#fruityinnit

The creation of HOMOsapiens

Even butcherbirds sing. 

Even if hers was a song of carnage. Brutality never went out of fashion, just like elegance, in their line of work, even if she preferred to make it clean, it never ended in that. It was rare enough that one of her shots were but a bloody mess, even if she prided herself on her precision. Results were still the same, and considering she wouldn’t go in so far as to dirty herself, and so she quietly watched Tangerine handle this whole thing from a safe distance. Probably time to say hello.

But the shriek-like call that gave shrikes their name was the sound of a suppressed rifle, short but not so sweet. The fumbling guard Tangerine held at gunpoint to type in a code on a locked door, would hear the shriek for a last time. The door unlocked, she pulled the trigger, and he slumped down, neck broken. 

“A-tisket, a-tasket... I’ll put you in a casket.” An all-too familiar sing-song she announces herself by, making herself known to him again, maybe out of self-preservation, too. Unlikely that he just would not react to someone just shooting a .338 Lapua round mere millimetres past him. She was not a danger to him. For now. She peels herself from the shadows, her rifle strapped over her shoulder. There’s a sway in her steps, reminiscent of a dancer, and it wouldn’t take much imagination to see her do a révérence towards @fruityinnit​​, elegant and precise as she would be. She watches him with a gaze that left room for interpretation; a stare that was as intense as watching someone through a scope, eyebrows furrowed in focus, lips slightly pursed. Maybe a bit playful. 

❝ you haven’t changed. ❞ Whether disgust, anger or even admiration, the lines were terribly blurred anyway, and there was no room in her life to invest much time into being liked in any way. But it was enough that he seemingly didn’t take offence in that little stunt she pulled. It would be expected that the woman dressed like a crow didn’t have a flair for the dramatic, either. 

“Oh, Ashley,” she says, sounding not unlike Scarlett O’Hara as she passes him, letting her gloved hand rest on his very shoulder she only seems to have narrowly missed ( all calculated, she is a professional after all ), the leather creaking quietly as she presses her fingers down as to give his shoulder a squeeze. Hello to you, too.

“You of all people should know how terribly predictable I am.” The smile that blooms on her face doesn’t reach the eyes, coy and entirely artificial, her voice still dipped in a sing-song that couldn’t even be explained by the accent that shone through. Yes, predictable in a way that death could lurk at every corner, predictable in her unpredictability, if anything. It’s nothing but a little joke to lift the mood. Anne doesn’t leave witnesses, either. It was something she had told him before, and she prefers to keep her promises. So, the poor man had to die after he fulfilled his part in the story; even if it wasn’t on his own free will, even if it meant being threatened at gunpoint to put in the code to a door. A door she pushes open with her boot now, looking at Tangerine as if to invite him in. After all, that had been the aim, no?

@fruityinnit ASKED: “ i don’t give a fuck who you are. ”  

Bubbles wished he could have said he was too stunned to speak, but he wasn't exactly a stranger to such vitriol. If anything, this was a more polite exchange than what he was truly used to-—which was a lack of words at all in favor or simple and straight violence.

@fruityinnit ASKED: ❛ a few cocktails before i’m murdered. ❜

❝-—You mean LITERALLY murdered, right? Because these drink prices are already financial murder. ❞ he pops his gum, furrows his brows, and pats fruitlessly at his back pocket.