#hercurse

"I’ll lend you my scythe if you want,” he contributed sarcastically, a caustic tone on his tongue despite the humour that lit up his eyes, glancing up at her from the top of his vision. He’d always had a habit of sitting slouched forwards, and it was no different who sat opposite him. Knowing full well he ought not make jokes like that -- in the days of witch trials, he would have been locked up for something so innocuous! -- he couldn’t help himself when she looked so utterly miserable. She needed more than just a milkshake to cheer her up, it seemed, which meant it was serious stuff as far as Jughead was concerned. 

Pushing his cup of coffee her way, he made a small gesture towards it for her to take a drink. “It’s black,” he added, either to caution or reassure her of its contents. She looked rather horrible ( and he was tempted to say it, he could hear the voice in the back of his head telling him that his honesty wouldn’t be appreciated ). He couldn’t tell if she was sick, and coming down with something, or if she simply hadn’t slept in a week. Curiosity in his expression as he jerked his chin upwards like a question, eyeing her carefully. “What gives?”

‘ these herbs are different from the ones i usually use. do you know where i can find some sage or lavender? ‘ 

- - -- out of character.

"Do you love me?"

Lapses in clarity drown away ease, contorting nature from easy tuition to disquiet. It breaks away at his judgment, until all that remained is ineptness, the firmness of his structure ultimately rendered discomposed. Fingers curl with uneven composure, as if to match the unbalanced atmosphere. Fragments of his turbulence were met with silence, the aura of it blending with vex and nervousness.

It offers no insight.No resolution.No repose.

Numerous reactions materialize, though they all abridge to one resolution. A breath of lucidity, a stretch of equanimity with fingers once again. Words that dishearten odds for reciprocation threaten to betray him, so he secretes it away with his unease.

"I, uh— I don’t—" — know how to answer that.

                { Don’t you dare come near me! }

     it pulls a string inside him.

—If you want to flail your arms and say I’m not playing fair— go ahead, but remember to put the blame on who’s actually at fault next time.

Nothing more but a lengthy breath in response to indignation, an extinguish to a flame of irritation that influence his very essence to speak. A perch of fingers against a desk with a ghost of a frown, suffocation in dissonance.

          One day he would have a true vacation. Reports of plans for a terrorist attack were in play and they were targeting the White House as some kind of stand against the President. While this wasn't the first time that the President had to undergo threats, it was the first time these attacks were to involve B.O.W's.

                      "Something tells me a cure for this isn't in Obamacare."

   That's where Leon comes in. He's had experience with dealing with this sort of thing in the past and it was his job to help the new president not become another victim to the dangers of the virus. The United States wasn't even aware of what the virus really could do and the agent was more than happy to keep them from gaining that knowledge.