#infestedmindspace

@infestedmindspace asked: BSBVerse Mia @ Manfred: ❛ You know, this is an interesting and efficient method of murder. I need to write this down. ❜

KNIVES OUT (2019) SENTENCE STARTERS (accepting)

: { Manfred } :

He just stares at the woman for a moment, trying to decide if he's too done with this shit. Yeah, she's a serial killer, and somehow he's not on the list, but she doesn't need to remind him of the fact.

“You know, you don’t fix something necessarily because its broken, but because like everything else, it needs maintenance. In fact, things are more inclined to degrade and break down the less it is maintained.” She takes a sip of her coffee and gave a nod.

“Look at NASCAR. They pull pit stops all the time. They’re changing the wheels not because they’re broken but because they need to be maintained. Its all about remedying the stress and breakdown before it becomes a full breakdown. When was your last pit stop, Will?”

Sharp admiral hues danced from the dip at the border of Mia’s lips, toward the bridge of her nose, where he could more easily feign eye contact as he addressed the woman. “Cars and humans aren’t exactly the same, breakdowns notwithstanding — and maybe some of us are better at our jobs without a pit stop than others are with them.” 

“I’ll tell you one thing-- after that rain the farms are doin’ great.” Nick slid in from under the door to the Agency, hat tipped low, sleeves rolled up. He had a bag over his shoulder smelling of fresh grass.

“Let’s-a go!” *honk honk*

IT blinks slowly at the other, uneven eyes glowing gold before shifting to blue as IT tries to read her some form the shadows. Nose twitching at it sniffs in their direction trying to gather what information IT could about them before IT would consider revealing ITself. Seeing if they were worth the time.

This was the last damn time he did legwork for the Railroad; they hardly paid any caps and sent him to the ends of the Earth: ‘stairs aren’t a problem for you, right?’ Bullshit they were. His knees felt like they were going to collapse at any moment. He’d been heading down through one of the many derelict apartment towers in West Boston, this one blocked off at the entry, so he had to go up an adjacent tower and take his chances jumping. 

No severe damage, but he’d need a Nuka-Cola scrub for how creaky his joints were getting. But there was allegedly a supply cache here-- some sort of parts to help repair their synth reprogramming tools. Nobody else was helping them, and Nick Valentine would always be a bleeding heart for those in need.

He’d just have to remind them of that next time he called in a favor. 

The old synth had a flashlight up as he descended into the basement of the derelict tower, past a few locked doors, then to a fuse box-- some fiddling eventually got the lights to flicker on, and the hum of electricity to promise some doors open. Maybe he wouldn’t have to come out the way he came in.

But... there was something else. Nick squinted in the dim light as he stepped into the next room-- he could swear he heard breathing.