#||asks

The most ironic situation to have happened to Lyra that day was of the fact that a Phoenix prostitute actually protecting a Hydrus hitwoman from the members of her own gang.

But yet, here they were, and here she was–standing like an awkward duck in the middle of the woman’s carpeted home, her sniper rifle slung carelessly over her shoulder and mask covering the middle of her face to secure her own identity, facing one of the prettiest ladies that she’d ever seen.

It would do her good to buy a voice changer next. She’d been talking too much during her hitjobs recently. The errant thought floated through her mind, bubbling into existence for a few minutes, before fading away the next. Lyra turned towards her benefactor, blinking lightly as she jostled the sniper rifle on her shoulder.

“Why did you hide me?” She couldn’t help but ask the luxuriously dressed lady reclining on the sofa, the pounding sound of steps in a distance outside the doors causing her eyes to flicker ever so lightly. “They’re searching for me, you know. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to give me up in case they ever found me here? Make it much more convenient for you, and they’d trust you even more, considering that they actually do consider me to be dangerous.” She had dropped her mask halfway through escaping from the men chasing her, coming face to face to the woman sitting languidly on the sofa as though nothing had happened or changed. 

“You aren’t afraid.” Its more of a statement than a question, and something that truly piques Lyra’s interest. But the most frustrating thing out of all of this was not the fact that she had been saved by the enemy, but rather--that an enemy from the other gang had seen her face. Her face without her mask, as a matter of fact. And that, was the root of all her problems. Without her mask, she was easily recognised, and it was already hard enough getting around with multiple people recognising her all over the island due to the girl that had disappeared 6 years ago. “You saw my face, but yet you aren’t afraid that I’ll kill you. Why?”

the agony: your muse is assaulted/tortured in front of mine as punishment

Trigger Warning: Torture, Violence, Blood

“Fuck.” The heavy handed slap lashes against Lyra’s face harshly, snapping her face viciously to one side as stirs awake with the stinging pain that sticks to her sweaty cheeks.

How many days had they held her captive already? Her eyes glazed over slightly, her teeth worrying the bloodied and split bottom lip, savouring the pain with each sting of her tongue against the wound. Judging from how much she smelled of sweat and blood, and the depth of her hunger in her belly, she would assume that the Phoenix gang had managed to hold her for three days. She scoffed. As if that was going to work in prying any information out of her tightly sealed lips.

Her fingers ached with dull pain, the sting of the salt in her finger nails from her sweat lighting her nerve ends on fire with every twitch. 

“I’m going to start pulling out your toenails if you don’t say anything. Now, where’s this man?” Lyra hissed sharply as the meaty hand of the gang member yanks her by her hair, the bruises blooming all over like patchwork on her face from where she had been previously hit. “Like I said, fuck you, you fat blockhead. Did your blubber end up blocking your ears too? I told you around fifty times that I don’t know where he is.” A gasp tears from her lips as the male’s heavy hand smashes against the side of her face, sending her right ear ringing and her head swimming as though she had a concussion.

She probably had one--but fuck it all.

Lyra spat the residue blood in her mouth on the ground, her eyes grazing at the familiar face of the male she’d bumped into on one of her kills, sucking in a tight breath as they poured freezing salt water over her entire body, and she barely manages to hold back the groan from the sting of all her lacerations and cuts from her body that they’d made.

If her memory served her right, that male--knew her from way before. Or at least, he seemed as though he did. 

at ease: your muse rescues mine from imprisonment.

tw: blood, gore, mentions of kidnapping, possibly torture

Lyra was pissed. Or perhaps, pissed would be a milder word choice for the exact emotion that she was feeling, furious–being the better of the two words in her vocabulary that described the intensity of her own thoughts at the news that the other woman had been kidnapped by another gang. There was that absolute impulse to go in, guns blazing, and retrieve the other woman out from their grasps, but that was not how Lyra worked.

Not how–Hydrus worked. At least, in her perspective. It would be a simple mission for her, infiltrate and retrieve. A simple job–but one that she couldn’t wait to get her hands on to spill some blood….and maybe cut off some limbs.

But why was she so agitated? A mild streak of confusion flickered in Lyra’s mind for a faint moment, her movements swift but nimble as she climbed over the railing and dropped into the rafters, seating herself quietly as she watched the woman held captive in a bloody chair right beneath her.

Somehow, seeing Sunny stirred up certain emotions in her. Emotions that made no sense of why they should be there. They shouldn’t–because beyond Hydrus work, Sunny and her were both…strangers. But yet, there was that nagging sense that Lyra knew her a long time ago, and that seeing her hurt was one of the biggest things that the younger woman couldn’t tolerate.

“Oi. Dickheads.”A grin proliferates over Lyra’s face as she drops down lightly to her feet, after climbing partially down from the rafters. Her fingers tapped the man’s shoulder, and a flash of silver is all the male sees, before his neck gapes open, spilling a deep ruby red. “Ah…I used a bit too much strength. Now now, don’t worry–it won’t happen again.” She turned her eyes towards Sunny, eyes turning cold at the sight of what seemed like a broken wrist, and a swelling face from a rather brutal slap. “Would you boys be so kind to tell me..which of you touched her?” Lyra cooed softly and innocently, sliding over to one of the stockier males with a childish prance to her step. If only they hadn’t seen her slice open a man’s neck with just a knife and her own two hands–perhaps they would presume that Lyra was merely just a naive child that had stumbled into something that she shouldn’t have. 

Lyra’s eyes dropped lightly to one of the males, who’s hands were shaking slightly, the light tremors something that wasn’t out of fear. She flitted to his side, bending down to take a closer glance at his hand, trembling more at one side–an indication of it having it something hard enough to waver, a small but slightly twisted grin fluttering over her lips as she nodded. 

“Now, you were the one that slapped Sunny, didn’t you?” She tilted her head, eyes creasing as she gave him a rather happy smile. “I’m so glad I found you before the others ever did. They would have spared you for information, but I would have done the exact opposite.” The knife stabs into his jugular in his neck, blood spewing from the wound as the man clapped his fingers to the punctured wound, garbling his words as he stumbled backwards.

“Y-you–bitch!” The shot rings out twice before the other male on the opposite could say anything further, the bullet piercing his flesh and skewering into his kneecaps, and the Lyra tilts her head as she turned to glance indifferently at the male that lay yelping on the floor, tucking her gun back into her belt, a sigh bubbling from her lips as she stalked towards Sunny, the army knife deftly slicing through her bonds.

“Never knew that you needed rescuing.” Gone was the cold anger, Lyra’s dark but long lashed eyes flickering ever so slightly with a strange emotion as she sank to her knees slightly and sighed. “Are you alright?” A soft gentleness embroidered her tone sweetly as her hands lifted to cup Sunny’s swollen cheeks lightly. “I’m sorry, I should have come quicker.”

This was getting old. Lyra made a sigh of irritance as the body in her hand thumped to the ground, throat slit and bleeding all over the floor. And something that she didn’t want to have been seeing.

Such was an insult to her own pride, having been constantly caught by unforeseen circumstances of people intruding into her territory whilst she was carrying out some assassin work or killing. 

It was either that they were very unlucky or lucky—or that Lyra was simply slipping up a tad too much in her various killing exploits, a notion that Lyra herself hated to consider. It would mean that she was imperfect in her art of assassination, and utterly embarrassing for the other members of Hydrus, especially the other hitmen to know that she was constantly intruded upon whilst committing her killing crimes.

“Would it do good to all of you not to keep following me around like pesky flies? I no longer believe that people running into me whilst making my killings is something that of a coincidence and more of a purposely done meeting that everyone has decided to take two glances of. Does killing people intrigue all of you so much?” Lyra was furious that everyone had been bugging her over something that she refused to believe was of her own. “Like I said, I’m not whoever ya’ll think I am. Or whatever you think—oh.” The annoyance receded slightly into something akin to awkwardness at the sight of the driver from Hydrus standing at the doors. “Well. Thank you for waiting and fetching me, but as you can see–I’m not really done yet though.” She muttered under her breath moodily about people repeatedly charging into her killings as though they were some kind of strange phenomenon—bah, Lyra refused to believe that those incidences were coincidences. A struggling tap on her leg alerts her to glance down at the man struggling to breath, blood pouring from his wound at his throat in splatters as he gurgled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot all about you. Painful, isn’t it?” She smiles innocently at the struggling male, before deftly taking an army knife and slashing his throat once more in a smooth stroke from the left to the right. 

Never feel sorry for your target. That was the first thing that all hitmen or assassins had to remember whilst on the job. By now it should have almost been an automatic reflex for Lyra not to feel anything—anything at all for the target she was supposed to kill, but somehow, the picture of the little girl with her target on his desk stirred all kinds of irresponsible feelings out of the young hitman for Hydrus, even if that momentary glance at the picture was nothing but just fleeting in the file she had of him.

She knew every part of his work life, right down to his style–reconnaissance, or a little stalking was always needed for killers to know exactly when and how to kill someone, and determine what was the best course of action so far to do it. The male that she had been ordered to kill was a family man, apparently more of a workaholic than a man that cared for his wife and daughter–but that wasn’t what Hydrus had sent her to kill him for. The man had borrowed a huge sum of money from the gang, only for him to not return it. How he had thought to accomplish that and prosper without Hydrus coming after him was yet another wonder itself, but it was a wonder that Lyra couldn’t afford to think about as of now. 

He was already a dead man after all.

Her cold eyes flickered in the night as she watched the office slowly clear out, leaving behind the man that she knew worked overtime almost every night. A simple knife to the throat would do the job, Messy, but predictable. Or honestly, she could simply snipe him from afar–which was her due preference–however, this was more of a stealth operation than that of a sniping one. Lyra blinked as another one of the workers passed by her at her workstation, giving her a curious stare as she smiled up at the other male, a wig hiding her hair and horn rimmed glasses (no degree, of course), making the other laugh sheepishly.

“First night over time?” She nods at the other’s words, turning to her computer, where for the past hour, cowering a little timidly. She had specifically chosen this plain and drab disguise to blend in well enough with the others at the workplace–and true enough, she had been so plain that no one had noticed her.

First triumph of the day! Lyra had crowed internally to herself as she typed gibberish on the computer, the art of using nonsensical words to make it seem like a coherent document of work a skill she never knew she had.

“Well, don’t stay too late. The boss doesn’t like it when others, especially newbies stayed later than him.” She purposely widened her eyes in fear, shrinking back in her seat and bobbing her head rapidly at the other’s words, a quiet smile on her lips as the other male cackled a little too loudly. “I’ll be off then.” 

Its only fifteen minutes after the last person has left that she rises from her seat, moving quietly towards the male’s room. She had been very careful to avoid all the cameras that were working within the office for the entire day, and had been the most successful so far at avoiding them. It had kinda been like a mini game to her, seeing how many cameras that she could avoid being seen on,without actually being caught awkwardly avoiding certain areas. 

The wire between her hands glinted only slightly under the dim white lights, her footfalls silent but steady. She raised a hand, a manilla folder in tucked in hand, face ducked almost shyly in it as she pushed open the doors to the male’s office.

“Leave it on the table.” She silently nodded, moving towards his desk to pass the documents to the male, who was far too absorbed in his work. “What’s this?” She pushes the manilla folder to him with a smile under her disguise. “This isn’t--this--” The male turned white as a sheet, stammering and yammering at the various pictures of him and his family, neatly compiled within the folder.

“We did warn you not to cross us.” The garrote wire extends lightly from her left hand to her right, and a quick wrap of the wires around the male’s neck from the back has him immediately choking and struggling to no avail. Fingers clawed at the neck from where the garrote wire cut off his air supply, the bulky size of the chair that supported his body but left his neck unprotected making it difficult for the male to reach her slender body at the back.

The process was harsh but quick, brutal but efficient, and Lyra pulled the dark mask she had within her attire for the entire day back up her face, swiftly changing in the office out of her clothes as the male’s dead body lay in the chair, eyes wide and hands curved but limp. The wig was stashed within the bin as soon as it was off her head, a sigh of relief bubbling from her lips at the feeling of a cool breeze on her slightly sweaty scalp. She was just out of her pants and about to change into her new ones when the door opened, and instinctively, Lyra went for the gun that she knew had been in the drawer that the male never opened. She had planted one of her guns there in an unforeseen event, much like this one. She cocks the barrel swiftly, eyes cold as she aims her shot at the person about to walk in.

Meme Scenarios: status: accepting.

Lyra was never a good drunk, neither was she a very splendid drunk. She was simply a silent drunk, swaying quietly on her feet with her eyes spaced out and a bottle in hand, a sniffle on her nose and pout on her lips as she stood practically with her legs apart and face tilted up to the night air.

“Noah and Allie broke up!”  She wailed sobbingly, mind still on the forefront of the movie that someone had introduced her to just hours before– The classic Notebook. She hadn’t cried when she’d watched the movie, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t cry when she was drunk. “ They fought and fought and fought and they broke up.”  She blubbers, face a mess of tears and snot as she cries silent tears comically. “ You’re mean, you know.”  She slurred drunkenly. “You’re here to be mean to me.”  Her fingers pushed loosely against the other male’s chest as she sniffled. “ You’re here to find out who I am!”  Even with her inebriated state, Lyra was more intuitive than most, and her eyes woozily glanced across at the teen boy munching his food and sipping a drink. “Or maybe not.”  She huffed and muttered, groaning as she pressed her head against the table.

“Everything’s spinning.”  She whined pitifully, subtly regretting having taken up the challenge to finish 5 full glasses of red wine.

Meme Scenarios: status: accepting.

Ahhh. This was awkward, Lyra thought to herself, mouth slightly parted in an ‘o’ at the sight of the male stabbing a sword into another man’s gut. Well. She hadn’t expected to run into someone killing another–not that she was that surprised about it anyway. Gangs were gangs, and with how rampant criminal activity was around here, Lyra honestly found it not much of a surprise if most, if not all of the people around here were somewhat affiliated to certain gangs. 

But clearly, this was a classic–you shouldn’t have been here kind of trope and line. She wet her lips lightly, plastering herself to the wall as she peered over the edge curiously, eager to witness this strange male’s art and way of killing. Lyra didn’t often do so–really, who would have the right space of mind to witness another person killing another? But he was probably a hitman, and Lyra was intrigued, as seen by the grin that slowly fluttered across her face. Of course, she wasn’t stupid enough to make it known that her presence was right here, witnessing the assassination (or was it really an assassination..?) of another, whose assassin was clearly none other but a hitman.

And clearly, her excitement usually overrode her tact and carefulness–for the next minute she knew, she was blurting out words that shouldn’t be said.

“ You know, if you had a smaller knife and just sliced along the blade across his throat, he’d die much quicker?” She’s not in any of her usual hitman getup, simply dressed in a long sleeved, fluffy sweater that dwarfed her frame, and her hair loosely cascading, framing her face in light waves. A stack of documents sat in her arms–labelled Friends of Myeongcho proposal idea–and Lyra blinked for a moment, belatedly realising her mistake. “ I read that, uh–somewhere in the thing you call inter-net.” 

Gah. How was she going to remedy this mistake? She tilted her head slightly, feet curling into the ground. 

“I’m sorry.” No one, perhaps save for one or two Hydrus members up in the higher ranks knew that this tall, slightly clumsy but adorable girl was a sniper hitman for the gang, given as a prize by someone who felt that she could add to their ranks. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”  Lyra purposely pitched her voice a little higher, letting a slight impression of fear bleed through–event though she did feel slightly intimidated at the sight of the other male. 

Just slightly.