#code.starter

He suspected he should get used to this, or should’ve already gotten used to it. Put too many minds in a single room for a single mission, and whatever ground work you’ve done, it’s all being torn to shreds until what is left only barely resembles what you started. Soon as a break is called, Kawi left the table in a hurry, wandering outside once more, seeking an open space, a look at a world far less single minded, as if from a standpoint, his vision searching the city, he could find chaos in the stillness. Chaos he knew he could not control and he would never seek to control either. 

He turned his head to watch the person who had followed him out. A nod in acknowledgement, but no further words offered. He did, however, extend a package of cigarettes, you never knew.

West is a hot mess after the mission, both physically and mentally. Pretending to be rich and snooty for most of the night is a huge buzzkill, and any vestiges of a good mood are torpedoed by his conversation on the ride home. The first thing West does when they get back to the warehouse is slip out of the ruined suit. A sigh of relief escapes his lips when he loosens the last bit of the half-Windsor and unbuttons the top two buttons at his throat and neck. He carefully unties the silk scarf from around his arm, careful to keep it separated from his items. Once he gets back home, he’ll figure out where it came from and mail Jack a new one. After he shrugs out of the suit jacket and long sleeved shirt, he has space to assess the damage.

The cut is small. A small trail of blood sluggishly wraps down his arm and to his wrist, and West mops it up with his already destroyed shirt. His stomach growls, a firm reminder that he did not eat this evening because the food was actually awful. Using the sleeve of his shirt as compression, West wanders into the dining area of the warehouse, hoping to find enough to make something. He keeps a small, portable first aid kit tucked under his good arm as he moseys through the empty hallway. Most of the agents have retired to their rooms and West enjoys the quiet.

Not even five minutes later, after multiple failed attempts to open a jar of peanut butter with one hand, West has a classic PB&J on bread hanging from his mouth and a needle poised against his arm when another agent walks in. He looks up, head snapping towards the door as a majority of the sandwich falls to the counter from his bite.

Hamlet’s mind tended to wander as his thoughts pulled him from reality. This was his 4th beer and going on his second shot of tequila. He paid with one of his visa cards that he deposited money on and would toss after exiting the country. The bartender would occasionally try to make small talk with him, but Hamlet would respond with one-liners in hopes of being left alone. The bar wasn’t crowded, just as he wanted, and he’d been able to drown out the sounds of others around him with whatever shitty bar music was blaring over the loudspeaker. After he finished his beer, he quickly ordered another round for himself along with another shit of tequila. Hamlet swallowed the tequila like it was nothing, as the ‘nasty taste’ people often described was no longer a problem for him. He could finally feel the familiar head buzz coming on, taking a deep breath at the soothing feeling beginning to rush over his body and ease at his mind. That’s when Hamlet noticed the familiar face standing next to him, an immediate chuckle following the realization. “Sorry, my boyfriend is in the bathroom but he’ll be out soon. If you’re looking for someone, the bartender has been trying to talk my ear off. I’m sure you’ll get along quite nicely.” Hamlet teased before taking a giant swig of his beer. “What brings you here? Kinda random, don’t ya think?”

She couldn’t possibly forget about what had happened. With agent Hathaway gone much had to be investigated and documented, none of which Hades really approved of. To have ones mission fail feels humiliating to say the least -- and Hades didn’t approve of being seen more than usual.  To be questioned and asked about any involvements - not to mention the possibility of being next or have her son be next. Which is why she barely had any time to relax. Her mind, running with possibilities and wrath, practically demanded her to pull the trigger every day of every week just to get her mind off things. With one of Pantheon’s shooting ranges located in the beautiful Marrakesh, Hades escaped those eager to find out more. With herself struggling to keep her wrath in check not much could be done with her and finding out more. Being reminded was just another stab, another reminder of failure and a possibility of death having to face death herself. A tragedy, really.

The paper targets were already thoroughly damaged by the time Hades felt something move behind her. Intuition, perhaps, maybe it was due to the way her right heel witnessed the tiniest bit of vibration. Not moving at first, the Oracle kept on shooting, until...

location — capri

status — for @kingofsaints

There was no woe to be found in Evren’s gaze, not a single thought of remorse or despair for the relationships that had been fractured or the life that had been lost. The Black Diamonds would recover, as would those who had tethered their heart to Agent Hathaway’s — and they would be all the stronger for it. As the world was wont to do, it would continue twirling on its axis, heedless of the grief, suffering, and ache that teemed upon it. Being wonderfully self-aware as they were, they understood that not all were likely to recover as quickly, so, in an effort to ensure that her kingdom remained stable upon its foundation, it became her self-appointed duty to ensure that her comrades would come out for the better. 

Which was how she found herself standing in front of the desk of the Hotel Caesar Augustus, sunglasses perched upon the bridge of her nose, arm daintily tucked into the crook of Malthe’s. Their gaze lingers on the profile of the man beside her, lips pressing together in an uncharacteristic frown of concern. It felt odd, like exercising unfamiliar muscles, but he gave her reason for it, did he not?

He looked weary. He looked worn.

Had God looked like that after watching Cain bludgeon Abel? Watching your family butcher one another, though entertaining, can be exhausting for those who find it difficult to be amused by such barbarianism. In the back of their mind, they toyed with the idea of making Kraken suffer — a nail from their hand for every second that their little charade caused Malthe to suffer. 

“I booked the Master Suite for you,” they say, gently nudging his side with their elbow. They rose to their toes, blessing him with a peck on his cheek. “Perk up a bit, why don’t you? You adore Capri.”

location: pompeii, italy

IT FELT LIKE YEARS SINCE WAYLON’S LAST FIELD MISSION. after his accident, he was assigned less field work and more behind the scenes kind. he didn’t mind it at first, spending his time behind a computer screen searching for information to make missions run smoothly, but soon he felt restless. anxiety flooded through his veins, afraid the pantheon thought he was useless now — more of a chore than an agent. then after hathaway’s death, he wondered if they would ever let him on the field again in case, god forbid, any other accidents happened and he wasn’t able to help himself, let alone his team. 

being invited to pompeii was like a breath of fresh air. he felt wanted — needed — by his peers, and it made him burst with happiness. still, a cloud of guilt hung over him, the devil on his shoulder whispering into his ear, reminding him of kraken’s betrayal. of hathaway’s murder. of how he should have seen in coming — should have known somehow. deep down, he knew he was not to blame, but it didn’t stop him from wondering there was something he could have done to change the outcome. 

location — lisbon, portugal

status — for @zaidhearn​

Why they expected better from him, they weren’t entirely sure. After all the time that they had spent together, Evren had mistakenly assumed that a creature that was the pinnacle of perfection, such as she, ought to be given more than a happy birthday text paired with a Zaid-approved dick pic. Zaid, as always, had lived up to his rather disappointing expectations, so the princess of the Pantheon had decided that it was time for him to make his reparations. So, she had hopped on a plane, made her way to Lisbon, and stood before the door of the room that she had tracked him to. 

They looked at their nails, lazily kicking at the door in lieu of a polite knock. If God favored her, then Zaid would have a hangover, which would make the racket she was causing all the more excruciating for him to endure. For a half-second, she considered turning on her phones flashlight to shine in his face  — but before she could, the door was swinging open, and she was stepping gracefully through the threshold, flicking their hair over their shoulder for good measure. 

“Are you here, all by your lonesome?” They laugh, eyes glancing about the room, fingers slipping into Zaid’s to tug him along. Familiar, rough, and warm. Just as she expected. Just as she’d hoped. “I thought you might have done better, Z. Shacked up with someone. Might be difficult to do, though, considering your personality.”

location — cardiff, wales

status — for @ferrantedominic​

    Should one ask Evren what their favorite room was in Cardiff Castle ( a title granted to the home-base by the princess of Pantheon themself ), they would happily state that it was their own room. They were tucked away in the basement free to decorate and design things as ostentatiously and eccentrically as they wanted. Their second favorite room, however, was Dom’s. Not because they thought it was anything special, but because of the person who dwelled in it, the person who had taken the time to carve out space within their life, to carefully tease at the dilapidated strings of Evren’s heart and take them for his own. 

    There are times that she couldn’t help but curse his selflessness  — if he were less so, then they would gladly allow him to be far greedier with their decaying heart. She still had yet to give up the hope that he would one day sink his teeth into something  — or someone  — and learn to relish the taste of the blood that spilled with it. But, truthfully, Evren had enough of a bite to ensure that he would never have to. 

    And for this act of kindness, they regularly raided his closet, donning whatever comfortable clothes that catch their eye. The thievery, though, was often compensated by the food that she brought to him. With a blanket tucked under one arm, and a basket hanging from the other, she strode into his room, eyes sparkling merrily. Want to join me for a picnic? she signs, color staining her cheeks, the pink hues serving as rather incriminating evidence of their vulnerability. For reasons that she did care to dwell on, acts of kindness concerning Dom always had a way of making her feel untethered, as though they were rather frayed. The smile on his face, though, was often worth it.