#practicesmilinginthemirror

Having to pretend to be just incompetent enough to make his story believable was... irritating. Seeing his shooting tests come back just shy of imperfect irked him so badly he felt himself having to bite the inside of he cheek just to get through smiling and being celebrated for it.

Remembering Bane’s strict order, his unwavering certainty that this precaution was necessary was honestly the only reason he was able to get through this.

The story was simple; he was a former military special ops returning from the war... transfering into police work to help fill much needed ranks of the GCPD. The lack of vetting was frankly embarrassing. He stood before a room filled with cock-sure fools in uniform, pretending to be eager to join them, and he hated ever moment.

“Joshua Lawton, newly transferred to the GCPD at your service,” he introduced himself, before a Captain chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.

“No need to be shy! Lawton here is a retired Scout Sniper with the US Marines!” There were a few ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ in the crowd and it took everything in Barsad not to roll his eyes, maintaining his expression. “We’re lucky to have you, son.”

Barsad vividly imagined snapping every bone in the man’s hand as he pat his shoulder again and it calmed him enough not to follow through. “Happy to be had, sir.” Sleepy eyes looked around the room, picking individuals he’s researched beforehand...

(( SEND ME A ‘🎨’ FOR AN AESTHETIC OR MOOD COLLAGE FOR OUR MUSES. ))

Americans lived by their AC in the summer. It wasn’t like that in Germany. It didn’t get as hot, not usually, but the heat wave they’d had over the week was making him seriously consider breaking down to buy one of the air conditioning room units he’d seen in ads. Or at least he had been considering, they were sold out everywhere.

"I swear to god they don’t know about you,” Hardison said, helping him up. “I didn’t come here to lead them to you, I came here to lie low, I was certain they wouldn’t track me. I wouldn’t have come here if I thought there was even a chance...” He swallowed thickly, the taste of blood and bile in his throat. He hustled, as instructed by Robin, but he his mind was on other things.

“I need to call Parker and Eliot, check if they’re okay. But I need to get a new phone first just in case. I need to get you somewhere safe. We should probably split up, they don’t want you.” He was upset by the idea of going off on his own but more upset by the idea of Robin being hurt. More hurt.

Wolfgang snorted quietly as he crouched down with him to inspect the lock. Amateurs. “But here I am, being helpful, come on.”

He shouldered him out of the way lightly, not giving him a chance to say no really. He hadn’t known John long, but he found it best to handle him with actions rather then words.

Wolfgang didn't wake with a start, his splitting headache stopped that or any other sudden movements. He groaned softly instead and reached slowly to push pressure against his temples. The best club didn't mean the best drinks. He had told Felix that the vodka they'd been drinking was rotgut and they'd pay for it tomorrow. But that hasn't stopped either of them from clinking their shot glasses together again and again.

It probably wouldn't stop him from going again tonight either.

That dream though, before he had woken. It throbbed in his brain as sharply as his headache. He could smell the dirt on the floors and taste the blood on his tongue. Strange for him. He didn't dream often and when he did those he dreamt of certainly didn't speak English. He understood a little, but in the dream he had understood every word. It felt haunting, more like a memory.