#rottweilerrr

FOLLOWED - one muse is being followed/threatened and knocks on the other muse’s door in search of shelter.

THE PARTY IS LONG OVER. she stumbles through the streets, hoping to find her way home. somehow, she always makes it home. arms wrapped around herself as she's wearing somebody else's hoodie but the cold night air swirling around bare legs gives her goose bumps. maybe it wasn't such a great idea to wear a mini dress in the middle of winter.

it's easy to know when you're being followed. when someone is staring at you. it's a feeling she's been eerily familiar with since she was a little girl. unwanted attention from men that turned into her only source of affection at some point during her teens. the blonde continuously glances over her shoulder. he's maybe ten meters behind her and she knows how this would end. it's when she realizes she left her purse behind. no phone. no knife. no pepper spray. nothing. while she wasn't as drunk as she'd like to be, she knows she was too drunk to be able to handle him. heart begins racing as does her mind, frantically searching for a safe way out. young woman just started biting her nails as she recognizes the street name. not the best possible solution but better than what would await her with the stranger behind her.

You’re not really a tailor, are you?

He never asked too many questions, which was what she appreciated about him. There wasn’t much to discuss beyond the odd realities of their lives that were far too removed from each other to really care for one another. It was one thing accepting their differences, another acknowledging them. In the end, it hadn’t even been one of the oddities about her life that had made him suspicious; why she knew too much about rifles, why she could explain how a certain poison worked, how she was too interested in a shady nightclub owner. Seeing her with Galahad and during lunch with Arthur too was enough to make even him make the link.

She had been too comfortable with this, too complacent. 

Remove him, Arthur had commanded, looking over the rim of her glasses. Caring for him and feeding him, calling him darling; it didn’t matter much when it came to keeping Kingsman a secret. They could be happy that Rottweiler wasn’t much of a talker, but he still was too much of a hazard to keep him. Buying his silence? Arthur had laughed at this. He’s not one of us. Tie him to some tracks and see how fast he’ll sing. She knew him better, after all. And letting Yvain do it, was a blessing for both. Take care of your own business, and he won’t vomit blood on Arthur’s marble counters. Something fast and clean. 

That’s what tailors do, tying up loose ends. 

A strand too frayed at the edges of a sleeve, and if someone were to pull too strong, it would give up too easily. Yes, very easy to ruin a good suit with one loose thread, and this was something they couldn’t afford at this moment.

She was in his bathroom as she mounted the suppressor to her Tokarev, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. I will explain everything to you, just... give me a moment. He had agreed, at least. His body felt tense, he was ready to bite; just like when someone at the pub had accidentally spilled some ale on the new polo. One wrong word, and he’d probably attack. So it was self-defence after all. Better to do it now than waste words. She had once wasted words. And she was a professional. 

The gun was hidden behind her back as she exited the bathroom. He sat on the pleather couch, head turn towards her, gaze piercing. She knew how betrayal looked like. She knew how it felt like. She wouldn’t feel it again. 

“You’re right, I am not a tailor.”

Even before he could raise his voice, she had lifted the gun. He wanted to get up, of course, maybe there was an instinct to fight for his life; but there was no room for hesitation, no time for emotion, as she pulled the trigger. 

Neck. He had such a pretty neck, sharp and pale, and she had rested her head on his shoulder, and her hair had touched the neck, and he tried to brush it away. It was crimson now, and he slumped over, hands pressed to the wound, gurgling and gasping. He stumbled, maybe trying to lift himself for one last hurrah, and he hit his head on the coffee table. 

He was still writhing as his lungs filled with blood. 

She took a few steps over, and he saw how she looked at him. No time for emotion, indeed. She aimed. 

Left eye. He immediately fell still, soaked in his own blood, and his eyes weren’t hazel any more. Leaning down, she removed the limp hand from the neck, index and middlefinger pushing on the wrist, just to make sure. Wouldn’t leave him alone to die, now. 

“I need a clean-up at my location.”

Despite his height and general presence, Decker found it easy to simply fade into the background. Not many people paid him too much kind. He seemed to exist solely on the edge of everyone else’s peripheral — Still present but not in enough focus to truly register. It was almost like he blended into the background. Maybe it was a skill that he had picked up over the years as a soldier. Maybe it was simply something that always happened to him due to his quiet nature. It came in handy, at least, since that meant people left him alone. He simply got to sit and observe the things that happened around him. Maybe he heard things that he wasn’t supposed to. A lot of people spoke rather loudly and publicly about things that they probably shouldn’t. As if their little table and bubble of conversation with their friends would protect them from outside ears. Even if said outside ears just happened to pick up bits and pieces before being able to string things together.

                               2 AM. somehow she always ends up back here. at his door. she knocks - for the second time. or did she even already knock? now she wasn’t so sure anymore. hands fidget and work on trying to fix her hair somewhat. an attempt to pull down her mini skirt a bit. until she realizes who would wait on the other side of the door and immediately she pulls it back up a bit. quick! check for bad breath.  (  like he’d care  )  the blonde breathes into her hand and upon taking a sniff, she pulls a face. obviously smells like tequila but what the hell has she been eating? quick! look for gum. hands dig into her purse where part of her knew she would find anything but gum. lose hair ties. candy wrappers. peanut m&ms. a key she doesn’t know what it’s for. some guy’s number apparently - before she could keep looking, the door opens just a crack and her gaze comes back up. her eyes meeting his. though he doesn’t seem half as excited to see her.

                                                  “ there he is ! why’d you keep me waiting ? ”

                      as always, no sense for how much time had passed. he makes no effort opening the door any further so she raises her brows.

                     “ so ... you not gonna let me in ? wanna come get mcdonald’s with me then ? ”

whump  / @rottweilerrr

                                  she’s so, so far gone. it’s a miracle she was still up on both feet. considering the drinks & drugs she went through as the night went on, she should have passed out hours ago. then again, she’s barely running on autopilot anymore. there’s no memory of having texted him tonight and even if she had, sober daisy would know he would need at least 1 - 2 business days to reply. so perhaps … she ran into him by coincidence. which reminds her, holly was with her just two seconds ago. it’s actually been two hours since she had last seen her friend but that didn’t matter anymore either. she has no idea where they are. her vision’s not working as it should. as far as she knows they could be standing in a pitch black room. the bathroom of a club. his place. her place. a park. literally anywhere. she doesn’t see anything but him - though she sees four of him.

@rottweilerrr   //  tweets  //  accepting

A sorry state he had seen her in.

She didn’t sleep much as of late, even less than usual, spending what little time she had in her office in front of papers, documents and computer screens, whose nature she kept carefully hidden from him, only occasionally to hear her speak to people in different languages. Sometimes soft and honey-tinted, sometimes she couldn’t hide her anger. But she was withering, with her appearance not well-made, the curls hanging weakly down onto her shoulders, and the creeping furrows of age on her face became more noticeable than ever. Everything’s alright, she always said, with her smile fading every time a bit more, until she stopped. 

Today, she had thrown the empty cognac glass on the floor in a rage, burrowing her face in her hands, merely peeking up once he raised his voice. - I never needed you to be strong.

It wasn’t a question of necessity. Eleanor was strong. She had always been strong because weakness simply hadn’t been an option ever since she had accepted the invitation to the most dangerous job interview in the world. Showing a crack would mean that the entirety would break down sooner or later, so best not show anything at all. It was, of course, a question of how much of it was discipline and true will. She liked to tell herself it was her personality, but moments like thee, she came to notice that she was less a strong person because she was, but because others needed her to be.

Stay strong for Papa, she had told herself as she arranged the peonies next to the coffin herself, as he sat there crying silently, not knowing that his tears weren’t hidden from her. Stay strong for them, she had told herself as she stood in front of the crater what had been the HQ, nothing physical remaining, while dutifully going through the few remaining contacts that replied. Stay strong for yourself, she had told herself as she went through the trials, with everyone expecting her to fail, especially her mentor. Weakness had never been an option for her, so she had to stay strong by default. 

How old was he when he had realised his parents weren’t strong invincible heroes? Some children would learn early, some during their teenage years when they started to think for themselves, some when they saw them withering away in hospitals with more tubes in them than veins, some never at all, remaining hopeful until their own end. But he wasn’t one of those. When did his reality kick in, between freezing in a damp flat, going to bed hungry, not because it was punishment and an indication that they’d care, but being incapable to provide him with the necessary strength of a parent? Probably nothing that he’d actively think about; but accepted as a general truth. I never needed you to be strong, it was something left unsaid, like old reek of cheap cigarettes remaining in fabric long after. Not for him. Don’t stay strong for him.

“Yes, you do.”She had picked up the broken glass again, neatly placing the pieces on the mahogany desk, carefully not to cut herself, and as carefully she placed her hand on his shoulder, with a smile returning, but she didn’t manage yet to let it reach her eyes. As to lead him away from the carnage, to make him forget her humanity breaking through again. Ah, what was another person counting on her? It didn’t make a difference now, and Atlas didn’t break either.“Yes, yes you do, my darling boy.”