#agnes.

[After flipping through it he remembers. Bianca’s Diary…which used to be Maria Di Angelo’s note-taking booklet before they’d ended up at the hotel. Finances and random notes. Most of it mom’s. He flipped until he found a few sentences of when Bianca had written in the book trying not to get bored]

como la tarea de ambos era la misma, killian ni siquiera pensó en dejarle la oportunidad de sacar la carta. aún si no era su pareja asignada para hacer aquel trabajo, eran compañeros de todas formas; qué importaba quién encontrara qué. tras obtener el sobre, lo elevó para que una de las luces de la calle iluminara su contenido. parecía que había un billete en su interior. ‘ si es más de cincuenta dólares, dejaré que seas tú quien se lo dé a damian ’ porque si era menos, le gustaría ver qué cara ponía tras ver que les había hecho trabajar esa noche por monedas. ‘ sea lo que sea, habría que invertirlo en comida y reponerlo después. ¿no tienes hambre? ’

AGNES KWON ― b. 1 de enero de 1992, treintaitrés. escorpio. londinense. pintora y curadora de arte en un museo local. atrapada en el mismo año. dueña de gauguin.

"i'm just someone's weird coworker' @agnesisolda @conanindebt @rancorasael

his question comes expected but she stiffens regardless, gauging his intentions, reluctant to show her hand, though she's certain nothing coming from her will be surprising. ‘everything i knew, gertrude knew as well.’ startling blue eyes look down to inspect her drink, still scalding despite sitting on their table for close to twenty minutes. agnes absently stirs it with a metal spoon. ‘i happen to think you know more about me than i'd like you to.’ she looks up at him, blinks, and continues to try and read his face. he has an interesting one, agnes thinks; both young and old, marred by experience. she wonders, idly, what he thinks of hers. ‘but i know very little of you, it seems. other than your association to the eye.’ a shrug punctuates her words and she lifts her cup to take a sip, feeling the boiling liquid make its way down her throat. the avatar of the desolation sets her drink down and rests her chin on the palm of an upturned hand. ‘i'm not certain about insights, but if you have anything specific to ask... i'll see what i can do.’