#webrunners

@webrunners // SC.

X6 appeared as suddenly as he often departs; noiselessly, calm, and severe. His hackles here within the Institute’s halls are always raised ( they have to be ; coursers suffer the tightest collars under the Institute’s hands - something she works to undo ), but she sees just the faintest twitch of amusement in the corners of his mouth. He enjoys catching her off-guard, even if he’ll never admit it.

The mirth however quickly fades with puzzling news. And just like that, they make it to the teleporter to take them up to the surface of the CIT ruins. 

It’s a few minutes before Quinn and X6 finally spot the person in question; not alone, and armed enough that he’s no scav. Most folks avoid the ruins here. The Institute had created a dark history of violence to ensure it. Dusting off her vaultsuit, Quinn makes a point to kick some loose rubble to signify their approach. X6 by now has already disappeared like a wraith among the partially destroyed buildings; watching from afar.

“tell me of the place from whence you came, cipher nine.”

it is an unusual day, but its irregularity is hardly happenstance—loki, having appointed herself the custodian of her system’s guest despite all protocol that would dissuade such a thing, has set aside time to be able to learn more of him. the return of his vision, and the more pertinent progress in his mobility, lend themselves well to a walk through the extensive gardens of the asgardian palace. 

@webrunners said:  [ i’m fine, i’ve had worse. ] - damien. // STARTERS.

@webrunners said:  ❝ it’s true what they say. you’re good. really fucking good. got a stick up your ass, through. ❞ -V

The Institute creates man, but treats them as machine. The Institute replicates human life, but forces them under the standards of mere equipment. She can see the ones that edge the lines of those requirements; quiet moments when they think they’re alone, when they think others won’t see; momentary slip-ups around the newcomer, the unknown variable, the mother to The Father. 

And then there are the Coursers. The ones not even allowed the luxury of those minute mistakes. The ones whose collars and leashes are tightest, even when given the freedom to see the surface. The one she works with now is no exception.

kerry grips tight to the bottle in his hand, all smooth blue glass and flashy labeling, as he eyes v with an aura of reluctance. he hadn’t remembered asking him for his opinion, he notes, before he takes another swig from the tequila. his hold tightens further, offensively protective like a dog who thinks someone is about to take toy or a food away from them.

“no,” he snips in response. had someone sent him? did he come of his own volition? kerry doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to ask, either. “you think you should mind your own business?”

@webrunners sent: ✉ (push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed) - damien // [MEME] 

The look she shoots him is one that’s never been reserved for him before, a contradictory blend of something both icy and seething; the effect, however, if muzzled by the setting. One’s intimidation only diminishes when bedridden, after all. She almost wishes Cvrie had never talked to him, filled him in.