#thread: red

uma walks out to the table. "was something wrong with your food? i'm doing my best but it's my first day cooking here alone. so whatever you want, i'll do it."

Uma nods. "Of course they didn't. They judged before they knew you. Fuck them, we have a new life here in DC."

Uma looks at the other, frowning. "I'm sorry, I feel like I should know you?"

Moana was still learning how to navigate this new world she was in. She'd never known about any kind of technology. She was looking at her phone, starting to get frustrated because she couldn't figure it out. She looked for the nearest person, waving her over. "Excuse me, can you show me how to use this thing?" She holds up the phone.

A medical kit rests on the table to his right, open and clinically spread out beside the array of weaponry and surveillance equipment, the latter of which emits a faint crisp of static. White noise. Ignored. Instead he stares ahead at the wall, watching the clock and the second hand twitch away the minutes. He has seven before he’s to report a compromised mission status.

He wipes away the bloom of red lining his lower lip with the back if his thumb. He can feel it begin to well up anew, fresh and determined, but pays it no further mind. He should service his weapons. Protocol, habit (or something that's not quite boredom, something he can't place and doesn't bother chasing).