hotshot.

“Alright you two, break it off,” Oz exclaimed over the loud music, his hands grabbed the two patrons that had been ready to claw at each other’s faces and pushing them away. He put himself in the middle, the smile on his face never left as his head went back and forth between the two unruly folks. Though the pointed look was sending one clear message– don’t fucking try me right now. “If you guys are looking to maiming each other, I heard the alley a few blocks down is an excellent place. But not on my dance floor, please.” 

Petulant protests were bit back at the look shot at her. If there was one thing she was good at, it was learning to keep her mouth shut. “Thanks,” she swiped her cheek, tender from the altercation, with the back of her wrist, wondering if a bruise would appear there. “I’d rather stay then go, though. If it s’all right with you.” 

His musing didn’t feel entirely aimed at her, but she answered him anyway, pausing to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess when people are tense, they go out looking to start something,” she reasoned. “Not sure there’s anything either of us can do anything about that.” 

@nadiris-ex​​

There had been a time where stalking through the night had been fun for Sen — not that it was entirely without merit now — and afterwards they’d go home and indulge in a few cupcakes; a reward for a job well-done. Now the eating came during the hunting and the cupcakes tasted like ash in their mouth (perhaps not literally but they missed them oh so very much.)

Sen would love nothing more than to hunt outside town, but things were a bit difficult in that regard now, and even as they finished their — ahem — meal, running a thumb across the corner of their mouth to clean themselves and right everything, they knew that they had very little time before things got tense.

It was no more than five minutes later that their backpack was slung across their back and the gas mask tucked inside, their hair a bit mussed but they looked no worse for the wear. The jacket across their shoulders was tugged tight, and today they felt a bit lost in their own skin but wandered down the dimly lit street with a satisfied stomach and satiated need for violence. A moment’s pause as they heard a noise behind them, turning their attention over their shoulder with the hood of their jacket pulled deep across their brow.

“It’s not nice to stalk people.”

She didn’t seek it out, but all of her life, it was as though she was a magnet for it. Disharmony seemed to cling to her, like smoke to a cotton jacket ( not that she had ever owned a cotton jacket. Things like cotton jackets were reserved for a completely different sort of person to Scout Munroe ). 

It would have been easy to blame the more ghoulish side of herself on her penchant for running into problems, but it had been a habit of hers for as long as she could remember. If there was something shady going down, she would find herself directly in the centre of it. 

With the NCS, though, for the first time in her life, trouble was allowed. Encouraged, even. And that was why, more than anywhere else, it had become something like home. 

It was a night like most. Scout was practically nocturnal by now, but she had never been a morning person to begin with. She came alive at night, and that’s what made her current calling such a good fit for her. 

The corners of her mouth quirked as the other called out. She hadn’t been stalking, per say - she wanted her presence known. Sometimes, that was all that was needed. 

“I don’t want any trouble,” she began, her voice ringing with the irony. “Out for a late night stroll?”