hand drawn

Naimh:

She is Irish, from Cork.

Her art style is lovely based on the art style of Song of the Sea

She's also based on a dramatic, coming-of-age story, loss of parents, trying to navigate new areas, fighting systems etc.

She does camogie, and us strongly against wearing skorts for it (if you don't get it look up camogie skorts it'll explain it.)

She's 15 and is far more mature than S.B.

Niamh was also inspired by the tragedy mask

S.B.:

No one knows where she was born, no parents, no brith certificate, just some lab reports that started at the age of 10.

She's 12 and a half.

She used to be a part of a travelling circus, where she was a clown and acrobat.

Her arms and legs, robotic retractable prosthetic limbs, were self-made.

She is based on the sci-fi genre, specifically comedic sci-fi.

Her art style is loosely based on dogs in space.

She is also based on the comedy mask

Thier business:

They run their own business, called Secrets Kept.

They take and sell secrets, black mail material and identities for thousands, each having a file, from high school students to CEO's, they have dirt on them.

S.B. stores all the info, makes the databases, makes them into sites for more information on hits, setting up and putting in data to all necessary files.

Niamh get all the physical evidence, contracts, photos, and recordings.

They are based in a run-down secondary school, plenty of rooms to get verbal information in exchange for secrets.

To get information you either have to have information that is as powerful as the information you want, or you have to pay them.

They have contracts that only allow the person the use the information how they told Niamh they were going to use it eg blackmail on an ex-partner.

This is how they got tangled with the city's underground, handing off money or information to anyone who pays.

This makes Niamh extra careful around everyone, especially with S.B, as she is incredibly friendly.

"What are we looking for?" Roundabout humming into communicator, he knew excatly what they were doing, and Mealstrom knew it was purely to hear him sepak.

He had to admit the communicator was impressive. One that Dr. Bellum had eagerly modified for him and Gunnar's first mission after their graduation caper. It was clean and thinner than most, having a built-in stun gun, one she wished to improve on, and a small clip, one that would immediately alert his fellow operatives if pulled.

One he believed he had no need of as he could get himself out of any situation.

"The painting. Over stairwell. On the third floor." Gunnar replied, Nigel could faintly hear his footsteps, light and calm despite this place teeming with randoms and drunkards. The violent types.

"Ah, over the stairwell. Simple truly? Then in the common room and lastly in the parlour." Roundabout murmured. "Thank you, Casper." He teased. "Roundabout." It wasn't shouted or even annoyed, it was calm with a small hum... in that velvet voice that made him melt. "Right, apologies, Mealstrom." The hum Nigel got in return made him chuckle as he hung up.

He made his way through the halls and found the stairwell. But a sharp crack had made itself known, the gunfire spat out of the dark. He ran but a bullet planted itself in his abdomen. Hr found a large, cluttered room and hid.

Roundabout looked forward, sure the threat was long gone, but his abdomen remembered him. The blood seeped into his suit. "Lovely." He managed, grasping his umbrella, his sword being shielded from prying eyes within the handle. The wound made itself painfully clear.

...

As did footsteps.

Heavy and fast, unlike his fellow operatives. He knew one thing, he wasn't going to let himself be killed in some dilapidated home, one that was once full of people, now only a house to riches and artefacts.

An unlikely grave in the middle of nowhere. And he'd see to it that it wouldn't be his.

He tugged at his umbrella, trying to stay upright and quiet, removing its blade for a short-handled gun. The shadow, tall and square, stormed into the room. Roundabout dampened his breathes and listened.

"WHERE ARE YOU!" The voice boomed, ragged like a smoker. The sound of crumbling wall clearly showed instability, for once he found himself wishing it was Coach Brunt's abrupt rage.

A stomp, another second closer.

Roundabout looked at the shadows. They showed him so much and gave away so little. He held his gun near. Ready for the attack. One shot. That's all he had.

"Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT!" Another striking thump of a foot. Nigel let his brows frown. Concentration and small sense... of helplessness... one of which he swiftly pushed away.

He glanced at his communicator. Left with so few options, the small clip was expertly made but the doctor made him think. A single pull would alert another operative, he only hoped that no one else was in a situation like his.

As another thud of a step rang out in the room he pulled it. Unsure if it actually worked.

He rested his head against the wall as the shadow crept closer and closer, his abdomen screeching in agony as he forced himself upright.

With a slam the door flew open, Nigel shut his eyes and prayed it was an operative or even law enforcement at this stage, as a single gunshot rang from the entrance, rattling the entire room. The shadow collapsed.

The uniform made it clear who it was. "Pig." Nigel huffed under his breath. "Dirty fucking pig."

The new footsteps that spoke to the room were light and quick. "Gunnar." Nigel managed out as the pain from his wound intensified as his adrenaline ran short.

"I-I'm over here." He called. The footsteps quickened and in no time Gunnar was right in front of Nigel, helping him to the floor. Gunnar's cold hand deftly began work, removing his coat and shirt, Nigel chuckled. "Take me to dinner first." He joked, earning a glare from Gunnar, making him smile underneath his annoyance. "Din idiot mann." Gunnar huffed plainly taking out some iodine from the small first aid kit. "I wasn't idiotic, Gunnar. That man was manic." Nigel sighed rolling his eyes.

He shut the tightly and winced as the bitter liquid trailed into his wound, gripping his discarded shirt. "Slappe av," Gunnar replied, his hand rubbing Nigels' waist, making the tanned man blush. "Right," Nigel whispered shutting his eyes as his wound was disinfected, cleaned and wrapped. "Thank you, Casper." Nigel smiled, Gunnar groaned at the nickname and hosted him up. "I should've left you for dead." He spoke, low and gravelly, his mouth inches from Nigel's ear. He blushed and choked on the air. "Gunnar, goodness, if you got any closer I'd think you liked me-mhp..." He was proved correct as Mealstrom's lips met his.

It was sweet and calm...Nigel's eyes fluttered shut as he rested a hand on Gunnar's cheek and kissed him further, which was swiftly reciprocated as Gunnar tugged him harshly, making him fall forward and kiss him rougher. Nigel separated from Gunnar for a moment. "Gu-ngh!" He was tugged back into a kiss once more.

Their lungs burned like lime and they separated for air, leaving Nigel breathless in more than one way. "Does that answer your questions?" Gunnar gave a cocky strike and hooked his arm under Nigels, unessasary but much appreciated.

"I suppose we owe Dr. Bellum a thank you."

"You owe her an apology, Nigel."

"Hush!"

Ok so another headcanon of mine is that Nigel only started using a cane as he got older, instead of using an umbrella to conceal his sword in his younger years.

Also *Slappe av means *relax*