TO BE A MONSTER

                  goddess   walks   on   earth;   and   each   of   her   steps   melts   at   the   snow,   leaving   behind   bloodied   footprints,   memento   mori   for   the   unfortunate   majority.         (   YOU   ARE   THE   HERALD   OF   DEATH.   )         and   yet   she   does   not   manifest   now   for   that   purpose,   and   the   black   of   her   uniform   is   exchanged   for   something   more   autumnal.   to   blend   with   the   masses,   she,   angel   with   her   halo   of   fire.

                  “   i’m   not.   ”         blue   burned   gaze   peeks   over   dark   rimmed   glasses.   after   a   moment,   she   takes   them   off,   folding   them   back   into   the   pocket   of   her   coat.   she   knows   how   to   shape   her   body   to   get   what   she   wants   ———   the   easy   smile,   stance   open   and   non   threatening.         “   i   was   actually   looking   for   you,   miss   dearing.   my   name   is   natasha   romanoff.   ”

Her eyes narrowed. The name rang a bell, though she couldn’t say why. Let alone if it was meant to be familiar or a warning. Vesper leaned back in the office chair and laced her fingers together to keep them steady. 

“I see. And what precisely do you want with me, Ms. Romanoff?”

For all that little alarm bells were going off in her head, the woman before her seemed entirely human. But then, human beings did awful things to one another all the time. And a public setting didn’t mean anything to some people. 

“Close the door if you like. I have ... a feeling, this is going to be private.”

       ❝  ɴᴏᴘᴇ. ❞   he  responds  honestly,  ❝  i  would  have  killed  him  too.  ❞  wished  he’d  gotten  hear  sooner  so  he  could  add  an  arrow  to whatever  the  she  did  to  the  scumbag.

              victor’s  cautious  with  his  moves.  it  might  not  be   the  wisest  idea  to  follow  the  strange  woman  to  her  apartment  but  it  was  better  than  dying  on  the  street  —  or  worse  a  hospital.   he  grunts  as  he  steps  forward,  ragged  breath  cutting  through  the  mask  with  a  robotic  twinge.  ❝   lead  the  way,  ❞   .

          Lydia took his hand with a faint smile. It was genuine -- but also looked like something she didn’t quite know how to do. She led him just across the street to an old victorian style townhouse. Full of creaks, and groans and while once probably very nice, now a relic of better times. She produced a key from her skirt pocket, and let them inside the entry hall, then the lower floor’s apartment. 

“Sit here, please. And take off what’s covering that wound if you can without hurting yourself.” She gestured at a comfortably sprung sofa and vanished deeper into the apartment for her first aid and sewing kit. The place was full to bursting with potted plants, and haphazard piles of books. But there were no photographs or mirrors. 

When she returned her sleeves were rolled up, and she had a bottle of peroxide and a case of medical supplies. And a (somewhat dusty) bottle of whiskey.

          ᴇʏᴇʙʀᴏᴡs ᴋɴɪᴛ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ   under  the  heavy  veil  of  his  hood.   blue  eyes  stare  for  a  moment,  confusion  lighting  his  features.  ❝ did —  did  you  kill  him.  ❞  he  was  still  in  vigilante-mode,  little  filter  over  his  words  despite  the  mask  across  his  face.  the  arrow  if  finally  removed  from  his  bow  and  placed  in  his  quiver,  no  threat  found. 

.             he  flinched  at  her  touch,  glancing  down  at  the  fresh  blood  pooling  on  his  vest.  he  hadn’t  even  noticed  until  now. the  wound  nothing  compared  to  the  multitude  of  others  he’d  collected  throughout  the  years.  ❝   you  don’t  have  too,  ❞  he  says  with  a  single  shrug,  ❝  believe  it  or  not,  i’ve  learned  how  to  stitch  myself  up  after  a  few  bad  scratches.     ❞

         “Would you shoot me if I said yes?” She was already distracted, examining the wound. Taking care to be gentle with it. “He liked children, you see. And if someone must die, he ought to have been on the list.”

Already distracted, she gestured at him.  “Come on -- I live in the duplex across the street. It’s going to be very awkward to sew up something you’ll need a mirror to see properly.”

           ʜᴇ’s ʙᴇᴀᴛᴇɴ & ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴠɪʟʏ,  his  body  aching  from  a  seemingly  endless fight.  his  fingers  quick  to  pull  the  arrow  taught.  at  the  sight  of  the  woman,  his  body  relaxes,  the  arrow  falling  to  his  side,  shoulder’s  slumping  forward.  he  keeps  his  weapon  loaded,  and  takes  a  step  back. 

            ❝   yeah…  i  get  that  a  lot.  ❞  he  was  very  much  real.  a  sad  man  dressed  like  a  freak  to  shoot  men  with  arrows.  with  fatigue  clouding  his  mind  and  the    unsteady    ache  in  his  bones,  reality  felt  heavy  against  his  drooping  forward.  ❝  what  are  you  doing  out  here ?  ❞  the  tired  tone  leaked  through  the  the  robotic  tone  of  his  mask. 

          “Oh. Work. There was a man, you see, and now there isn’t.” She continued to eye him. The distinctive scent of blood filled the air. She could... probably help with that. And not, she thought, by feeding you again. 

The dark presence in the back of her head faded away and traveled... elsewhere. 

          Vesper would have liked to think she would have known the woman was not what she seemed even without her SIGHT. But that would probably be flattering herself. 

She walks like a threat, she wanted to think. But she didn’t. She walked like any other woman. In such a way that other’s eyes might slide right off her. Vesper frowned, looking up at the redhead from her desk. 

“The professor that is actually supposed to be running things isn’t here at the moment. If you’re looking for Wilkerson he’s probably at the pub.”

It was no secret that she’d more or less been running the show since she started working as the man’s ‘assistant’ but she didn’t recognize the person before her.