#laveusa

The birds knew her and therefore he knew her. Not intricately. Not from the inside out---it was not so complicated as that. She was an entity, a weapon, a tool, and, by all definitions, an enemy. An individual to fear, to fight, to flee from. 

Loki was not compelled to feel or do any such things. The birds had warned him well enough and he had heard them, certainly. And he had also taken his own course of action. They did not always know what was best for him. Loki had played his cards against Talon well enough so far and it was time to test the waters, if only a finger upon the surface, barely rippling its perfect mirror.

None was better than she, dangerous as she was. Because he was fascinated by her. How they took a human and turned her into a weapon was beyond his capabilities and certainly not within the bounds of his morality. What lay beneath that cold exterior? A fire filled him from the inside out, but was she chilled all the way to the bone?

        the  sound  that  filled  her  ears  was  unlike  one  she’d  ever  heard  --  and  yet,  strikingly,  so  similar.  she  winced  instinctively,  clenching  at  her  scarred  hand  as  if  to  momentarily  forget  about  exactly  who  was  accompanying  her,  and  what  they  had  been  speaking  of.  

        they  had  argued  again  --  her  and  Jesse.  he  had  gotten  aggressive  again  (  as  he  always  seemed  to,  nowadays  )  and,  as  she  had  remembered  previously,  his  temper  was  not  easily  quenched.  like  the  faded  scar  and  her  not-so  faded  memory,  however,  such  abrupt  silences  from  a  rising  storm  of  fury  could  only  be  caused  by  the  swift  cut  brought  about  by  gunfire;  a  mark  meeting  its  intended  target.  the  sound  of  skin  being  pierced  did  not  even  register  in  her  own  mind  until  her  lover  (  could  she  call  him  such?  )  lay  on  the  floor,  bleeding  out  from  the  sole  puncture  wound  that  pierced  his  chest.

        by  the  time  she  had  processed  either  of  these  factors,  she  feared  it  would  be  too  late.  as  her  mind  cleared  and  the  memories  of  the  past  faded,  her  numbness  turned  to  horror  at  the  scene  before  her.  she  had  wished  him  dead;  the  thought  plagued  her  mind  as  she  knelt  beside  him,  desperately  trying  to  cover  up  the  wound  and  yet  seeing  that,  already,  his  chest  did  not  rise.  she  shook  him,  and  shook  herself  --  the  crimson  liquid  began  to  coat  her  fingers  as  she  pressed  against  the  opening;  a  futile  effort.

        her  head  snapped  up  when  she  heard  a  sound  in  the  distance;  across  from  the  alleyway  the  couple  had  found  themselves  in.  purposely,  of  course;  Jesse  wouldn’t  dare  to  make  a  scene  in  public,  after  all.  though  he  couldn’t  make  a  scene  at  all  now...  could  he?  

        the  woman  froze  as  she  stared  at  the  silhouetted,  shrouded  figure.  she  was  unsure  what  to  make  of  it;  of  them.  could  they  be  trusted?  had  they  done  this?  had  they  watched?  thoughts  whirred  around  her  head  and  mixed  with  the  myriad  of  emotions;  should  she  feel  grateful,  or  burdened  further  at  the  thought  of  having  to  defend  herself?  all  that  and  more,  yet  the  woman  dared  not  move.  she  stared  on,  horrified  at  any  conclusion  she’d  draw  from  her  jumbled  mind.  she  tried  to  speak  and  her  voice  immediately  caught  within  her  throat;  her  breath  hitched  in  her  own  windpipe.  she  paused;  calmed,  yet  still  the  same  would  transpire:

        ❝  I... -- can  you...?  ❞  why  had  she  not  started  crying  yet?  why  was  she  not  fleeing  yet?  she  did  not  know,  though  she  could  not  help  but  to  cling  to  the  still  body  as  the  figure  loomed  overhead  her  own.  she  tried  to  call  for  help,  but  again  her  words  caught  within  her  throat.  nails  dug  into  his  chest  and,  with  a  breath,  she  sputtered:

                                                      ❝  please.  ❞

“streets aren’t safe for older folk at night.”

nevermind that these words come from a highschooler taking a stroll long after dark, alone, in a city with entirely too many back alleys brimming with entirely too much crime. 

she seems wholly unaware of her own circumstances, here -- or rather, she feels perfectly secure in her current situation. her expression is stoic, but her stance is relaxed. confident.

cocky.

hands in her pockets, balled into fists, the tip of one boot resting lightly against the pavement, as if in mid-step. she huffs out a sharp sigh.

“guess i’ve been pressured into doing ‘good deeds’ on my offtime by someone insufferable.  ... anyways, want me to escort you home or something, lady? past midnight, who knows what’s gonna happen to a woman like you.”