#br4dical

SHIT. this is the guy. the power-copying guy, the one that mani explicitly warned themselves against getting to know, or being in the vicinity of, and what they SHOULD do is walk right past him like they hadn't seen him at all. but mani is not, contrary to popular belief⸺ all brusque demeanor and rolling eyes⸺ A DICK.

they don't know the intricacies of how his ability works, but they can hedge a few guesses and just try to avoid them all together. physical touch? straight out the fucking window, not that they indulged in that sort of thing anyways. showing off their abilities? EASY. they really only throw it around when they're actively working on a project, anyways. the last criteria they need to meet is acting relatively normal. they can manage that, probably. there're two steaming sdn-branded mugs in each of their hands and mani extends one towards him. it was initially meant for royd, but they intend to slip away from this conversation as painlessly as possible. the dude is build like a fucking skyscraper and blocking the door they're trying to get through.

@br4dical sent / sender falls asleep leaning against receiver.

brad's head is an inconsequential weight while her attention is divided⸺ she's gotten into a particularly JUICY excerpt of one of the book she's been reading and the television is playing some news program in the background. one she assumes he is watching while she soaks in the words on her pages, a non-committal HUM rising in her throat when she feels the familiar tickle of hair against her jaw.

jane doesn't push him away, instead reaching up to play absently with the fine hairs gathered at the base of his skull. she isn't entirely sure how much time passes before HER EYES TIRE, one-handedly slapping her book shut and going to chastise brad for making her arm fall asleep when she realizes.

" oh, " she says to no one in particular, and sees his face soft with sleep. she brushes his bangs from his forehead, and something devastatingly FOND cracks through her expression, " brad? brad, honey, we should head to bed. you're going to get a HELL of a crick in your neck, sleeping like that. "

@br4dical says / " i can't just sit here and watch you get hurt. "

she regards him with a considering tilt of her head, and perhaps it finally occurs to her that there is a VERSION of herself that only she herself sees⸺ an untouchable mercenary, immune to the inconsequentiality of danger. she encounters it on a day by day basis. what makes today any different? but brad stands here, earnest and concerned, and perhaps that breaks through some of the chinks in her carefully constructed armor. her invincibility as a concept is flawed⸺ bullets and blades CAN and will break her skin, she can burn as well as any flesh body, and she sees herself marred with bruises at the end of every week and feels⸺

pride? in what she's accomplished. OR SOMETHING CLOSE.

" you've already overworked yourself, " she says, and takes one of his hands in her own. her eyes drift downwards, focusing on where they are joined, and she consolingly strokes a thumb across the bumps of his knuckles, " try copying me and i'll kill you myself. " the threat maybe be empty, but the venomous WARNING in her tone is not. the gunfire behind her gets louder, more pronounced.

she's wasted too much time standing there. the warehouse windows are flickering with telling light. she impulsively brings their hands up and kisses the back of his.

" ⸺wait for me here. I'LL BE BACK. i promise. "

he's not willing to hide a body......... but he can and will pretend not to see nor know about the body in question

@br4dical says / ❝ you need to rest, you don’t have to do it all today. ❞ [ he'd forgive her for her crimes i'm just sayin ]

work has been . . . TRYING, as of late.

she's getting back into the swing of things still, wrong-footed, toeing a fine, invisible line that somehow is determinent of her circumstances, her success. she's been going twice as hard the last few days, and RIGHT NOW she's resting in between missions in the torrance branch's primary breakroom. she's sitting with her leg extended out from her, rubbing tight, methodical circles into the knob of her knee where she feels her PFPS rising with a vengeance.

the pain gathers at the base of her kneecap, radiating downwards through the length of her shin. she has to GRIT her teeth against any shaky breaths, pressing the ball of her thumb insistently to her patella knowing that her break period is rapidly dwindling. she's so focused on trying to relieve even a sliver of the pain that brad's voice makes her shoulders JUMP.

she looks at him. blinks. it's been a great deal of time since she's tunnel visioned so badly⸺ the realization makes something in her stomach SINK.

" . . . resting would put my team down a man, " she says with a narrowing gaze, " why, pray tell, would i do that? "