#imprvdente

Fish had been brought into the moving band of Minutemen only a day or two ago after being found near her dead parents. With a particular soft spot for children, Nate had of course tried to see she was as well cared for at least as much as a child could be in the Wasteland. Offering her bandages, clean water and even some soup while staying in her company so she could at least try and rest after the struggle she'd been through.

*  ―  𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒  𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌  𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒  𝐈  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃.  / open !

at times, the young togruta wondered if this was the kind of life she wanted. growing up in the temple where she was taught about peace, non violence ... everything that used to be of values for jedi, not once did she think that she'd grow up to not only be part of a war but to actively fight in it as well. to see so many die ... under her very own command. sure, they were helping ... but at what cost?

even now, after all these months, it was not getting any easier. ahsoka had a hard time getting over the fact that so many of her men died because of a command she gave. was winning one battle worth the lives of those she lost?

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 53

"Why wouldn't I have liked my childhood?"

Mycroft's answer came in a confused tone, and that confusion was genuine. His childhood had been fine. Perhaps it hadn't been filled with constant joy and laughter, but it had hardly been terrible overall, had it? Of course, the business with his sister hadn't been great - that being, all the business with his sister - and his time at school had proven disappointing, but it was what it was. The less ideal elements didn't change the fact that everything else had been fine.

Or, that was what Mycroft told himself, anyway. The thing was, until he'd met Fish, his own childhood had been the only one he'd known. It had been isolated enough that he had very little experience with any other children, and by the time he'd made a friend, the damage had been done. His life had been normal to him. During all his visits to see Fish as he'd grown up, her childhood had been the strange one.

"Oh so now it's my fault, naturally." Harry rolled his eyes, something in him stirring despite the obvious longing in his eyes, "Tell me do you ever actually take responsibility? Or do you just enjoy being a pain in the arse?"

Feyd watched the little smile cinched obstinately at her mouth, so well-practiced that it managed to both repel and charm in the same moment. This pleased him— he had always preferred his creatures clever, not dumbly obedient.

Leaned back, shifting his weight until the ancient wood of the chair shrieked in protest; the noise startled two giggling girls wandering past his table, and from their faces he read envy as clear as the shine on his lapel.

A lesser man— one not marinated since infancy in power’s glacial sarcasm— might have let the moment go slack, but Feyd cherished performance. He flicked invisible lint from the meat of his thighs, stretched catlike, and wondered if her efficiency was up to code. Or if her wardrobe could handle what came next.

This was bullshit. He was calling bullshit. He was told by Malky that this had nothing to do with them. Nothing got mixed in from the side with their regular scheduled tasks as an agent of the Drug Enforcement Administration. However, Norman has this gnawing suspicion that something was amiss. Someone, he would not name names, but possibly Malky, did not do their fucking job with the cover-up.

So here he was, standing in front of the doors to the Fed's building, cleaning up a huge fucking mess that he could be the reason it was made to begin with, but sometimes drug deals go for the worst, and a few people have to die to make it all go back to calm.

Norman scowled at the building as he fumbled in his pocket for his trusted Altoids tin. He dug his nails underneath the top, pressing the lid open, exposing the capsules inside. One Librium pill would be fine to indulge in before he walked in. Norman popped one into his mouth and pressed down on the capsule with his teeth, popping the seal. This will go over smoothly with the assistance of his abused prescription.

The agent walked into the building with an unbothered swagger in his step. It was not as if he was worried the case would find evidence of him. He paused in front of the metal detector and heaved a sigh. His pockets were emptied into a bin along with his gun that he removed from his holster, briefly examining it before he dropped it into the bin with his other personal items. Norman attempted to make his way through the metal detector, but his shoulder hit against something solid. Eyes scanned down to see a girl, possibly an intern at this damn place?

crimson   dripped   from   his   hands   in   slow   ,   heavy   threads   ,   pooling   along   the   bones   of   his   fingers   ,   turning   pale   skin   into   something   ruined   and   raw   .   (   each   movement   spread   it   further   ,   reach   ragged   breath   )   ,   a   stain   that   welcomed   itself   .   the   craving   was   there   ,   sharp   and   insistent   -   to   carve   ,   to   tear   ,   to   watch   the   terror   take   hold   and   deepen   ,   to   deny   release   until   it   became   unbearable   .   (   the   dark   urge   could   feel   it   ,   savor   it   ,   almost   taste   it   )   .   but   this   .   .   .   this   was   meant   to   be   something   else   .   bile   rose   to   his   throat   ,   sour   and   burning   ,   like   sickness   he   could   neither   name   nor   purge   .   (   the   urge   to   tear   )   .

❝   i   find   my   .   .   .   (   victims   )   .   .   .   potential   allies   ,   answer   far   more   willingly   once   i’ve   twisted   their   guts   open   first   .   ❞   the   answer   came   after   a   long   ,   exhausting   pause   ,   asthe   urge   lingered   -   savoring   the   work   he   had   carved   into   the   fish’s   face   .   (   the   blood   ,   the   cuts   .   .   .   the   mere   bruises   ,   wonderful   work   )   .   ❝   .   .   .   i’m   glad   you   agree   .   ❞

Dallas hated working alone. He didn't so much mind going off on his own when he was working with a larger group - that was obviously completely different - but being the only one there at all? It was just asking for trouble and, contrary to popular belief, he wasn't one to seek that kind of thing out. Not when it came to monsters and whatever happened to be stalking the shadows in the corner of man's eye, anyway.

Despite that, there were still times when he was forced to go at it alone. Thankfully, they were few and far between, and they were usually only temporary circumstances. Currently, Dallas was holding the fort while waiting for backup. He wasn't yet sure if that meant people were being sent to help him, or if they were going to take the situation out of his hands and send him back to the real world, but either option would be fine. As much as Dallas wouldn't mind getting tangled up in what he'd stumbled across, he did have some stuff going in back at home to get back to.

Whatever the case, it didn't matter in the immediate. First, he needed to case off the FBI agent who had turned up to investigate the matter too. Obviously, that'd be a problem at the best of times, but she was an additionally unwanted guest due to the fact that Dallas himself was claiming to be from the FBI, and though he talked big when it came to his ability to remain undercover, he was painfully aware that he wasn't actually an expert on everything he'd need to pass himself off as an agent.

With some luck, he'd be able to maintain appearances for long enough for cover to arrive. Dallas reckoned he could do that. He just had to make sure that he avoided any questions about his work outside of the case, and he definitely also needed to keep away from touching on FBI procedure or anything else official too.

"How come the FBI's sent another agent to work on this, anyway?" 'Alexander Wolf' asked as he waited for his ID to be handed back to him, continuing to block the door to the morgue. Every little helped when it came to playing for time, and he was going to extended everything out for as long as possible if it meant he could avoid having to come up with an alternative explanation for the horrifically mutilated body lying under a sheet behind the door.