#crosscarved

     ❝  religion                  ❞    coarse  is  the  word ,   rusted  from  disuse .    a  vulnerability ,      bleeding  from  past  to  present .     &    it  shows .    fracturing  an  otherwise  impassive  marble  mask .    ❝                 is  something  i  no  longer  have  faith  in .    unfortunately .    i  find  it  leaves  more  questions  than  answers .  ❞

“If luck were real, hey?”  she smirked, brow raising in a tantalising fashion --- leaving the option for an argument open ended. “you know i could count on my hands and toes and yours the amount of time luck has proved itself to be real.”  She still had an effervescence to her demeanor, letting her body flop down on the couch opposite kennedy. “and even if it weren’t real ----”   a pause was given, hands going to rest behind her neck while she kicked her boots up on the coffee table. “---- my hubris would still be the exact same. ‘cause i’m good at what i do.” 

       “---is this a trick question?” it’s not, but she sure as hell wished it were. two long years; it’s been two long ass fucking years since she’s seen the familiar frown of kennedy cross, and it hasn’t gotten any easier with time. she chews on her lower lip as her gaze studies the bruises, the knicks she can’t remember on her old partner’s skin. maybe her eyes look darker, her hair a bit more unkept. echo’s sure that parading around in steve’s army hasn’t necessarily made her look any younger, either, but she regards kennedy with a clearing of her throat and a wipe of her nose with the back of her forearm.

        “a mirror,” she grunts. “nothin’s changed, not really. maybe you went away and i stayed with the Captain’s orders, but you and i? we ain’t changed a bit.” echo pauses, genuinely looking her in the eye before her point dances across such thin water.