#casualkillers

the aftertaste of a mission is often fleeting, tar against the tip of his tongue. the stench of iron, despite the distance, still wafted, lingering like dangling emotions. and it is not the case. feelings would be that absent variable to all this; it was not like he had to clatter his teeth, killing the innocents once again. in fact, today’s event unfolded exactly just as envisioned, except for the fact that he had to step on a toe. not a big deal either, he’s executed the entire ‘treading into someone else’s territory’ far more often than what he can count. still, perhaps it’s the mundane, humane part of him, limping with guilt. he has sutured it shut, that entirety, yet it seems that the filament grows thinner and thinner.

and when he spills, it is never gentle, so he forces it close once again as he’s seated in the crook of this hotel bar. again. somewhere those of his kind gather, it assuages the knot in his guts. tells himself all over again, as he tilts his head up, lips to the mouth of the glass: it’s just what he needs to do. a job, nothing else and nothing more. the consistency maintained doesn’t come without a price. it unearths something unsettling that he’ll have to confront, eventually, and when it happens, it won’t be pretty. aware of that. he’s always noted it: beware of the beasts. turns out he’s not chewed from the skin inwards, but from the marrow outwards. their incisors sunken deep, and he welcomes them home.

David snorts so hard it hurts the back of his throat and his face scrunches up. “Funny you say that because…” they keep popping up when he’s on the job (both jobs, to be exact which at first spooked David and it takes a lot to spook him, he will never admit to growing to admire their determination because… yeah, no. They are a nuisance and nuisances don’t deserve props.) “I don’t really feel woo’ed or whatever.” If anything, his heart kicks up a notch or so in case he’s got to bolt off – in order to keep it. “Have you always conducted business this way or are you trying to wear me down? My heart isn’t for sale.”

“Really?” Aramis pouted, “cuz I was really trying hard on that one.” He flipped his hair over his shoulder and propped themselves up to get a better look at David, he smiled leering in that small achievement. “Got you to laugh though - didn't I?” Aramis hopped off the table and walked to him so casually someone would of mistaken them as friends meeting in the night. The park was empty only thing that accompanied them were the barren streets and the looming florescent lights coming from the streets. Aramis knew they used this route to get home or to base or wherever he liked to bury himself and disappear. This, was her best work in surveillance honestly David wasn’t an easy guy to catch off guard. 

“You know I don’t need to buy your heart to have it.” He smirked and walked closer giving just enough space to respect his boundaries- he didn't come to fight him just yet. “It’s been mine since payments stopped. Legally and all.... isn’t that funny? Anyway I’d give you the chance to say your goodbyes and shit but we have an hour or three before I carve that thing out of your chest.” Aramis yawned, “What do you like to eat? Lets get dinner.” 

Could anyone really be blamed for another person's perspective of them? 

Jongin knew there was some fault in it for everyone but ultimately he couldn't be blamed for what assumptions people would make of him. It's why these things are so sad. They expect successful, happy, and heroic people around them when so many are just broken or lost or just as uncertain. His head tilts, "Did they think wrong?" He asks. If he were in the other's shoes he would say absolutely. Jongin was no hero. A coward who ran from his family and lost his dreams. The idea anyone might see him as such left a nasty taste in his mouth. 

It was sour, it was disappointing.

francis is irritated. his head feels heavy and he can feel his heartbeat thump against his skull.the buzzing lights become blurry and all he can do is open his mouth and close it, again and again, but something steals the air from his lungs.

“would you just shut your mouth?”, his voice comes out a howl eventually. francis would clench his teeth if it had not made his headache even worse.

it is an inwrought sense of doom that has turned him that way: all angry and anxious. tonight, he does not feel like he needs david’s company. tonight, he’d rather sit here in this filthy place and hope his bacardi isn’t adulterated. after all, he doesn’t trust plebeian bars like this one. They leave him anxious for days, and angry at everyone who takes him there.

POETRY STARTER