#ext-backlot

"That fully depends on who is asking...."

even if that helm only barely moves, inclined slightly in her direction, she knows he is looking her directly in the eye. she stares back, of course, the blood spilling onto her floor hardly of any consequence to her in that moment. its sweet smell only serves to further enhance the moment, really. in what way she looks at him, she cannot tell, though. that silver face and black visor gives no cue. does he seek approval? a nod in his direction as if to say, good job? or is it a question? a look that asks her, is this what you wanted? do you like this? is it some secret third thing that would only make sense if he told her?

despite her ability to pry him open, and learn exactly what it is he is thinking, pienna doesn't. why strip the mystery away? why make it boring? there's naught an ounce of fun in picking him apart like she has lesser men. the helm, the armor, the silence and the questions are a challenge she means to meet on fair ground. someday she will know the color of his eyes, and he will have given up that information willingly. and the knowing will satiate her, for a time.

his victim slumps to the floor in a limp, uncomfortable heap. void of life. and the mandalorian breaks their eye contact. she can feel it. a sixth sense, then, maybe. she doesn't mirror the change, though, continuing to watch him as he wipes the blood off of his vibroblade with his cloak. some had spilled onto his gloved hands in the process, and distantly, she wonders if it has touched his skin — seeped through the mesh and into his calloused palms. the mental image gives her a small thrill.

after the blade is as clean as it can get, he slips it away into its sheath, and looks to her once more. one corner of her mouth turns up involuntarily. for once in her godforsaken life, she doesn't comment.

ㅤafter a placating and hopefully calming hand to his chest, riley had stepped in and gently talked the woman down into a more manageable state before ushering her out of the market, and more importantly, away from cooper. he'd wandered off by himself, creating as much distance between himself and the prying eyes and hushed whispers of the market - goers as possible. cooper? coop. hey. her voice was quiet, slow, her hand finding its way into his and giving it a light squeeze. come on. let's go home, okay?

ㅤand go home they did, in utter silence. normally this might pose a point of discomfort for riley, but in this instance, she knows without a doubt that she has not contributed to his current state of mind. never once does she let go of his hand, not until he decides to pull away. hours pass, night falls. she's not pressed him for conversation nor companionship; if nothing else, she's learned that sometimes he simply needs to be alone for a while, collect himself before he's able to interact again.

ㅤit's late when he finally appears in the doorway to the living room, looking much like a wounded mutt with the way he stares at her, eyes doleful and apologetic. she doesn't want an apology, nor does she expect one. he crosses the room to where she's seated on the couch, offers his hand ( as he has done so many times before ) and when she's on her feet, pulls her slowly into a tight, wordless hug. his arms are around her once again in bed — skin against skin, chest to back, his nose nestled in her hair and taking in its sweet scent.

@nitradiate : guess that's what i deserve.

ㅤit comes out of nowhere, fully catches her off guard. she's quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts and tamping down the mournful ache that's pooled in her chest, the sadness that no doubt is reflected in her big blue eyes.

ㅤ" what you deserve— " she says preemptively, maneuvering herself out from beneath his arm long enough to turn over, weight on her shoulder, now face to face. well... almost. she leans in, pokes the tip of his nose with hers, gently taps it from below to encourage him to raise his head and meet her gaze. " hey. what you deserve is to be able to live without having to worry about whether or not some weirdo is gonna see you in public and make a scene. what you deserve is to be able to start over, on your own terms, without anyone asking you why. "

　　' 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. she would have been about nine or ten, curly dark hair. ' the drawing her client had provided her with of the daughter was... rudimentary, to say the least, making it far easier to just describe instead. there weren't always happy endings with these kinds of cases, but it was still worth it to look. ' she was out playing nearby when she went missing. and it doesn't appear there's very much dangerous wildlife in the area, so i imagine someone else might have led her away. '

BRUCE WAYNE. ONE NIGHT IN METROPOLIS ONLY. cat's shrieks from the bullpen earlier that day echo in her ears as she quickly gets ready for the night. she has to look the part, like she belongs in that world, lest someone will catch on that she's not actually on the guest list. even worse, she's probably on the banned list given that the host of the evening's event is lex luthor himself. she's not exactly buddy buddy with the head of luthorcorp — far from it!

lois arrives, sneaking up behind the line of black suvs and limousines waiting to drop off the upper echelons of society. she waits for one stunning couple to make their exit. before the driver can pull away, she flings open the opposite passenger side door, making quick work of pretending like she too arrived in the very same vehicle.

her target seems to have just arrived as well — fashionably late, as predicted. lois approaches with confidence, ready to play a part. " mind escorting me in? " she simpers, all batted lashes and sultry tone, " i'm not ready to be thrown to the wolves all by my lonesome. "