#undergroundnightingale

She'd be lying to herself - and to God - if she said she didn't have her preferences already. Sure, she knew the officer wasn't exactly the nicest man, but that was an easy fix. Nothin' beats popping a cigarette in the mouths of men that liked to talk too much - just like pacis with crying babies.

...She probably wouldn't be here for when they needed to treat the ramifications of smoking, anyway...

"Mr. Coyle!" She gushed, giving him no time to process her taking his sunglasses off and examining his face. It was a blessing that unlike some of her patients, Coyle hadn't figured out he could turn his head just a little and bite the fingers that carefully prodded his skin.

"No glass today? Well ain't you lookin' as nice as a marigold on May. I - oh..." The moment she saw those grey eyes glaring at her, she remembered Coyle had a light sensitivity and made haste to put his sunglasses back on.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sometimes, I feel myself gettin' carried away." Hell, she had to step back to stop the unnecessary prodding. "I was gonna say, that deserves a reward, no? A little birdie told me you were hungry."

With that, she leaned in again and whispered like she she was going to tell him something that would immediately get her dismissed. "I got a warm lunch I'd like to share with you in my office. I know it ain't much better than what they feed you, but it ain't right havin' you take a Bennie on an empty tummy..."

- 💉

He shot the fluorescent lights overhead a withering glare as even through his aviators, he felt his eyes burn. For a facility steeped in doom and gloom, the medical sector was bright as all damn hell. This is why he hated visiting doctors. Why the hell do these dumb twits always insist on wheeling him right in after a day's of hard work? Even his wives didn't nag at him until he'd sat his ass down.

The  nurse's  voice  cut  through  the  humbuzz  of  lights  and  he  watched  on  with  faint  amusement  as  the  woman  very  unsubtly  rushed  over.  However,  all  amusement  he  held  for  the  nurse  quickly  diminished  when  he  found  his  shield  from  the  artificial  sun  ripped  from  his  face.

He  recoiled  almost  reflexively  with  a  hiss,  thrashing  in  his  restraints.  He  shot  the  nurse  a  mean  glare,  partially  because  he  couldn't  see  shit  beyond  a  blinding  white  painted  on  his  irises.

"MOTHERFUCKIN'- BITCH!" The  sergeant  spat  out,  voice  laced  with  irritation.  He  didn't  even  notice  the  lack  of  touch  until  the  nurse  pulled  away,  and  he  found  himself  clicking  his  tongue  in  further  displeasure.

Fuck,  what  the  hell  did  the  woman  even say  to  him?  Something  about  no  glass  in  his  face.  Whatever  it  was,  Coyle  didn't  pay  much  heed  beyond  the  honeyed  words  dripping  into  his  ear  right  now.

"who was that?"

(Hush I love your threads ty for this one!!)

“A nurse.” Artie’s frowning at what the other nurse left, a napkin with red lipstick mark and a number written on it, “There’s plenty of them here Mitzi.”

They take a long look at it before dumping it into a little trashcan under their desk.

"Henderick, love?"

Despite him being her superior, Mitzi kept it casual. To her, there was no need for formalities unless it was over paperwork.

"I hope ya don't mind but I brought ya a little somethin' for the nerves. Forgive me for bein' so bold, but ya just seem a little..."

There was a pause for Mitzi to consider the best word to use to describe her employer.

"Jumpy."

" Is there anythin' I can do to help ease those clouds in your mind? They sure ain't lookin' like they're doin' you any favours."

- @undergroundnightingale

The office is dimly lit, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. Easterman is slumped in his chair behind the cluttered desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit as frayed as the paperwork in front of him. When he hears her voice he lifts his head, and that familiar slow, warm smile spreads across his barely visible face- equal parts tired colleague and something far more watchful.

He lets out a low, genuine chuckle, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Careful now. Someone might think we're on the same side of the clipboard."

He straightens a little, gesturing with two fingers for her to come all the way in and set the tray down. His eyes linger on her for a beat longer than strictly professional.

"Jumpy. Hell… that's one way to put it." Another quiet laugh, warmer this time, almost self-deprecating. "Between Avellanos riding my ass about budgets, Scarfiotti's damn engineering tantrums, and the Board breathing down my neck like I'm some intern who botched his first procedure… yeah. Clouds is putting it mildly."

He accepts the cup with both hands, letting his fingers brush hers on purpose as he takes it. The first sip pulls a contented sigh from him.

"You didn't have to do this, you know. Most of the nurses around here keep their heads down and their trays in the break room. But you…" He leans back, studying her with that soft, intense gaze. "You walk in here bold as brass, calling me by my first name and offering tea like we're just two exhausted souls trying to survive the same madhouse."

He takes another slow sip, then sets the cup down and pats the edge of the desk beside him- an invitation, colleague to colleague.

"Sit a minute, Mitzi. God knows I could use the company that doesn't want something from me."

His voice drops, still warm but threaded with that velvet exhaustion. "These clouds you're talking about… they're heavy tonight. Too many reagents flatlining, too many reports I don't want to write." A wry little smirk. "Don't tell Avellanos I said that."

He looks up at her again, gentler now.

"So tell me, what's a sharp-eyed nurse like you see when she looks at her 'jumpy' colleague? And more importantly-" he taps the side of the second cup she brought "-you staying long enough to drink with me? I'd rather hear about your day than stare at these damn files any longer."

His smile turns just a touch crooked, affectionate.

@undergroundnightingale

ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ ► accepting

'It's routine!' They say, 'Good for your health! All apart of your therapy!' It's kind of funny; he doesn't remember agreeing to this for therapy or to have random strangers fondle him whenever they damn well pleased. Sure, some of them were pretty or handsome to look at, but that didn't make the invasion of privacy any less agitating. It didn't make him feel any less like a wild animal. Something rabid, something diseased; something you hold at arms length in case it bit you, and if it bit you... Better hope someone gets to you fast, before it kills you.

Maybe he was an animal. Maybe that's why he's here and why his family seemed to be perfectly fine with the fact that their precious Il Bambino was missing. Franco would care more if his mind weren't so addled with the drugs and psychosomatic symptoms brought on by the environment and experimentation — that's what it really was, after all. Therapy was just some bullshit term they used on paper to avoid detection, just like how the facility stretched miles underground where no one could hear you scream for aid if you tried. Help came in the form of pills, fake smiles, and false assurances that you were something grand; something beautiful.

Franco blinks away the daze just in time to feel the pain radiate in his face like a wave with thousands of sharp needles. He shouts, and jerks his head away, holding his left cheek as tears begin to form. If it had been anyone else, he would have responded rather violently; he'd take the metal tray sitting upon the rolling cart and bash the doctor over the head with it, or even use the needle sitting out to stab them in the eyes, or the throat, or whatever he could get his hands on. He'll admit that the desire to do so was still there, but he was in the presence of a lady. Not just any lady, a pretty lady, and Franco was a desperate and craven man. He desired attention from any and all sources, but especially the pretty ones, and that meant keeping his temper under control.

Mitzi rolled her eyes as she looked up from her clipboard. For once, the nurse was even openly pouting.

"Surely even someone as big n' scary as yourself remembers feelin' all warm and fluffy inside. You were married, weren'tcha? Three times even?"

- @undergroundnightingale

"It goes against the goddamn law an' hurts justice itself. If I ever catch one of 'em chicks with dicks... god I'll tear a cunt outta them since they crave one so much... yeah..."

The officer chuckled darkly, clearly caught up in whatever fantasy he'd just spewed out. He met Mitzi's gaze from behind his shades, and instead of throwing out some remark on her pout as he would, his lips simply pulled wide into a cruel grin.

The moment she leaves her guard down is the moment Franco seizes the opportunity to work his hand out of the restraints bit by bit. He had to work fast and the beating of his heart thrumming in his ears made it difficult to concentrate, but he was determined to not let this chance go to waste. He was going to make it out of here and not even the sweet, doe-eyed nurse was going to stop him. Though he did have to admire her somewhat — putting Lupara where he'd struggle to reach? But, foolish girl, he was smart too and managed to get it down just in time to press the cool metal against Mitzi's back. So confident was he, having her at a disadvantage that he did not foresee the ace up her sleeve as she spins on her heels and quickly pins him to the wall.

That pen was hovering dangerously close to his eye...

Franco, of course, dropped the weapon immediately, albeit reluctantly. He should remind himself that just because his opponent was a woman didn't mean that it was an easy win. Hell, he of all people should know that — shame on him for forgetting.

His lip curls into something of a sneer and rage bubbles beneath the surface in his helpless situation. He should have shot her then and there, but he let his only way out drop to the floor and now any work he had done building a relationship with his favourite nurse was destroyed. She'd never trust him again; he'd be bolted to that damned table next time — probably be at the mercy of someone worse. There was still a chance, though... If he could get the gun again and kill her, he wouldn't have to worry, would he? She'd be out of his way and there would be plenty of teeth and bone to take for ammunition he—

No! What was he thinking?! The gangster is one man against an entire facility he has no clue the layout of! What was he hoping to achieve here beside looking foolish?

She was sat like a doll at her desk, gazing into her compact mirror as she carefully touched up the wash of pastel blue on her lids. Mitzi really needed to do something about how often her eyes were reddening and watering. It wasn't ladylike and was making her need more touch-ups than usual. At least the feeling of Simon running her comb through her hair felt soothing, and without realising, Mitzi was leaning into it.

"Ya such a sweetie. Thank ya, Simon."  she glanced over her shoulder, smiling up at him. Her pupils were wider than usual; no doubt she'd been heavy handed with her helpers again. At least this was a rare occasion of gentleness, and there was no one to lecture her. Even rarer, Mitzi wasn't fussing at him over how she preferred her hair to be braided and pinned. Truly, she was blissed out.

- @undergroundnightingale

"Oh, do not mention it, Miss Mimi," he cooed, gently grabbing her head to turn it forward once more as he continued to comb through her hair.

Simon always liked whenever she was like this. When her big, sad puppy dog eyes were stress-free and unfocused, and her head was empty for once.

"It's so healthy... I'm almost tempted to steal your shampoo."

Chuckling under his breath, the ginger set the comb down and brushed his fingers through Mitzi's long hair, deftly playing with some individual strands. For a man who was elbow-deep in blood and gore on a daily basis, Simon seemed to very much enjoy himself.