#snipedheart

HURT / COMFORT : STARTERS / accepting.

BREAK IS A STRANGE WORD. The dichotomy between its definitions, whether to rest or to suddenly and violently splinter into separate pieces, strikes a chord in him. It isn't a pretty chord, either—it's damn loud and jarring.

When I die, his mind provides, that'll be a break.

But of course, he doesn't say it out loud. Simon's eyes flicker to her, his expression hidden entirely save for the micro movements of his lashes. He's contemplating, staring at her in silence.

stuck to the table. immediately behind it is a brown paper bag. it's vaguely greasy. inside are several fried scorpions.

POST-IT NOTE || ( accepting! )

ALT TEXT:

it's been a few days since he made his decision , a few days since he decided that maybe it's best to start where he started. the united states military expanding it's conflicts in the middle east while simultaneously trying to begin a war on two fronts was not something that huckleberry though was in the best interest of the nation's young and brave men and women in arms. or rather , he was fucking tired of men in suits who had never served a day in their lives being in charge of the goddamn military. it was always these men that played with the lives of those that had chosen honor and country over their own livelihoods. and while huck himself had been forced to choose a different path after having served ten years , he would have happily done twenty or thirty if the corruption hadn't permeated so thoroughly.

the job he's required to do is sometimes a little much , huckleberry had been trained at a distance. and while he had ( over the years ) become skilled in hand to hand combat doing anything where he has to look into the eyes of feeble men is something that will never not unsettle him. it's the disgruntled fear in their eyes , as if they hadn't brought it upon themselves. how could they not be aware of their inevitable fate ? the texan was more than aware of his own , one of these days , the government would get tired of the old man's money and stop aiding in the escape of his antics from the authorities. or worse, he would end up stepping on the wrong toes and his head would end up five feet away from the rest of his body.

none of this consumes his mind too deeply , not in the slightest as the main preoccupation at the moment is in fact the silenced beretta rests between his index and thumb loosely held at his side as ice blue eyes watch as blood pools only a couple of meters away. such a simple concept. the death of the corrupt. such a difficult one to execute without garnering too much attention. in the back of his mind he tries to remind himself that he should move. a smart man would move ? but all of it is wrought , not even a full second later there is a strange voice coming from behind him. as if someone had appeared out of no where. accusing him of something , and by the tone of voice he's hearing it can't possibly be anything good.