s contents like an archivist sifted through a filing cabinet. “Why are you here, Simon? Why do you work at The Continental?” he asked. With a satisfied hum, he plucked out a gift card. “I’m sure it’s not for stable payment in Yogurtland gift cards.”

Folding the wallet back up, he held it out as a peace offering (sans one Yogurtland gift card, of course). “I’m a thief because it’s thrilling, and I’ve spent my whole life perfecting my craft,” he said. “In a way, thieves are kinda like fucked up musicians. But instead of obsessively playing the trombone for fourteen hours a day, we pick locks and use the Louvre like a Sears catalog.” 

He sighed.

“You’re good at what you do, but you could be great. So, the question is: why aren’t you? Why are you here if it’s not for thrill, since a man with your talents could be making boatloads of money without it being illegal.”

Simon watched Gilbert intently. He didn’t know what sort of answer he expected out of the question. If anything, the answer Gilbert gave was typical. Despite the fact that he purposefully tried to distance himself from self-pronounced thieves for this reason alone ( it was always his wallet they seemed to target ), he’d heard before that the thrill of it all excited them. Adrenaline junkies who, instead of jumping out of planes or snowboarding down Mount Everest or whatever normal citizens did, took to a life of crime to get their own high.

“No, it’s not for payment in Yogurtland gif cards. But I wouldn’t be surprised if that were part of the reason you were here,” Or simply for gift cards in general. It rarely mattered what Simon had in his wallet these days when it came to Gilbert rifling through it.

When he took his wallet back this time, Simon made sure to keep it tucked in the palms of his hands rather than a pocket.

“Is there some sort of millionaire ghost whisperer that you’ve heard of but I haven’t? If it’s possible to set up shop  and make millions telling people their deceased loved ones do really care and don’t blame little Billy for the accident in the kitchen and make everyone feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, then it looks like I am in the wrong profession.”

He eyed the glittering gems that still sat on the table. Unlike Gilbert, and many of the Continental’s other residents, Simon’s skillset could migrate to the legal realm with ease. Everyone, after all, needed information: criminals and law-abiding citizens alike. Unsure if Gilbert expected some sort of sob story of a little boy with no mother and no father who’d been convinced he was crazy, desperate for some sort of connection but too fearful of being left alone again and how that little boy found himself amongst people who would take him in, flaws, cruelties, and all. 

“Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing,” He finally looked back to Gilbert with his answer. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go to. Does that answer your question?”

the signs of mild shock from blood loss were beating in the brain, but Han Jae would assure himself, he was far from it. he had to be, it’s what he told himself. dryness of mouth was one symptom, yet he could still feel lips wet with remnants of gin. he could count shallow breaths, but he could also feel a bruising from the pressure applied to the wound. it was a good sign. his skin though, he assumed felt clammy and wished to test that after Simon would thread his skin. only later would he raise his hand to pat Simon for a good job, since the job still wasn’t over. but the heart continued to beat, not as strongly as it could, but it would continue those pained thumps to overcompensate circulation. 

he focused on words unable to hide a budding smile from dried lips. Simon’s immediate thoughts of a murderous Han were on point, however, the target was often the ex-wife of Simon’s. a chuckle, despite being poked by a needle followed. it was so hard to sit still as he squirmed at Simon’s touch, even more so at the point of the sharpened needle. a gasp would shorten even shorter breaths as his skin stung with pain. “Well I hated her as well. I still long to murder her for you, Simon. I could still… very much so… make it look an accident.” an even wider grin would follow, “I’m good at accidents, don’t you think?” eyes flashed down to the wound.  

he eyed the thread and tried to relax a bit more. “Regardless, I should be grateful for the chance of meeting you. I’ve caused you a mild grief, yes, but honestly Simon? Would you trade it if you could?”

he shook his head as if to answer his own question. he would have never traded such a valuable friendship, “I remember just how disturbing I was.” he wished he could say so much had changed. there was a fair bit of discipline Song Min could teach with a single glare, but old habits die hard. “I think I used to like how I confused you, but, you know, you confused me too. Hearing you speak to your friends was concerning. Creepy, too, but in a good way.” it must have been the wooziness in filling his brain as he spoke the sentence with a full smile, “I knew we’d be good friends. I thought to myself. Ah, he gets me.”

Simon had never been the sort of man to enjoy physical touch. He’d always made sure to keep some space between himself and whoever he sat next to, kept three steps back when in line at the grocery store, and made a point to sit next to the armrest, simply so he didn’t have to worry about people on both his sides. And yet, Simon found that, by some miracle, he didn’t mind Han’s slimy, often wet, touch.

But he didn’t like the way Han’s skin felt underneath his fingertips in that moment. Heated, sticky, slick with blood despite Simon’s attempts at cleaning the wound. He tried not to appear too nervous. No matter the quality of his job, Simon knew Han would approve of each careful prick of skin. Simon surprised himself with being grateful for the conversation. At least he had something else to focus on.

“Yes, you are very good at accidents,” He nodded, but Simon left the conversation there. They’d spoken on the topic before and, no, Simon would not be putting a hit out on his wife. He already had too many ghosts keeping him awake at night, both literal and figurative. He didn’t need to add to that list.

“Would I trade it? Well --” With the needle still pinched between his fingers, Simon looked up to meet Han’s eyes, as if he truly had to consider trading the many years they’d had together. “--I could do without my bread being molded and then stolen,” A small smile followed a brief shake of Simon’s head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

For one, he’d seen his sister happier than she’d been in years when she and Han linked their arms. And Simon often found himself pulled out of his comfort zone - something he’d desperately needed to happen at only twenty-two. “Oh, I believe you still are the most confusing man I’ve ever met. Truly, you are one of a kind.” Simon had brought his attention back toward the bullet wound. And, with a last prick, it seemed to be complete. In Simon’s eyes, at least. He looked to Han for approval. 

“Well? How do you feel?”

A simple ‘thanks’ and ‘you’ll be compensated’ would’ve worked just fine, but the specialist’s people skills were lacking to say the least. “Yeah, no shit.” Javier highly doubted anyone in their line of work would do anything for free — which was valid, it wasn’t as if he was going around doing things out of the kindness of his heart either. As long as he wasn’t indebted to anyone, he couldn’t care less. “You’re obviously going to get a cut of the reward if you can get the information I need.”

Javier would’ve preferred doing the job without any assistance, but he swallowed his pride after spending hours rooting around in the deceased’s apartment and coming up with nothing to point him in the right direction. At this point he just wanted to be done with this whole mess so he could move onto the next job. “Here,” He pulled out a ring from his pocket and handed it to Simon. “I found it tucked away in his apartment so I’m assuming it meant something to him.” His original plan was to pawn it so rummaging through the man’s apartment wasn’t a complete waste of time, but this worked too.

Simon studied Javier’s face. A cut of the reward could mean any amount, and Simon trusted most people at the Continental as far as he could throw them. Which, for the record, wasn’t very far. Amongst criminals, no one could be trusted when it came to potentially screwing someone over. But at the Continental? Well, Simon knew people still got screwed over, taken advantage of, sold out or their job stolen underneath their feet, but he knew to be more careful about the enemies he made there.

“Fine.” He’d discuss how much of a cut he would get later.

He took the ring from Javier and studied it between his fingertips. Despite his ability, he couldn’t actually read energies, so he really had no idea whether or not the ring was important to the man they were looking for, not until he sat down and tried. “Alright,” He nudged his head toward the elevator. “If I’m going to do this, I’ll need somewhere a little less busy,” Not for any particular reason. Just personal preference. But he kept that to himself - if anything, Simon enjoyed coming across as a little spooky and mystical and in tune with the dead, if it meant he was approached with business inquiries only. “Are you coming? I promise Bloody Mary isn’t going to jump out of the bathroom window. Well. Probably.”

When the man let out a laugh of disbelief, Asphe eyes seemed to only brighten as the lights in the room flickered on and off as her anger was slowly getting to her. This was why she wanted to walk away the moment she saw his face and she believed the continental knew that and that’s why they withheld his name from her records. He got under her skin like no other- and him sitting here looking down at her life she didn’t belong to this world only angered her enough. “Do you think so highly of yourself?” She hissed softly while her empty eyes filled with disgust and hatred. “Do you think I’m some fucked up puppy that’ll follow you into the depths of hell?” Asphe almost laughed as she tried to figure out where he got the audacity to say such words to her. Tossing the black file towards him causing the papers to fly out. Each and every paper was designated towards him. Her mission, her designs, and her templates for his measurements and stats. Asphe was the best of the best- the top dog in her field and as much as she hates to admit it, money was money and if she had to deal with a bitch like him then it was just that.

“Do you think I’d willing stand in front of you Simon” she growled in mandarin knowing he’d understand her. Asphe only spoke her native tongue when she was angry or excited, he knew this. After all they spent seven long years together. “You were assigned to me. My mission is to make you gears and weapons for your missions and power. I am to train you on how to access your true potential through my work.” She said with her tone dripping in venom at him. She couldn’t believe the man she truly once loved would be looking down at her like she was some psychopathic stalker. “Three years I’ve lived my life in bliss without you. We-“ Asphe stopped mid sentence as she tried to calm her shaking body. “Unlike you who can’t even make rank without a specialist help has no right to deny what the continental has sent you. It is their will and they’ve already paid me to be here with you.” She Emphasized the last sent to let him know she’d rather be somewhere else. His behavior has honestly sickened her. “You need to learn to not let personal feelings get in the way of the job but since we’re on the topic- I’ve had plenty of more men satisfy me in ways you could never. I don’t need you.” She said walking towards him in silent steps, the closer she got the more the room hummed with power as the light bulbs above her shattered from the overload of power her anger was letting out. Once she stood chest to chest with the man in front of her- unaffected by his presence that once gave her jitters and butterflies. “I earned my ranking here and as such I expect some respect as your senior.” The only light was the one that shined dimly above them that allowed her mix match ocean blue and cognac brown eyes to brighten hauntingly as she glared murderously at him. “Now strip so I can get what I need and get the fuck out of here since you despise me being here so much.” Her voiced waver softly but it left as quick as it came.

Simon wanted to laugh again, but he was better at reading situations then that. Asphe should’ve known that, no, he didn’t think so highly of himself, but with the way she spoke, perhaps he knew her better than she knew him, because he expected none of that. His voice grew quiet for a moment, while he said, “How could I expect you to follow me to hell, when you wouldn’t even stay with me when I said I wasn’t happy?” A low blow, perhaps, but he hadn’t trusted Asphe in years, not even during their extended years together...after they were technically separated and divorced.

“You didn’t have to take the job,” His voice grew again with his scowl. “I didn’t even request any armor or weapons,” At least not to the extent that they would be custom made for him. It wasn’t like he spent a lot of time in the field. No, Simon spent his time quietly observing from the shadows and -- “Do you think I care if they’ve already paid you?” He scoffed. “That was your decision to take the job and your decision to take the money, so that’s your problem, not mine. I don’t care what you tell them, but I don’t want anything made by you, either,” He’d become a specialist, eventually, without the help of Asphe - he’d done fine for himself so far. “On the topic of other men pleasing you? Why the hell would I even bring that topic up? Would you like me to get someone to put that information in a server-wide email so everyone knows? I don’t need you either,” Something he’d tried to tell himself in the past, after every reencounter with Asphe where old feelings and old memories were brought up. There had been a time when he wanted the first girl he’d ever loved to fall back in his arms and they could continue on as plain and simple as they used to.

But no. They were no good for each other - a fact Simon only realized after being sent to literal prison by the person in front of him.

“I don’t care if you’re a specialist - there are people above you, and you’re not the one I report to,” He shook his head. “Tell them I’m uncooperative, if that’s what it takes. Make up armor and give it to someone else. I don’t want it. It’s a little hard to trust the quality and durability of anything from someone that’s so quick to file a police report.”

When she heard the women’s words drip with jealousy, Asphe fully gave the women her attention as the sword danced between her fingers allowing it to hum as the sharp metal sliced through the air. Many weapon makers now adays never understand the beauty of music weapons made. It was like a signature for each object created. A finger print that left its mark for all the world to know what was used to kill. “I suppose.” She said bluntly as she walked towards the women with curiosity. Normally people don’t come here empty handed unless they were picking up their new gear but then again this was the sommelier. Circling the women, Asphe was like a predator analyzing its prey- the women took in her body marking its body fat and muscle tones. Turning around, the women grabbed a sword off the shelf that seemed to fit her wingspan and muscle strength. The blade end was wrapped in a form fitting metal that morphed with the users hand grip for better movement. A double edge sword that can be used on either hand, the sword instead of fighting against a hard object bends with it. It’s was indestructible in a since unlike most swords that have a weight limit. “Yea. Each custom made to fit the needs of its user.” She said with pride as she held the sword for the women to use. “I do tend to have a hobby of creating things that don’t get used.” She said before pointing the the metal sheet that stood  seven foot tall with a thickness of ten feet. “The blade is made to cut in any angle and morph with object instead of against it. Creating a smoother slice.” She informed the other.

“Go ahead. Use it.”

When it came to boxing, to her physical body and the body of her opponent, Sara could get into the science of it all. She knew that in order to punch harder and faster, she had to make up her lack in weight and height with her own momentum and take into account the weight and height of her opponent. She understood kinetic energy, how to maintain speed in certain parts of her body while she remained grounded in others. She’d taken too many training sessions in too many boxing rings to count so that centuries-old information mixed with modern sciences truly engrained in her mind.

And while she was in awe of swords and knives and any such weapon, much of how they worked remained a mystery. She knew some brands were better than others, that duller blades could be more dangerous than a sharp one, but she didn’t know how those smoother slices were created or the significance of different metals. They all interested her, yes, but so often she was caught in awe of the blades others were able to create that she wound up star-struck and the why no longer mattered.

She only half heard what the woman was telling her, at least until she offered a sword and suggested Sara use it. And Sara did take it without a second word, not wanting to give the woman the opportunity to take back the suggestion. Sara sliced the air, twirled the blade, tested its weight against her own movements.

“You really know what you’re doing,” Sara nodded after testing the blade. She held it against both hands to truly admire it and see the woman’s handiwork. “How long have you been making these for?”

a finger on the trigger was itching to launch a foam bullet into the air at the sound of his slimy voice. desperation was not a good look on her, but her aim was near perfect, and if there was some sort of fun she could get from the interaction–– well. without any further warning she’d press the button. the nerf gun triggered its flight, and the aim landed at the part of his chest where Lottie assumed a heart was missing. “GOTCHA.” 

a slew triumphant giggles would try their best to ignore his words, complaints and any technicalities he spoke. a maniacal, yet melodic laughter echoed in the room as she loaded her nerf gun with another bullet with the name of Simon’s nose on it. or maybe this time she’d miss and hit him right in that talkative gabber he had on that smirky face. she didn’t have time for any of this. she needed him to place his hands on all those belongings, and to be done with this so that she could reap the rewards. but there he went, negotiating. something Lottie was entirely bad at. 

a long drawn out groan followed, “UGH. Alright. Fine. How about we split it 60/40. You get forty, since I’ve done most of the hard work by gathering your supplies, AND I just call you Dick Slime instead?” a hiss spilled from her grimace as she raised her nerf gun once more, fully loaded and ready for a launching. 

The moment the foam bullet strikes his chest, Simon closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and exhaled loudly through his lips, similar to the sighs of middle-aged men with three children who run burger shops, despite the fact that Simon would not consider himself ‘middle aged’, did not have three children ( at least, to his knowledge ), and did not run any burger shops.

Although, if he did, he would be just as annoyed with Lottie for shooting him in the chest with a Nerf dart while in the middle of a business meeting, if they were in that universe.

“Sixty-forty?” He repeated. “I’m not sure if gathering supplies can be considered hard work, since you must’ve spent a few hours or so just shopping,” Something, Simon assumed, to be a past time of Lottie’s rather than actual work. “You know, I could get the information and keep the combination number all to myself, right?”

  —— ophelia’s lips released a light chuckle, exhaling remnants of smoke with a smile. ❝ those demolition experts always remind me of an ex-girlfriend i had ages ago. ” she mused, hands waving with each syllable, ❝ russian and six foot-three; she’d just blow up at the sight of anything. i swear, even when i was undercover, she’d just forget and lose her shit. ❞ leaning back into her chair, ophelia brought one knee up to her chest and took another drag. ❝ i avoid those trigger-happy maniacs as much as possible. ❞

the femme nodded, brown hues coloured with empathy; she understood, she knew. their line of work was one demanding mistress. ❝ ah, busy mind, then. ❞ she spoke with a flick of her cigarette. ❝ i’ve become so used to working at night, it seems strange to sleep at this hour. ❞ it was as truthful as the remaining half of her cigarette. ophelia’s body ached too much to sleep anymore, the constant cold baths and showers to feel clean from guilt keeping her awake. even then, ophelia was always much more awake around this time of year. something about the anniversary of her father’s death kept her rumbling. 

❝ but, no, i usually don’t ask people to play games. you’re making me sound like that scary puppet from those movies, uh- ❞ ophelia absently snapped her fingers as she tried to recall the name, ❝ jigsaw, or whatever ? ❞ 

He nodded in agreement; he’d never been great at turning his mind off, for better or worse. He’d only ever slept a few hours at night, anyway. Which, in the long run, didn’t seem too bad, seeing as most of his work at the Continental was conducted during the night. “I’m sure those who have a normal sleep schedule would argue with you there,” He pointed out. “But...you won’t be getting one from me.”

When he was awake, he tended to keep to himself. But his lighter had broken, forcing him to interact with other night creatures. “Well, I don’t know what you do at night. Maybe that’s how you keep yourself entertained when you can’t sleep,” He shrugged. “If I’d have said yes,” Simon continued. “What game would it have been?”

Her hand drops from his back the moment they’re out of polite company. Not to get her wrong, she’s all about platonic touch but she didn’t even know Simon that well, and she’d rather not just act like they were together or like they had a connection when they so obviously didn’t yet. 

“Okay, ill give you ten minutes to get lost while i call baby driver over.” she finally concedes. No use in both of them not letting up. They were both stubborn and it was just slightly annoying. “then ill go find you.”

She lets him go, heading straight for the door and walking out into the crisp summer air. The amount of humidity coming off the bay was heightening her annoyance as she pulled out her phone. She could do hot and dry, she could do cold and humid, she rarely had the chance to deal with hot and humid.

dialing up the phone of their driver, she waited as it rang

He stood there in the private overhang watching Mercy go. The time was counting down, but he remained confused with just what she’d wanted him to do. Ultimately, he decided to take a leap of faith and trust his gut instinct. With Mercy waiting for him outside, perhaps there’s less suspicion if he gets lost in a rush to find the toilet and just so happens to stumble in front of the host’s study to observe the security measures. And despite the directions that Mercy had given him, the home is still massive. No one should be surprised if any number of guests were to get lost and stumble across something they shouldn’t.

Perhaps that was to work to the benefit of the hosts they were meant to steal from. Remembering the rights and lefts and hallways and identical door frames made orienting himself all the more difficult. And just as Simon felt himself getting closer to the study, a caterer ( who he assumed to be security in disguise ) appeared and directed him along the right way.

He made it next to Mercy with just a minute to spare.

“It’ll be difficult. Bypassing all that security,” His eyes darted just over her shoulder again, though he made a point now to block out that angry voice - a skill he’d had his entire life to practice and master. “Even when the host is gone, I doubt they’ll leave their home unprotected. His wife is important to him, even if she’s not the brightest. They wouldn’t want her slipping something unintentionally,” He continued to speak in a low voice. “We might want to look into any floorplans this building might have - surely the front door isn’t their only entrance. Especially if they need to make a quick escape.”

He turned to face her more head-on. “And I will tell you what I saw tonight,” Not because he particularly wanted to, but because Mercy made for a decent work partner. “Just not...not tonight,” He hadn’t been shaken up by the strange man’s presence. No, Simon had seen far stranger in his years. “But I need to make sure of a few things first. I’m sure I’m not making much sense, but...you’ll understand once I can tell you,” Or so he hoped, at least.

“Mr.Song.” She said in a blunt manner as she tried to think of a way out of this situation. She was given a mission and she had to see through it- especially if it involved a giant chuck of change that was already deposited into her offshore accounts. Taking in his image, Asphe felt a tug from within her- he was just as handsome as he was the last time they met. The image of his touched branded on her skin- it sickened yet delighted her. She hated after all these years she still yearned for him and that only made her hate him more. He doesn’t deserve her love nor does he deserve to be even thought of but that was hard-he gave her something she’d never regret no matter how much she wanted to slit his throat. 

“My name is Asphe Yue-Song. Code name Styx. And starting from today I will be the specialist in charge of your training as well as weapon and armor manufacturing.” She spoke ignoring his comment. Be professional Asphe. She couldn’t help but think as she tried smile her way through this unwanted encounter. “From this forward on you will address me as Ma’am, Teacher, or Ms.Song. Is that understood.” The women’s sweet tone was replaced by a chilling one as the aura around her changed. The pride of a specialist was a beautiful thing that made them more stronger in terms of will power.

“Now strip. I need your measurements.”

“You’re in charge of what?” A laugh of disbelief escaped his throat. Simon had been made aware of no such thing. No longer an apprentice, he didn’t need someone ( certainly not his ex-wife ) holding his hand through any training. And even if he did, surely it wouldn’t be Asphe.

Asphe, who’d been so small and quiet and meek when they’d first met. Who’d had a brilliant mind and beautiful designs and had, at a time, dazzled Simon. Who’d left the moment he mentioned he wasn’t happy. Who he hadn’t seen for three years. Who wasn’t the sort of person that belonged at the Continental. But it seemed he wouldn’t be getting any answers to his billion questions, so he saw no point in asking further.

“I’m not going to do any of that,” He shook his head. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to see me naked again, Asphe,” He’d said it would be the last time countless times before, but after their very last meeting, he’d truly meant it. “If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not very funny. I’m not going to ask how you got here,” Though he was dying to know. “Or how you’ve been,” Though he still wanted to hear. “Or if you’ve met anyone new,” Because he definitely didn’t care. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for some lowly Apprentice,” Yes, it was true he was still only an Associate, but he hadn’t quite honed in on his skills in gaining intelligence for him to be considered for anything higher. “But you, of all people, are in no way in charge of me.”

Closed for @fledglingthieves

It wasn’t an ordinary night for Garrett. Considering his shitty week with…. he who shall not be named he needed an excuse to drink. Hence him at the baron Chinese new year wearing the uglist red suit he owns. He was two shots in when he saw Simon- the one person whose existence he tolerated. He raised the glass to the arrival. 

“Gong hei fat choy, Sigmond.” He said. “Come join the fun.” 

Truthfully, if Simon had known that night was Chinese New Year, he’d have gone out for drinks another night. He preferred the quiet pubs where he could order chips and watch a bit of television and browse through his phone with only mild disturbances. But it seemed all his usual spots were ripe with celebration - anyone would take an excuse to drink. Something Simon could understand...even if he didn’t enjoy all the noise.

He was on his way out of the bar when he heard Garrett call to him, someone Simon hadn’t recognized at first glance. His eyes shifted toward the door, though he ultimately took a position at Garrett’s side.

“Just one more round,” He promised ( though it wouldn’t be difficult to persuade him stay around for a few more ). “Is it really like this every year?”

     To say the girl often found herself in sticky situations would be quite the downplay on words, Rowan often found herself with the most rotten of lucks and had to utilise her (majorly lacking) quick thinking skills to get herself out. Oftentimes, she managed to simply sneak away from danger using distraction techniques (literally throwing rocks round corners to make noises, she’s actually used that one in the past to varying success.) It just so happened that this time, she had managed to piss off the wrong person, and had ended up on the business end of a revolver. Some dismemberment and burning of evidence later her body had been dumped at a landfill, not the classiest of locations but hey, it can’t be helped.      She awoke, some days later, kicking her way out of the rug she’d been concealed in and stood, a little shaky as she always was after coming back from… wherever it was she went when she died. She patted herself down haphazardly as she stumbled around, gaining her bearings “woah, sweet Mother Mary, almost joined ye up there in the dancin’ paradise Aunt Nancy” she chuckled, squinting up at the rising sun that had barely lifted itself from the baseline of the horizon.      Once settled on her feet, she began searching around in some promising looking boxes (alas, this wasn’t the first time she’d awoken naked in the trash) for some clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans, a childrens t-shirt that rather humiliatingly fit her and a denim jacket that was dangerously close to the shade of jeans. In another box she managed to root out a pair of unbranded sneakers that she slipped on to protect her feet from the carnage below her. She tutted quietly for a second and made an absent comment about fast fashion before heading towards where she hoped an exit would be.      She’d managed to slip out of the landfill pretty easily thankfully, and now simply had to get her bearings as to where she actually was, so she could get back to the hotel to deliver the intel she’d managed to collect from the gang before they’d “dispatched” of her. A swiped wallet or two and a wonderful old lady who gave her directions to the nearest tube station later and she was on her way, she’d tried really hard not to take her watch but the sun caught it so beautifully and now it adorned the girls wrist as she bought an any zone all day ticket and headed down into the underground, where she stood and tried to make sense of the comically difficult to decipher underground map.      “Y’got any clue how t’get to The Continental?” she asked the closest person “I can’t make head nor tails of this map, they should make this thing easier t’read.”

It wasn’t the first time Sara had woken up in the back of an alleyway with a killer headache, unable to tell if the crack in her skull came from kneeling over on the concrete sidewalk or an unfortunate hangover from the night before. Knowing her own habits and her inability to learn from her own mistakes, Sara knew it wouldn’t be the last time she woke up in the back of an alley with a splitting headache.

She stumbled out of the alley. One hand nursed her aching skull, the other held her cracked phone that her eyes had to squint to read any map in her poor attempt at figuring out how to get back home.

With her eyes glued to the harsh light of her broken phone screen, she hadn’t noticed the steps that lead underground, and with a single misstep, Sara fell down half the stairs. It was just not her morning.

Somewhere along her tumble, she’d lost her phone on one of the steps. Now filled with more aches and pains, Sara didn’t have the energy to climb back up and search for it. Instead, she clung to the railing and took one step at a time until, eventually, she safely made it to the bottom, where she sat down on a public bench with no desire of getting up for the next, oh, two to three business days. Or until the world stopped spinning. Whichever came first.

Except it seemed she wouldn’t get her peace on that public bench, not when another woman stood just nearby staring at the map planted on the wall. 

“I’m going to be completely honest with you,” She grumbled. “I don’t even know where I am, let alone a hotel. Just use...use your phone or something like everyone else.”

Wrapped in the warm embrace of the darkness, the soft sounds of metal being melted away as she torched and morphed them into her image. The timid scent of wild berries seem to dance around the weapon factory as the silhouette of a women moved elegantly from station to station as if she was dancing to an unheard song and in some way she was. The women had a unspeakable bond with her creations-well anything non-human honestly. The soft chimes of bells mixed in with the sound of melted down metal being poured into an cast in front of her, the women began to cool down and morph her creation with her powers- her hands moved as if she was a conductor of a orchestra. Her freshly manicured fingers moved in a sultry way as her mix match eyes shined against the darkness and flames with a haunting beauty. As time went on, the women reached her hand into the smoking pot slowly pulling out a set pistols that bared her insignia of a spider lily. Gripping the two guns nicely in her small hands, her eyes lit up with approval before she placed them in a clear box along side matching armor. Stepping back the women eyed the dozen clear cases with different gear and weapons specifically for those the Continental deemed worthy of having personal gear all bought directly from her. They have to be worth it after all- Asphe was an expensive little monster.

Turning around on her bare feet, the women began to make her way towards the final project of the night. Gripping the base of the nearly finished sword that was cooling in the carbon dioxide pool, the small figure pulled it out the as swiftly as she could for such a huge sword. The owner of this sword was nearly 6 foot 5 and taken in his wingspan the sword itself added double hight and width. Placing it gently on a slap of metal, the women placed her finger on the blade where light slowly began to flow from it. Swiftly she began heat up the molecules between her fingers and sword creating a make shift electricity that slowed through the sword. Quickly pulling away she let out a hum of approval at the thought of the metal doing it job- creating and using electricity for it’s user with the same ability. Holding the sword against the light, she caught the reflection of another behind her causing her to gently look over her shoulder. “Pick up or do you have the golden ticket” Asphe spoke in a robotic tone. It seems like the hotel has been giving out her tickets like candy at this point.

Where: Sommelier

Open thread: @moments-momentos​

“Neither,” Jealousy dripped from her lips while Sara eyed the various weapons. The long sword, built for someone far taller than her, still managed to catch her eye, as if pure sunlight reflected off the edge of the blade. Though, after Sara blinked again, she assumed it was a trick of her tired eyes. At this late at night, only artificial lights could shine that bright, and none in the room seemed pointed toward the sword the cause the reflection.

It didn’t matter. her attention had been caught anyway.

At only an apprentice, Sara knew she lacked the authority and reputation to request such a fine, hand-made weapon. And she certainly lacked the funds to afford anything close to that fine craftsmanship. “I’m still allowed to look, aren’t I?” It was almost a challenge for the woman, Asphe, to throw her from the room. Because if she wanted Sara out, she would have to be physically tossed until she’d satisfied her own curiosities and desires. “I can’t promise I won’t touch anything,” Her fingers itched to wrap around the base of a blade, to feel the cool metal against her skin, and the glint from the artificial light, which didn’t look nearly as good as natural light, but it’d have to do for now. “But I won’t take anything out of the room,” She knew she would never make any list for being the brightest ( no, she’d leave the sister she hated for that ), but Sara wasn’t that stupid. “Did you make all of these?”

╰  *  /  OPEN  ╮·

  ——  ❝ whatever you do, don’t throw up. ❞

was it an impulsive move ? sure. was it the only plan they had ? by his logic, it was. dmitri found it debatable on who set off the alarm, but when a swarm of guns and trigger-happy men interrupt a regular tuesday night’s kidnapping; you have to think quickly. swinging the unconscious target over one shoulder, and slithering his arm around his partner’s waist, dmitri focused his eyes in the quickly closing space between soldiers. a high pitch ring echoed through the male’s ears for a fleeting moment, static weighing the air down, and with a deep huff, dmitri pushed through the space.

the heels of his feet stopped the three of them before crashing into anything. his hands instantly moved away from his partner as he gently placed the unconscious target down on a seat. it took a moment of studying his surroundings, but by the old fashioned interior and large cake display, dmitri figured he brought them to the coffee store across the street from the skyscraper they were in moments ago. not exactly a safe house, but safe enough, he’d assume. feeling the all-to familiar tingly sensation in his nose, dmitri’s fingers ghosted over his cupid’s bow and recognised the feeling of blood on his fingertips.  ❝ tea ? ❞  he offered with a raised eyebrow. 

the assassin jumped over the counter, shrugging off his jacket in the process.  ❝ i’d say we change the meeting place to here; text the employer, have a quick cup and then get the fuck out. ❞  he spoke over his shoulder, hands fiddling with the coffee machine as he figured out how to reach the hot water.  ❝ i doubt he’s going to wake up anytime soon, either. ❞  dmitri nodded his head towards their victim. 

“First of all,” Sara huffed the moment Dmitri set her down. Her finger jabbed just an inch from his nose. “Don’t ever fucking pick me up like that again,” Okay, in the long run, Sara logically knew that her short legs couldn’t possibly keep up with someone that much taller than her, but she could walk on her own. If she got left behind, well, it’d just be her own fault.

“Secondly,” She wiped down her slick arms without looking at Dmitri or is bleeding ( and presumably broken ) nose. “That sounds like a shitty idea. We’re just sitting ducks here,” She didn’t want to admit that, between the two of them, they didn’t have enough firepower to keep the amount of soldiers that were after them for very long. She didn’t like the idea of losing.

Sara peered over the counter. “Think we can make the slip through the back?” She asked. “I swear to god, if you turn on that coffee machine for the water to warm up, I’m going to let those soldiers get you myself.”

Glancing down at her black book, Asphe slowly read over the content in latin as she maneuvered to her next assignment. Ever since she stepped foot into this place- she was given excess to test subjects for her weapon manufacturing. Mainly the apprentices  who were training to be specialist. Her job here was to create weapon and gears that enhanced their abilities so that they can take on jobs to easy for the specialist but too difficult for for apprentices to handle on their own. With a soft hum, the women read the profile of the lucky person to get a custom made set from the river of souls herself. Pausing at the door, the women heard an too familiar voice speak loudly causing her to snap her eyes tiredly at the metal door. So many thoughts were running through her mind. If it was who she thought it was- Asphe was gonna give the higher ups one hell of a lecturing but it couldn’t be. He wasn’t like her, a cold blooded killer- a villain. When the women stepped into the room- her mix match eyes slightly widen at the man in front of her. Running her slender hand through her raven curls, the women plump lips formed a professional smile as her eyes glared murderously at him. The way he spoke to her almost made it seem like he didn’t realize who she was. I mean how could he- she wasn’t how he would remembered her. Her elegantly pinned back hair cascaded in seductive curls, her gentle eyes that held love and adoration for him was now hollow and murderous, her brightly colored dresses were now switch to form fitting attire that showed off her killer figure and seductive legs-the women soft skin was now replaced with ink that covered her hands, arms, and chest. She was the complete opposite from who she was.

“I’d never thought you’d say such words to me.” The women spoke in a sickly sweet tone as she held clenched her hands tightly to keep herself from sneaking a punch on him. “Húndàn” She said in her native tongue before she opened his file again as a way to calm herself. 

He should’ve been more careful with who he spoke to. More observant in their appearances - because if he had been, he could have avoided the situation entirely, pretended he hadn’t seen the woman with her small black book sitting alone, and gone about his business as he normally had.

But he’d been desperate to get out of an unpleasant conversation and wound up in an even worse one because of it as he stood there, face-to-face, with the woman who was undeniably his ex-wife. He hadn’t noticed Asphe at first - the brightness in her eyes had vanished, the flowing dresses had disappeared, and her skin now revealed patterns that Simon knew, for a fact, hadn’t been there before. She still had those same curls he remembered. And her face...while so much of it had changed, with a second glance, and her reaction to seeing him again, proved to be true.

“I...” I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you, but, of course, Simon couldn’t say that to the ex-wife he hadn’t seen in three years. The person he’d once loved, then lost, then resented. In all honesty, he tried not to think of Asphe on a regular basis for those reasons alone.  “...I never expected to see you here,” She’d seemed timid and quiet when they first met and while she had changed over the years he’d known her...a stone faced criminal? He would never guess Asphe to be the type.

Then again, back when they were married, he hadn’t exactly been the most truthful regarding his own illegal activities.

“I uh...guess I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets to myself.”