darkness is a cover, a mistress he has not been yet able to tame but one that he can use. it hides his shadow, quietens the noise of his steps, it helps him disappear, making him furniture among the rest. it has been useful, having been so small and scrawny, trained from a young age : an orphan lost at sea, made to be rough, born to be quiet. leather covered fingers rest against his thigh, unable to feel the coldness of his pistol metal. the other hand stands at the ready, knowing every knife hidden on his body.
it is annoying, the slight mist created by sweat under the helmet he always wears on the job : the mercenary has learnt early the importance of anonymity, especially now that he has a child to look after. locks turn, eyes raising to the door, visor of his helmet adjusting the light. there she is. there is a few moments, observing her, knowing exactly the second she realizes someone is there. she is good. natasha. it doesn't really matter.
' you have something that does not belong to you, @eiqht. '
π starter call.
