#bulletmailed

was it the worst audition she’s ever had?   no.   but she’s had plenty of shitty ones, and rejection still stings no matter how severe it may be.   she’s upset, undeniably so, and she shouldn’t be surprised when her phone starts buzzing while she’s trying to bury herself into the script that gene had given her the day before. the one thing she’s good at. the place where she’s the best and there isn’t a challenge to that claim. she doesn’t need anything else ---- except she really, really does, and something in her chest aches at the thought that this is all she’s going to do with the rest of her life. she’s never going to get out there, is she?  fuck!   she’s pressing the green button, and hank is already talking, loud and animated, on the other line.     “i-- i don’t want to talk about it,”     she’s trying to cut him off. trying to diffuse his excitement because there’s nothing to be excited about.     “i didn’t get it.”

     he looked at the burned coat in front of him and frowned. that was the second coat he’s gone through this month and he really liked that one too--but he knew that he had to throw it out, there was no use of it anymore and he’d rather not be linked to an arson case down the road because of it. 

Hank, loading gun: aight lets make it a reality

Lounging along the countertop, Hector’s eyes dart across the man’s frame once, twice, and THREE times before raising back up to his face. Not sure what to think, he stays put, expression sort of blank but CURIOUS over the other.

He looked ALMOST familiar.

“Just a guess, honestly. You look like you OWN the place.” Chin rests in his palm, Hector barely bats an eye when the bartender places his drink beside him on said counter.

Barry isn't really sure what to do when Hank practically tackles him. It's not an actual tackle, he can differentiate that much, but his ingrained response is still to freeze in place, every muscle tensed as if expecting something completely different.