#visata

Angel vc: no.

“Rood”

angel had shoved his decrepit violin in his hands without a word.  was he supposed to club someone with it or actually play it?  god he hadn’t played in over a decade... and judging from the bow his daughter was now passing his way, he was expected to play instead of be violent with it.

There’s a certain anxious buzz to the doppelganger as he pointedly avoids eye contact with the other. Seven years alone in a Casino--struggling desperately with his own identity and suddenly he’s supposed to just. Step back into the world and...be...Timothy Lawrence again. Just like that. It’s hard. Perhaps one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. 

“I’ll take your uh...silence as...awe stricken.” He offers lamely, hand coming upwards to scratch at the back of his neck before head tips upward, landing on another figurative ghost. Handsome Jack’s own daughter--Angel. A kind soul trapped beneath her own father’s fist. The very same who’d assisted him in petty little pranks--stupid gestures to irk the Boss without getting into trouble. (Moving every item on his desk slightly to the left every day until he noticed? Classic. Amazing. One for the record books.) 

maya brushes her wet hair away from her face, taking the towel to wipe her cheeks, ' same shit as always. a couple of psychos thinking they could make a quick buck by catching a siren...that or they just wanted my face for a skin pizza. '

jack bites back a retort toward his daughter, staying strangely silent as he stares down at the tangled mess of yarn on his needles. her jab had hit a very personal nerve and it effectively shut him up. the brand on his face tingles faintly, phantom pains brushing across the arching scar.

jack hums, sounding almost disinterested in her complaints. his wife's ass flushes so prettily, but he can't focus on that. this was supposed to be a punishment.

' well, i guess you're going to have to force yourself to be quiet then, won't you? ' he responds coolly.

jack is untying his sneakers as his wife speaks, and he lets out a quiet sigh.  of course he felt guilty always being away from home, but working for hyperion was a nonstop grind.  harold would scalp him if he didn’t give 110%.

❛ 𝚒'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚕.  𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞...𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝.  𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝. ❜ he murmurs, shedding his company jacket and tossing it over a chair before approaching chelsea.  his hands cup her arms, rubbing his thumbs lightly over her skin.  a wrinkle has formed between his brows, and his lips are turned down in a frown.