#praynot

@praynot || x

His arms were wrapped around his legs as blue eyes watched the chaos surrounding him. Bill didn't know what it was about him that seemed to attract this kind of thing — although he had some theories that he only examined on the nights he couldn't sleep — but at this point he was resigned to it.

He didn't flinch as the sudden weight of material being draped over his shoulders. Bill hadn't seen the agent approach, but he had felt her. All part of whatever it was inside him that allowed him to know things he shouldn't. Couldn't. He just couldn't bring himself to pretend to react appropriately.

memes, accepting

“ i know what post-traumatic stress means. ”

august retorts, tremors ongoing despite thick hoodie and hot mug of broth. it wasn’t the shivers brought by frost frozen temperatures. it was the sort born from stress. shell shock. the child knows this terminology.

(his dad had been an army medic. experiences that followed him like a wraith into fatherhood.)

There was a soft mutter in Russian, an exhale of his breath, as soon as he noticed the approach.

Illya knew that he looked strange in the moment. Given his size and stature, he garnered a lot of attention without being stuck in the middle of a rainstorm. Without an umbrella or any real cover. He was not rushing to duck into any of the stores around or trying to cover himself — Maybe that was what had caught people's attention the most. That he seemed to just be standing there and accepting his fate.

The thoughts that had only lasted a half a second were shaken off. The Russian turning at the sound of splashing footsteps getting closer as a polite but strained smile found its way onto his lips.

The only indication that he was considering Lee's words was a small inclination of his head. Not quite the agreement that she was probably looking for but as much of a response as anyone had gotten out of him. At that point, it seemed more of a surprise that someone was trying to talk to him when Illya seemed to be a brick wall of silence.

"Striped is eye catching." Was that a bad thing? The tone of his voice made it sound like he was not particularly fond of it. The man gave a shake of his head, "Too noticeable."

₊🎞️❜ |[ @praynot showed up ]|   :

If she's panicked, it doesn't show past the exhaustion. Lee's covered in blood, spattered across her face, her chest, her arms, and there's no clear indication whether or not it's her own. Trembling, the rain having only minutely washed away some of the viscera, she leans in his doorway. ❝ Sorry.. ❞

Adam's apartment has pretty much become a free-for-all the last few years - a lock which seldom works and hinges so weak that they'd probably just rather corrode and perish. The state of it has come to piss him off, inviting in unwanteds like the plague. To the point where he's stopped registering who's shown up, instead defaulting to a casual sort of irritation until he does process things.

When he does, though, and when his doe eyes strike Lee's disheveled form, the insults that had formed up around his tongue unravel, and he beckons her in with a stance meandering on witholding and... something else. A care he wouldn't verbalize.

"Jesus fuckin' christ." he's quick to exclaim. "Do I even want to know what happened?" His way of asking, inquiring, showing investment. "Lucky the floor's already gone to shit."

Instinctually, he's moving over to the side of his crumbling cabinet and grabbing an age-old first aid kit, but his eyes do not leave the other. He makes mental note, from her shivering, to snatch one of the jackets he'd thrown on the floor on the way back to her.