#coinsurgery

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        It hurt to smile with a split lip and a black eye, but it’s the only thing he can really offer the doctor when she asks for an explanation. What was he going to say? For once, it wasn’t his mouthiness that had gotten him ganged up on and pulverized- actually, he didn’t know why it had happened at all. Some people just had it out for him. He had that affect on people more most did.

@alsotravelingthrough

“There she is! Get her!” 

“Lord Zenon will be pleased with knowing his dear target is gone!” 

“You fool! He still wants her alive for some damn reason! But that’s no reason not to have fun, break every bone in that damn Halfer’s body!” 

“Shit!”

Getting chased through the city was not on her list of plans today, especially by denizens of Zenon Fucking Konouski. By being HERE Riku was hoping not to have to deal with that bastard until she was forced back onto Amaron instead of Earth. Guess that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, much to a lot of dismay.

”Earth Pyre elight, Terrain Cycle!” Suddenly, a large spike made of ground somehow appeared and took a chunk off of her uniform, and with it a rather bad injury.

      He comes and goes.

      Mostly, he disappears for months at a time – though she knows how to reach out to him should she need to, even if she’s never tried. He’d much rather pay than owe her anyway --- never owe favors to anyone --- though that, regretfully, is the way the business works sometimes. He never announces his arrival either though, then again, suppose none of her clients do. Merely shows up every once in a while in ungodly hours with a wound that needs tending to – no information volunteered as to how he might have gotten injured. He appreciates lack of questioning and, anyways, she knows, he assumes, or at least guesses --- he certainly looks the part, after all. The part of a violent man.

      It is sometime around three in the morning when he knocks. Never uses the doorbell – always so secretive like some special fucking agent. The collar of his jacket tugged up against the bare back of his neck, chin ducked into it as to shield himself from the cold; he watches her with the usual frown, arms crossed over his chest.

   “Hey! Annny-body home!”

The laundromat isn’t a home, but you make do with what you can get when it comes to knocking on people’s front doors. There’s something behind Orson’s back, out of sight, with the tongue of a ribbon flittering out from under his elbow, but ignore that, because he’s very clearly trying to hide it.

SEND THAT THINGY IF YA DTF (DOWN TA FUSE)