#proeliums

wit   would   have   thought   that   there   was   not   much   anyone   could   do   to   disguise   suki   from   him.   memories   of   salt   -   tinted   skin   and   hearts   racing   tinted   his   face   red   as   he   searched   for   her,   but   the   crowd   blended   together.   none   really   stood   out.

a   waft   of   soured   fruit,   like   a   sun-aged   peach,   pulled   his   head   in   the   other   direction.   his   shaking   hands   itched   to   tear   off   the   mask,   to   crash   his   mouth   into   hers   until   he   drifted   off   into   sleep   in   her   bed.   but he compromised   by   grabbing   her   arm,   eyes   locking   onto   hers.   an   addict's   gasp   left   his   lips,   and   he   settled   like   a   dog.   he   didn't   get   like   this   often,   but   they   hadn't   seen   each   other   in   a   while,   and   a   fight   coming   up   always   wound   him   tight   enough   to   snap.   his   fingers   wiggled   their   way   under   the   fabric   of   her   sleeve,   gently   feeling   the   warmth   of   her   skin.   "   hi.   "   

the moment remington luck makes it past the SECURITY posted at the entrance of the ship, the jacket he's secured his name tag for the evening to is shrugged from NARROW shoulders, thrown with no shortage of IRRITABILITY over one as he quickly disappears into the crowd. and really, the whole idea of it is BULLSHIT if you ask him ― what's the point of anonymity if the folks around you've still got a way to address you ? and maybe he's just a little bitter because of his particular moniker, but he thinks that's JUSTIFIED too. who the fuck decided he'd be the GRIFTER anyway ? that's just bad for his image. scowling, he makes his way through the ship with little other purpose in mind than the gathering of intel ; every visage he can identify through the ornate cage of a mask, every name tag kept visible for insatiably inquisitive eyes. there's a DRINK in hand the moment opportunity strikes, but it's nursed far too long to remain palatable and so, somewhere amid his meticulous prowling of the ship's second level, he breaks off in search of another bar.

location; the faceless ship, level 3, womens bathroom. from watching the unbridled violence happening on the floor above, maxine had decided to step down to the floor below. it was becoming too much, watching faceless people fight one another, being able to analyze fights, understanding technique, weight, ebb and flow of punches and movement. the itch began to grow, the need to join in, to prove herself to a man long dead who still kept a controlling hand on her shoulder. so, maxine had tried the only real distraction that the boat had to offer, the floor decked out like a club. she felt like the oldest here, bass pumping, not the sort of music she really liked either and the idea of something to take her mind off ghosts seemed to backfire immediately. with a can of some shitty IPA in her hand, she walked towards the bathrooms to put on a little more lipstick ; her eyes met someone else's in the mirror, naturally. that gaze was sharp, somewhat familiar. max tried to be disarming, gave a half smile as she asked; "having a good evening?"

𝚒𝚗𝚝.     𝚊  𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝  𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗  𝚘𝚏  𝚊  𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢,   𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚠𝚊𝚢  𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛  𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜.

✉ ↪ / TUESDAY AT 10:55 PM: PUT THE TOILET SEAT DOWN OR I’LL MAKE ODETTE YELL AT YOU

✉ ↪ / THURSDAY AT 7:02 PM: i don’t want to sound like a grandma trying to set you up with her friend’s grandchildren but i just had a parent-teacher conference with a REALLY nice lady who’s recently divorced. she made me cookies. 

Angst Sentence Starters yay!