#lastguard

@lastguard​ sent: “I spy with my eye a knife.” || A meme

     “Well, you did say i should try some sparring, & well - sparring isn’t very good if it doesn’t have the same risk as a real fight.”

i say the odds are about even.

     “-Is it though?!” Huff of a breath escapes her as hand shifts from behind her neck to rest at her shoulder, agitation rising when she can feel a damp stain upon her skin and attire - only to look and see the crimson staining her fingers. A mere graze at the shoulder, nothing lethal but certainly still stung, form backing away upon the ground until her backside collides with a pair of legs - 

Protective stance over the younger, daring to move a step forward as steadied aim is made towards the other, yet not quite pulling the trigger just yet. “-Fancy seein’ you here, Marcus.Yer gettin’ old.”

Head grants a rather curious tilt at the other, energy spiking from matching ride in concern after the sudden attempt at her life. He seemed so nice to! So why would he shoot at her?! She didn’t do anything wrong - least, not recently.

“Sounds like you’re just saying I’m a bad shot,” The young Irishman muttered jokingly. The night owl looked at the lion and how he held he sniper rifle. Sean was a decent shot with the weaponry, using it for around five years now, but he was nowhere near as experienced as Marcus. He was much better at take downs with his knife, or his pistol with a silencer. Stealth was good, but being stealthier was better, and Marcus was the right person to teach him.

@lastguard​ sent: “You need to handle your feelings. Get them under control.” || A meme

     “I have it under control, damn it!”

Except the shout in her tone & the way she swiftly brings hand to rake through dark tresses to conceal the light tremble to them is far from evidence she was succeeding. The hunt had been successful, she’ll admit that - but things could have went so much more smoothly. Mayhaps, it’s too akin to her first hunt, to her first early memories of resting face first upon her bed, of treatments that left her aching, stitch work that had a young child crying into a pillow as words rang in her ears - 

     suck it up, kid. if you had listened, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt so easily.

“Your stance is all wrong.”

     she’s made of the emptied rooms in the clinic that use to be another lounge-like area a room for workouts; a punching bag in the corner she seemed to be spending most of her time on recently. though she’s no marksman, her confidence in utilizing a pistol for defense is higher than her combat. most training had been focused on performing medical procedures swiftly in the field as well as within a tent - combat was usually left to the infantry, especially to cover her when dragging a wounded soldier to shelter 

     brows furrow as she lets recent punch rest upon the bag, light scrapes against her knuckles revealing her hits aren’t quite centered on - they’re dragging along the material, & her stance has the fundamentals, it’s not quite as balanced as it should be. “. . .What’s wrong with my stance?”

∗ 34﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  somewhere  they  shouldn’t  be .

     She wouldn’t run a clinic utilized to treat known villains and heroes without having some sort of security put into place, alarm blaring in her room within the apartments above rather than throughout the clinic downstairs - too loud & would cause any intruder to become high on alert. 

     Stealth is utilized as she’s quiet in her steps, pistol gripped tightly in aged training from her military days. Nothing on the same level as one like John Wick, but least she could hold herself against some hooligan who thought the place was abandoned. 

     She rounds the corner into the minuscule lobby area before noticing a body shifting in the darkness, hand reaching to swiftly flip the switch as form is swiftly recognizable. Out of all people. . .

     “ - What the hell, seriously?! The fuck are you doing?!”

     “I think dying is a beautiful thing to do.”