#prideburn

“i don’t like cops,” words pour out with the smoke that slips past his lips, looking the other over with cold disinterest, then sighs. “but i’ve heard good things about you.” he admits, looking the other over. “heard you’re a hell of a tracker, heard you’re a little... morally flexible when you need to be, and i like that.”  he extends him a hand. “i’m iggy zhang,” he says. “and i’ve got an... opportunity for you.”

Send me one pro and one con you could see with having sex with my character.

Well that was fucking terrifying. John hit the deck as soon as he heard the shot. One accessory lighter on his person. His shades were shattered to bits around him on the ground and wouldn’t you know now his fancy clothes were getting all dirty. Hair a bit disarrayed, the Herald pulled out his radio and hissed into it. “𝙳𝚎𝚙-𝚢𝚘𝚘-𝚝𝚎𝚎. 𝚂𝚘 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚞𝚜. 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 – 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝. 𝙼𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚕𝚢. 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗.”

“Eli’s dead.” The words felt hollow and rang false in her mind as she looked up to meet Danny’s stare, blood matting her hair to her head. It wasn’t her’s. The sweat was, though, and the tears. No, she didn’t let them out till Jacob had a pair of broken legs and a nose to match. She couldn’t even kill the man who did all of this shit. No, she dragged him off to a prison. He got to live while the man who headed up the resistance in the mountains died. How the fuck was that fair? How the fuck was that just? “Eli’s dead and I...I killed him.” 

she can see him out of the corner of her eye. she’s taken her preliminary glance, assessed their mutual interest in one another, and now she takes a last sip from her whiskey, sets it down, turns her torso toward him. “you gonna stare at me all night?” she asks. she grins, finishes her drink with one last sip and slides the empty glass across the bar intentionally, her hand still on the rim, never breaking eye contact with him. “or you gonna buy me a drink?”

RICHARD SIKEN / WAR OF THE FOXES

“We’re fighting a war, Danny.” Was her only real response to that. Of course they weren’t going to be in the right every time. They couldn’t be. They were soldiers now, even if she had never wanted to be one. She knew he was a veteran, that he served in the army, but she was a paramedic before going through the police academy. 

All the same, she reached out and took his hand, lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb with her’s. They anchored each other at this point. “Right now...what matters is that this gets done. My dad told me a month before he went missing--he was angry about some hot shot lawyer trying to get him to move again--that the path of least resistance is paved with bodies. We’re not on that path.”