PACEM / PARA BELLUM

“don’t ask. please.” he’s stitching himself up on the edge of the bathtub, still half dressed in his black suit. the doctor had been busy, and the wound couldn’t wait. john looks up at helen and looks almost apologetic. he hates bringing this into the house.

“what are you looking at me like that for?” is it the blood on his cheek? it’s probably the blood on his cheek.

john may not exactly be the most social man walking the earth, but he’s certainly not been living under a rock. he’s heard of tony stark. he’s never expected to run into him here while visiting a contact in afghanistan. “mr. stark.” he says after a moment. at the very least, john thinks he should warn him of the firefight that is to come between himself and the target he’s tailing. “perhaps it would be best for you to leave.”

( @soughtvengeance)

Amelia didn’t expect any less. In fact, honestly, she was just surprised she actually did find the legendary ‘Baba Yaga’. So, he did exist. As much as the Winter Soldier was considered a ‘ghost story’, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had doubts about this assassin’s existence.

She was silent for a moment as she sat down on the stool, staring down at her hands, folding them to keep herself from fidgeting before she looked over at the man beside her.

“I am not here for the reason you think I am,” she began. The bartender approached her, and she ordered gin with lemon, returning her attention to the assassin. “You are Mr. Wick, aren’t you?” Amelia asked him, her hands wrapped around her glass, her voice quiet, an indiscernible expression on her face.

“…The one they call ‘Baba Yaga’?” she continued, her voice dropping lower.

to his credit, john does finally look up. though he’s rather surprised, it only flashes in his eyes for a moment before his expression returns to that of stony indifference. “that depends who’s asking.” she’s not continental. if she was, she wouldn’t be asking him who he was. she’d know. 

“excuse me-” john calls to the woman who’s just passed him and speeds up his pace to catch up to her. his dog tails at his heels, always eager to meet new people. “miss, you dropped your room key.” he extends his hand, a white key card with the continental logo etched into it resting in his palm. 

                             there’s no frills here; no garcons, no menus, no waiters, no codes of talk. when you got past the doorway you entered a shop that went unnamed, unrecognized. it was known simply the den. eyes glance upward for only a moment and the man before her needs know introduction. she doesn’t stand, doesn’t leave her workbench.  ❛  obviously,  ❜  there are few other reasons someone would stop here, and coming to her court with a mission to kill her was a big mistake.  her head nods at the words.  ❛  i  appreciate  the  praise,  but  i  like  for  my  guns  to  speak  for  me.  test  one  out,  don’t  worry.  no  one’s  gonna  hear  you.  ❜

“i was told you’re the one to see about a gun.” john raises an eyebrow. this doesn’t seem like the kind of establishment that would be in the continental’s repertoire, but he trusts winston and his judgement. “an associate of mine said you’re the best of the best.”