#**tt

@maneokamon

it’s not a process she’s proud of. she’s here, in the bookkeeping offices (gross), greasing the palms of a fellow gang-member because she needs a favor. they both know it — or at least, it’s painfully obvious to bee, considering how awkward she is during every conversation with suriya — and the latter is stringing her along to watch her squirm, she fucking swears it. granted, it’s not like it’s much of a loss on her part; her “bribes” thus far have consisted of a large tea, a muffin and another drink, then a “leftover” half-dozen of donuts, when she just happened to be in this part of the building. now, it’s storebought cookies in a tupperware (bought just for this occasion!) to make them look homemade. 

fucking christ. she’s disappointed in herself. but suriya is extremely skilled, everyone knows it, and bee insists this’ll be the time. no more faltering. she was going to ask for a favor. 

@maneokiha​

while it wasn't something bee had set out to do, she’d taken it upon herself to collect fae. if she didn’t have family, she’d find it. her fae family had an eerie amount in common thus far: perhaps one could call it research. medical inquiry. to see if all fae were fated to the same lonely end. 

someone should look into it, at least. so bee, pink tresses piled atop her head in a hasty clip, nursing a coffee at the yin&yang, attempting to journal, apparently took that task upon herself, in this very moment. because she, connoisseur of pink hair, spotted someone hesitating at the menu with the most wonderfully pastel hair, and she was up and darting over in a moment. when she slid up next to the other, it was with a trained, casual expression and crossed arms. 

@maneoruby​

record scratch. freeze frame. yeah, that’s me. so, you’re probably wondering how i got myself into this situation. well... 

it started by accident. she swears! yeah, yeah, that’s every thief’s excuse, but who in their right mind would purposefully steal from their own gang’s assassin? 

she’d walked off with ruby’s phone. they were both at the siren, bee was a couple deep, ruby’s was the same model. bee slept on a cot in the infirmary: no need to call a lyft, or stare listlessly at twitter until she was able to fall asleep. it wasn’t until the next morning and asked someone who’s phone it was that, dun dun, she realized. danger. girl, you in danger. the phone returned to ruby that morning, through channels bee did not care to inquire more details about. 

things were fine for awhile. bee opened her windows again. but that was just what ruby wanted. oh ho, the fool she’d been played. 

@maneoxmeiling

you’d think — truly, you would — that bee, past her six-month mark with amaranthine, would’ve learned professionalism with her pretty co-workers. or that she would’ve learned to expect having pretty co-workers at all. and yet, when blossom floats into her infirmary with bee’s latest delivery of opiates and anesthetics, all sense of decorum bee may have ever possessed flees.