#t:01

task one - pre-apocalypse life

KITTY: Me sending this does NOT mean I forgive you. You're really being a huge jerk right now and I'm in my right mind to put one of my heels where the sun don't shine.

“And now you can be a part of this too.” 

In the morning the sun greets them with cold rosy spilling at the horizon and tender purple veil thrown over the waters that for once have changed their affinity to grey and green. Here and there dolphins show their back fins, following their route peacefully, bypassing the great bulk of the Flying Dutchman rocking upon the timid waves. Save for those miniscule stirrings, the sea is perfectly tranquil, as if foreboding a big storm. Every day they stray further from God’s light, docilely abiding the captain’s choices: the deal with the unholy, the love for the demons of the sea, the fate of cursed sea devils, and today the first mate feels it in his soul as clearly as he feels the wet, dank sort of cold that nestles in every corner of the ship during a tempest. They are too far from the shore of human world, and they are going farther and farther.

The crew does not hide the gloom and sprouting dread gathering in their eyes. They’re a drab collection of men that used to yearn for a jolly night, a good drink and a soft bosom, but now they only have thoughts for cowardly ruminations with their own selves: should we trust the captain anymore?

He will not take it. He’ll bark commands and shove his way through the crowd of somnambulas he condemns them to be as he treads the path towards Davy’s cabin. At the permission to enter he slips in quietly, so unlike the usually noisy. cumbersome grace of the first mate.

“The men are changin’, cap’n.”

In a thick-veined, sinewy hand of a man familiar with ropes and weapons for a great chunk of his life, there is a measly clump of a rug he unweaves to present the strange evidence to captain Jones: a constellation of barnacles smudged with red, as well as fresh, shallow wounds upon the first mate’s forearm.

“I tore ‘em off me flesh this morning.”

He pulls up the hem of his shirt. On his left flank, amongst the abundance of scars found on any seaman of wicked ways glistens a vision of silver, an agglomeration of scales, in their roughness reminiscent those of a shark,  as though the bite of the tiger of the sea possessed the ability to contaminate with its essence akin to werewolf or a vampire, but his heart is not at peace knowing yesterday it was but a mere scratch.

There truly was nothing like being back. Even the air was different in Switzerland compared to anywhere else. Yet there was not much time to indulge in the luxurious views or even much of the food. She was participating in a global conference to do with maintaining peace in former warzones. As a staunch advocate for peace, she had been called upon to be there and take part in some discussions. Angela was not entirely looking forward to it, not everyone approved of her employment by Overwatch and it would mean perhaps a day of more debating than she would like. 

.....

She had been right, the conversation had become heated at times and by the end of the last day of the confererence, Dr Ziegler was mentally exhausted. At least she had known herself and booked an extra day at her hotel in advance. An evening of room service and hotel television awaited her when she arrived in from the bitter evening chill. 

Wrapping her coat around her, she had dipped into a coffee shop for a hot chocolate to go and was walking back down some residential streets. Then it happened. A cold shiver ran down her back. She felt the sensation of being watched. Looking over her shoulder, she could not see anyone. This street she had turned onto was quiet.

Scheisse.

Taking a sip of the warm drink, she started walking again and hurried her pace a little more. A hand slipped into her pocket to grip her cell phone as a source of comfort as she walked, able to dial the police as soon as possible if her paranoia was right. 

No, it was just her exhaustion manifesting as anxiety. 

Scar ainda não conseguia acreditar que aquilo estava acontecendo com ela. Tinha que ser um tipo de piada, seria uma piada de muito mal gosto, mas ainda sim seria melhor do que a situação atual. Porque estar algemada com Emmett era definitivamente uma das piores coisas que já havia acontecido com ela. Em algum ponto poderia ser um exagero, mas naquele momento estava com tanta raiva que não conseguia ver onde estava  exagerando. Todas as outras pessoas pareciam estar achando tudo aquilo engraçado, mas Scar não sabia onde estava a graça. Se fosse com qualquer outra pessoa, tudo bem, depois de alguns minutos poderia rir, mas não, ela e Emmett se odiaram praticamente na primeira vez que se viram.

Ela olhou para os lados para ver se encontrava o empresário, já que ele foi a pessoa brilhante que resolveu fazer aquilo com os dois, mas infelizmente ele já não estava lá. Mexeu sua mão de um lado para o outro e fez força para tentar se soltar, sem sucesso, aquilo era um algema de verdade, não era nada de brinquedo. Pensou em continuar tentando, mas viu que aquilo não iria levar a lugar nenhum e que a única forma de ter sua liberdade de volta, era indo atrás do empresário.

rome: you loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove meeeeeeeeeeee

rome: you fucking loooooooooooove meeeeeeee