#errorexecutingfile

Amiee held her rifle steady and aimed at the man before her, eyes focused, waiting for him to make a move. Gunner. Basically the Commonwealth’s version of Talon Mercs. Her heart was nearly in her throat, pulse drumming in her ears as she stared him down with intensity. She had been in this position too many times before. 

She was no stranger to the viciousness of men like him, and it showed. There was no fear in her eyes, but a strange sort of empty anger, a feeling of being in the moment while simultaneously living in the past. 

There was no trace of her usual kindness, of her sweetness or charity. Nor her willingness to give others a chance. All there was was the mechanical, calculating shell that was built from ten years of pain and trauma the wasteland had given the small Vault Dweller.

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what do they normally dream about? nightmares or nonsense?

Ivakir very often doesn’t remember her dreams, and she thinks it’s rather stupid to lie and remember what you were dreaming about. Iv believes that all dreams are complete nonsense (even if it’s good dreams, nightmares, and etc.), and you don’t need to waste your time on them. However, in the witch au, dreams are a part of her working space. There, Iv has an ability to get into the dreams of other people and watch them like some kind of movie, but don’t influence them. Iv does that a lot, so she stopped having her own dreams.

What Iv remembers from her dreams, usually is some kind of delirium, about which she immediately forgets. There are more nightmares, mostly about her family and things she has done. However, in those days when she sleeps a little and is very tired, she dreams about how she is doing something or talking to someone. It looks so realistic that when she wakes up, she is very surprised to find herself in the bed and doesn’t understad why a person doesn’t remember the thing she told them in a dream (while Iv is convinced that it was not a dream).

do they stay up too late? do they like staying up?

Ivakir believes that sleep is for weaklings, and partially follows this rule, not realizing that it’s very harmfull. Ivakir has rather big problems with sleep and it has a great effect on her behaviour. It is easy to guess that the less she sleeps, the more crazy she becomes.

And it’s not about whether she likes to stay up late or not. Ivakir has to go to bed late or not to sleep at all, because every day she has many important things to do, and no one will do them except for her. Also, the thought that people spend most of their life in a dream terrifies her. She believes that it is better if she doesn’t sleep at all. Usually it lasts for two days, after which she sleeps for a day, then she tries to improve her sleeping schedule, and then everything repeats again. Ivakir doesn’t understand what harm she does to her health.

Therefore, most of the time Ivakir secretly wants to sleep, but struggles with this, and yet she behaves as if she drank a liter of coffee and this is her last day of life.

if they could control one thing in the world, what would it be?

|| art       I did a thing yesterday while warming up for a commission.       This wasn’t just an excuse to draw the babes half naked,       I swear -- it was for updated tattoo references and anatomy       practice. Totally.       Left to right: Ozias ( @errorexecutingfile ), Astrid ( @bionicberserker ),       and of course, Quade.

"Just how I like 'em. Scared and quiet."

     No matter how the Agent had fought for retribution from a past paved with bones and cemented in old blood, the ghosts continued to haunt him. From the influence Lily - Lilith - had inflicted upon him, he had succumbed to his primal beast in ways he could never abandon. 

     Coated in the viscera of his adversary’s comrades, he merely glanced back in the woman’s direction while stony eyes remained fixated on the Gunner Commander a few paces in front of him. Twisting, red flames danced along the length of the Shishkebab Quade held fast by his side; fed but still hungry. 

@errorexecutingfile

“She’s missing.” The scarred male knew without an ounce of doubt that he trod dangerous waters. Ozias Krane's reputation in the wasteland wasn’t one made infamous by merciful kindness, and his particular brand of viciousness only got nastier where his dark-haired siren was concerned. Dabi wouldn’t put it past his commander to shoot the unfortunate messenger, but neither of them were much inclined to mince words. He watched Krane’s hands however for the slightest twitch. “Last confirmed sighting that we know of is near Oberland Station. If our sources are good for their word, she’s travelling alone and headed west. But it looks like she’s been injured.”

Dabi didn’t quite understand Krane’s apparent investment in the not yet named stranger. He’d purchased her from a caravan of raiders some months earlier to no shortage of raised eyebrows from the present parties. For his countless other vices, Krane wasn’t a known participant of the flesh trade. Yet on that sweltering summer afternoon there at his feet had been a dark-haired woman bound by chains at her skeletal wrists. She’d been confined to his rooms after the raiders had taken leave of the compound, and nothing more had been said on the matter since. But that didn’t mean she’d gone unnoticed.

Krane treated her like a possession, but not like a possession. No. She’d been almost more like a well-kept pet that had been given free reign of his domain. It hadn’t protected her from the initial abuse of the more callous mercenaries that had thought Krane bought the compound a housemaid, but the moment The Red Storm’s commander had caught his people in action the beast had surfaced to pounce on them with swift, severe punishment. Dabi released his breath in a deep sigh as he pocketed his scarred hands deeper. “Other than waiting for her to resurface, I don’t know what more we can do to find her.” He added to the assessment in monotone, “It’s not like she came with a tracking device." His words weren’t made to soften. Gentleness wasn’t their mark: Krane and himself.

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