#letemoin

It is not like Lee to chase after anyone,  but she will follow.   And so it goes.   The woman’s outburst in the conference room rang in her head,  a bell’s vibration that would not clear,  would not fade.   Even the murkiest of waters would settle eventually once disturbed,  ripples lost over time,  a stillness to return as the default. But what was in Lee’s head must not have been so simple as water;  whatever substance filled the space between her ears liked to hold onto things   —   to keep,  to hoard.   The woman’s voice would live with her for days,  if not weeks now..   she just knew it. Even once it had sunken below the surface,  there would be a morning,  some night,  a moment between the innocuous ticks of the clock,  where these words would come back and Lee would remember:   sometimes we are too slow,

sometimes..  we are just too late.

After,  there wasn’t anything left to say. Some of the men tried to laugh it off,  half - hearted and awkward efforts to call a woman hysterical .. without saying the words,  to write it off as the typical shit agents have to deal with,  the demands,  the high and heavy drama of it all when none of was ever that deep,  ever that interesting. The world was fucked,  fucked up ( ! ), and wasn't it just so laughable whenever some people made it clear they still hadn’t come around to that idea? and so on and so forth.   Lee didn’t laugh. Neither did she fidget,  shift,  glare,  or stare at anything except for what had been left on the table.   Her silence seemed to radiate,  adding something thick to the air, stifling those nearest to her as they breathed in.   Laughter broke away to awkward coughs broke away to mumbled resignations to return: we still have a job to do,  

we still have to do the job.

The second the tension in the room shattered,  Lee walked out of the door the Collard woman had left open behind her. She did not chase,  she only followed.   Following without seeing her mark,  but knowing that as long as she kept to this path,  made the turn here,  went down the corridor there,  she would discover her,  half - surprised herself that she had.  As if she hadn’t somehow known all along that Collard wouldn’t have stormed all the way out of the building,  that she would instead make a stop,  take a pause.. because this business with the killings wasn’t finished and she wasn’t finished with them either. Lee parked herself in Collard’s blindspot,  arms held rigid at her side. She could not see the cup of coffee in Collard’s hand,  but from the motion of the woman’s arm,  she could see she was stirring it. Sugar,  perhaps.  Or maybe to cool it.   It didn’t take long and the moment Collard’s arm rested,  Lee quietly cleared her throat.   “Don’t go after them alone.   What you said in there..   I think it fits.   If you have more,  tell me and I can help..   do something.”   Her shoes whispered across the carpet - tiled floor, steps lateral,  bringing Lee no closer to the woman,  but closer to the wall.

humor strikes her - catches her tongue like a match does phosphorus. bringing her to laugh deeply . a sound scraping the bones of an overworked woman of the wide eyed bewilderment setting on the onset of their predicament . and she bends into a bow - thankful for the expression . " how funny !! - i am here to help you out and you take it to jokes . " she is not mad by any measure rather glad to see the other in good spirits . but to be rather honest man had often left her with a case of indigestion- a full lack of belief in their humanity .

SO HER TONGUE HAD BEEN HEAVY - splitting apart on the ways she had attempted to have mankind settle and look forward to a better existence . to ensure that they did not drown themselves. but they were as they always were . headstrong and filled on ego . on a heightened performance of attempted godhood .

AND SO SHE HAD BROUGHT THEM A CASE AGAINST A HIGH RANKING MAN . a drought to a week of peace . for what was death if not made to be solved. he was a fool who thought he'd been in the clear to mark the world in his image. a council man holding himself over a cult and she needed the other to help make the answer to this case more humanlike.

" i do suppose that there is a need to add a layer beyond horror to this . for otherwise it will pick us apart. " THE LAUGHTER HAS GIVEN AWAY TO CONTROL . to a focus on top the waste the world was shoving upon them .

WHAT IT CAME TO THE MYSTIC ARTS, : THERE WAS NO - ONE BETTER TO DEAL WITH IT THAN HER! legacy upon her shoulders, she has carried on remaining in the spotlight her father left ... everything arcane must be something she knows by heart. &. crystal blues focus on an object carved by such forces ; THE SOURCE OF CURRENT TROUBLE BREWING, &. threatening to overflow. it is placed atop a tall bulding, the gem protected by an energy field glowing red, &. zatanna knew exactly the chaos that crafted it. ❝ i am going to head in. it will most likely be protected by other forces as well, so i suggest you stay back. ❞ THE SAFETY OF OTHERS COMES FIRST. ❝ the gem is the very source, so if it is destroyed, the effects of the spell will cease. ❞

@letemoin : – or we could just steal it.

the rain has been falling since the early hours of the morning, great sheets of it that transform the city streets into shallow running rivers and treacherous lakes. it has chased most of the pedestrians from the sidewalk, coats or umbrellas or papers pulled over their heads as they scurry into buildings or under scaffolding. the cold clean smell of it covers everything.

a car is idling by the red line stop at belmont. ❛ i wouldn’t go down there if i were you, ❜ he says from its open window, projecting his voice slightly to be heard over the hushing rain. it drips steadily from the lip of the car roof into the leather interior. ❛ it’s on days like these that the crocodiles come out to roam. ❜

The Parisian jazz club was shrouded in a warm, intimate glow, dim lights casting long shadows on the walls. Carmen and her guest sat close to the stage, their small table almost lost in the semi-darkness. The air itself was thick with the deep, soulful notes of a saxophonist, each one echoing through the room. Music flowed around them, mingling with the quiet clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversations.

As the melody of notes dipped and rose, Carmen leaned in slightly toward @letemoin, her presence a subtle but undeniable force. Her voice, barely above a whisper, seemed to merge with the music, becoming part of the very air they breathed. "You know, music is more than just the notes—it’s the silences, the p a u s e s, the breath before the next sound. It’s in those moments of stillness that the music finds its meaning, where it draws you in and holds you."

ask meme, probably -- @letemoin

"And let it get lost with every other nut job's Twitter ravings? The internet is not the place it once was, mon cheri. It means less." Cee looks back at the wall, a confusing map of papers and photos, leaked documents, and stolen files—an impressive history of wrongdoing. And it means fuck all; the photos of goons passing paper envelopes to police officials tell you that. It's nothing new in this world, but it's still depressing.

Or it would be if Cecelia hadn't also benefitted from the greed of powerful men in her lifetime. Small-time crimes, she reminds herself. A police officer being sweet-talked into turning the head for a seventeen-year-old with coke is not the same as a murderous gangster type who seems to be besties with both sides of the political spectrum. Cee folds her arms, reading another document with interest.