fear is the mind-killer...

[agresti-s]

DEATH I DO NOT FEAR, HELL I DO NOT FEAR.

— BASICS

Name: Zaira Cross Age / D.O.B.: 15 of July, 1985 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis female, she/her, bisexual Hometown: New York Affiliation: The Syndicate Job position: Hacker Education: PhD in Computer Science. Relationship status: Single Children: None Positive traits: Quick-witted, self-reliant, knowledgeable, insightful, vibrant. Negative traits: Intrusive, careless, impatient, crude, obsessive.

— BIOGRAPHY

Born and raised in NYC, Zaira was lucky enough for her parents to know the right people for her to get in what were classified as the “good” schools, although she never asked why they did so. It wasn’t clear from the start what path Zaira would end up getting on, she had many interests and none of them seemed to have anything to do with each other. One day she wanted ballet, the other she wanted martial arts courses; for a while she bounced back and forth on things, never getting good enough at them (because she would get bored of it a month later), but at least knowing the basics of some of them.

And then high-school came around, she got into a nasty fight with one of the girls at school, so she decided to try and find out this girl’s secrets.

That clicked something in her head, because she ended up using the girl’s library card to get her parent’s number, and after hours upon hours of research, she found her father’s email, then finally got access to their home computer where she discovered many uncomfortable pictures of the girl’s father and another woman that was not his wife. And she printed all of those pictures and anonymously sent them to that girl’s house. 

What happened afterwards, she still doesn’t know, but her parents forced her to change schools after she proudly confessed her “crime”.

Still, her father would encourage some of her antics, even getting her into programming courses and learning “the green way of hacking”.

Moving to Brooklyn, though, was what changed her life. After meeting some people and making friends with what would be considered shady characters, she ended up joining The Syndicate around 2013.

In the beginning, her abilities were lacking, she had to learn on her own skin what mistakes can bring, and she has scars to show for it. But it wouldn’t take long for her to prove herself as a valuable member, her oath to The Syndicate formed on the strong bonds she had with everyone who worked with her.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

Work in progress!

[agresti-s]

samburman​:

Open to: Syndicate members/affiliates Location: Grand Central, Main Street-Flushing Queens platform It’s cold. Of all the things Sam is sure the city could afford, it’s heating underground. The trains don’t need the help, often too hot all year round as locals and lost tourists alike pack into them like overstuffed sardine cans. But the platforms? There is no reason a man should have to wear a hat and gloves while indoors. “You really should be more careful with your things. This station is a popular one.” Just as the street performers frequent this station, so do the criminals like themselves. Pick pockets prey upon those who leave their livelihoods on the line. 

“You’d be surprised how much you can learn about a person based on next to nothing. Receipts, pictures, how used your cards are. Forrest Gump was a genius with the shoe thing.” What all that doesn’t tell a person, though, is where they’re going. That’s what the criminals decide, once they get what they need. Instinctively, he looks toward the incoming train despite knowing it’s not the one. “When’s the last time you had something lifted off you?”

`

She shivers for a moment and tugs tightly at the jacket around her, looking over at Sam as he speaks with the strange cryptic implication of... whatever. She guesses she has to play along a little bit, at least get some form of clarity as to why she is here in the first place, because having something to do is not quite enough. She does hope that her aid is useful. “Good thing I don’t carry shit I care about with me, what I have is either fake or disposable.” She shrugs.

She does understand what he’s saying, though, about just how easy it is to read someone. It’s a skill that can make anyone a mind reader. She could argue she possess at least a small form of that skill, at least if she pays attention enough. She likes detail, after all. “Uh... Probably when I got out of prison?” She makes a face of ‘I guess’ and wraps her arms around herself. “Or maybe finishing college. That sure as hell felt like I was one step closer to becoming a Goddess.” she jokes.

[agresti-s]

❄️

(context)

She gasps and clenches her fist as the snowball hits her, and she looks back to see who the motherfucker— oh.

"Shit, sis," Zaira laughs. "Been a minute since I've seen you." She turns to Nora and folds her arms across her chest.

"Gotta say, your face truly is a delight to see. But as much as a delight it is..." She grabs a handful of soft snow and drops it over her head. "I can't be the only one with a wet head."

[alyzememes]

send ‘❄️’ to throw a snowball at my muse for their reaction.

if you can’t see the symbol, send ‘snowball’!

[agresti-s]

ziggyhawthorne​:

—

If the florist was better at being truthful with himself, Ziggy would admit in a heartbeat that he was looking for anything but the obvious to busy himself. What he should be focused on, in order of importance, were the following: calming the hell down and returning his breathing, thoughts, and focus to anything closer to his version of normal, documenting and filing a police report for the accidental property damage, and then cleaning the shop up so that broken glass didn’t inadvertently get caught under his friend’s feet. But, the humanist in him begged him to jump to the third step first, eschewing completely the things which made the most sense in order for him to fulfill that ever-present need of being someone’s hero.

He half-listens, too intent on properly checking for an injury — or, more accurately, for something to fix — but finds nothing. “Either my eyes are getting old are you’re in the clear,” Ziggy states simply, and returns to his favored shrugged-shoulders stance. “You partied with the Cartel? Come on, Z… You gotta know that’s a lot more dangerous than any mess I could make. Was someone at least, I don’t know, there to protect you if anything went down?” Brown eyes fix hard on her, thick brows knitted together in serious examination; the criminal activity of the city was something he didn’t mess with, not even in his most desperate hour — which, quite frankly, looked a lot like the man entering the shop with doubt and judgment sewn into his features.

His outfit — the deep navy of the NYPD, accented only by the shiny gold of his shield and the myriad of weapons and other tools attached to his belt — was too authentic to be thought of as a mere costume. It didn’t help that his entrance was marked by the crunching of stray shards of glass as they were inadvertently stepped on; the crack sounded less menacing to Ziggy’s ears than the heaviness of his steel-toed boots.

He knew better than to play around with maybes and off-chances when it came to a man in that uniform, with that gun fixed to his waist, and so he starts to explain, “Officer, I was just about to start filing a police report when my sister came by for a visit.” It’s a half-truth, but it’s one that can’t be disproved, necessarily — and besides, that’s what these guys liked to hear, right? Family? Still, they didn’t like liars, not even accidental ones born of nervous energy, and so he corrects, arms frozen to his side, “My adoptive sister, I should say. I work here. Got my name-badge on and everything.” He takes a quick downwards glance to his apron, only to realize that it’s Seymour written onto his chest and not Ziggy. The mental curses bombarding his brain are overwhelming now and force him to be silent, not quite able to meet the man’s eye but a tad too frightened to look anywhere else — not even at Zaira, the one person who mattered most in the situation at hand.

`

Zaira watched him as he checked her over and she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. She felt like she was being treated like a child, as if she was unable to take care of herself. Yes, she appreciated Ziggy’s concern, but sometimes he could be overbearing. And sometimes she needed that, but in the moment it was a little too much.

“I’m not a kid, Ziggs, I can protect myself. I’ve done so very well up until now. Don’t you think I know they’re  —  “ And her words got cut off by the shadow of a man, larger than the night itself, looming over them like it was about to swallow them. And while she couldn’t say she was afraid (she’s dealt with cops on more than one occasion). Her careful eyes did not lose the sight of the cop, though.

She kept a hand on Ziggy’s arm and had her eyes narrowed, not saying much, but trying to keep a straight face at what Ziggy was saying. “Sir, please just let us go home. We already talked to the owner, I’ll pay for the damages, there’s no need to  — “ And she felt a hand grab her by the shoulder before she could finish and didn’t even get the chance to protest as a pair of cuffs clicked around her wrists. “ Sir  —!”

[leemalkovich]

pov: you’re stuck in a zoom call with the Syndicate

ft. @pierre-laroche @samburman @agresti-s @intxication @avamhollis @audrasmythe @ibrahim-ziani @scnguineous @spxlledinks @jinyoo @jacknln

[agresti-s]

@andreagalan​ asked:

"there are things i cannot tell you with my own mouth." (context)

Zaira furrows her brows and folds her arms across her chest. “Then write it down? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She feels a little bit out of her element around the woman, not only because she was a part of her supposed rivals, but she did have a more intimidating aura around her. Plus, anywhere outside of her office or home was uncharted territory, so... Yeah, not the best time for her.

“Do you need me for something? Is that why I’m here?” she questions, her voice lowering as she leans over. “Because, like, I only do shit for a price, and it has to be worth it.”

[agresti-s]

@vrzfr asked:

what’s your specific lonely? are there birds in it? (context)

“Faux deep, I see you,” Zaira laughs, mostly to take time away from the question. It’s hard to answer, since loneliness can mean... just about anything. She shifts in her pose and crosses her arms before bringing a hand to her face to tap her chin a couple of times as she thinks.

“I’ve done really well by myself, I suppose. So being physically alone isn’t really... loneliness. What do you mean by birds, though? Why would there be birds? That’s a little weird.” She’s ad-libbing, she still isn’t quite sure how to answer.

“I think lonely to me means emotional abandonment,” she chooses after a while. “I mean, it kinda really fucking sucks to have a friend or a relative not... care about you anymore, I think everyone relates to that. I don’t know, I’m not poetic.I’m not the type to say loneliness is like the birds that fly above without a care because they don’t care about me. I don’t really get it.”

[notmorbid]

things they lost.

dialogue prompts from things they lost by okwiri oduor.

why are they afraid of you?

it’s not fair that you know me but i don’t know you.

i was alone for so long i forgot to be polite.

i love you something fiery.

let’s go outside. the sun’s shining.

the radio said it might rain later.

you look like you’re chewing on some words. go on, spit them out.

can we table this discussion?

i have a feeling about you.

some people wear their lonesomeness like a fine fur coat.

someone’s got to be good to you. you’re not very good to yourself.

what was it like for you when you were a girl?

what’s your specific lonely? are there birds in it?

memories are a lonely house to live in.

those memories sound awfully heavy.

there are things i cannot tell you with my own mouth.

i wish you could have been there to see them yourself.

ghosts are very flammable.

you’ll no longer have a home if you burn it down.

do i look like the type who has a mama?

it’s your turn now. you’ve got to tell me something.

maybe home isn’t a place. maybe it’s a body.

is that the thing you want most in the world, for someone to marry you?

you brought me flowers?

tell your mouth i don’t feel like talking to it.

don’t die on me.

nothing ever happens to me.

tell me the things i need to know, in order to know you.

i know you want to run away with me. why don’t you?

my gift is useful to everyone but me.

oh, lying is nothing. i do it all the time.

you only ever think about yourself.

what did you think about, when you thought about me?

i think that if you did kill me, i would certainly deserve it.

there was always violence. i didn’t cause it. i found it there.

you’re more than i can handle. you’re more than i deserve.

no one is all good, and no one is all bad either.

what’s with the suspense? you think you’re alfred hitchcock?

mamas are full of mud. nothing anyone can do about that.

life comes at you fast sometimes.

i want to mean something to someone.

i’m not a plaything you can pick up and toss off at will.

i just need something to hold, else i might float away.

will it always be like this—you constantly trying to die, and me saving you?

[justanotherrpmeme]

Random Sentence Starters

‘do we have to talk about this right now?’ 'you know that you love me’ 'excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?’ 'gotta admit, you’ve got style’ 'tell me you’re seeing what i’m seeing’ 'it’s okay to talk about it, you know’ 'i would expect nothing less’ 'you have no idea how much i admire you’ 'they deserve to be spoiled’ 'i like you’ 'you are so beautiful’ 'you are the most adorable person i have ever met’ 'i’m trying my best, okay?’ 'oh my god, i love you’ 'you’re not so bad, y’know?’ 'you’re a cool person’ 'thank you for talking to me’ 'you are so fucking sexy’ 'i envy you’ 'you are an inspiration’ 'they’re ridiculous together’ 'i love you more than _____ ‘ 'thank you for doing this for me, i really appreciate it’ 'i’m really glad you’re here’ 'i can’t do this again’ 'we are two stupidly fucking lucky assholes’ 'they mean well’ 'i don’t know what to do to help them’

[agresti-s]

“jjbaptiste​:

—

“Big promise, eh,” Jacques says with another one of those characteristic short laughs; but as always, an easy smile lingers. “Look at you, makin’ a guy actually want to rock the amphibian look.” Again, another nod to the green. “You’re a dangerous one, Ivy. Thinkin’ about using that that power for good, or for evil?”

It’s all tipsy-driven and metaphorical, but if you asked Jacques what exactly he’s using his strength for, it’s hard to tell. For good, he thinks, but knows: The Brotherhood’s good might just be someone else’s vile. Quickly then, the earlier thought is dismissed, and corrected: The greater good.

“Any movie or show?” From behind his drink, Jacques’s eyes widen a touch. “C’mon now, tell me you’re not one of those livin’ under a rock types. You at least own a TV?” He’s teasing, now. Fair enough, her excuse is a good one: time, or lack thereof. “Aight, I’m intrigued.” Setting the glass down, he looks at her more attentively — if such was even possible to begin with. “What’s got ya so busy, then?”

`

“For evil, of course, I’m a villain after all,” she says with a smirk and winks at him. Of course this is a joke, she wouldn’t use her “powers” for evil, but she hasn’t used them for good either. Just this somewhere in the middle, because working for The Syndicate can only get you morally ambiguous at best. And not because anyone in the crew is bad, but because it’s hard to define any of them as good. Good in the ultimate sense of it all, the true, pure good people think about when they think good. Everyone in it is good at their jobs to various degrees, everyone is good in their own ways. But true good? She doesn’t know many people who are.

“Okay, I may be exaggerating a little, I have been watching a lot of Bridezillas. And whatever TLC has to offer because it’s constantly on in the background.” She rolls her eyes and shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

It is weird to talk about her personal life, since it always comes second after... everything. Maybe better said is that it comes last. She definitely isn’t living under a rock, but her vision doesn’t stretch farther than the shadows of the cave that Plato so earnestly talked about in his allegory. It’s a strange kind of self-awareness, one that she could escape from, but is too comfortable to even peek out at the sky.

“I just... have work, like many of us do. Only mine doesn’t really end at a clock. It never really ends, to be honest. There’s always another thing to do, another code to test, someone needing help, Frank’s computer not working again, shit like that.” she explains. “Even now, I get a call from the big guy? I gotta be on my prime, you know what I’m saying?”

[agresti-s]

ziggyhawthorne​:

— 

“What the —” Ziggy’s sentence cuts short at the sound of a familiar voice, a smile of relief lighting up his features in recognition that it’s Zaira speaking to him now, and not a stranger. Upon the proper sight of her, however, his countenance becomes something else entirely ; she looked divine in a way he didn’t know his friend was capable of, the shop’s overflow of flowers and foliage framing her in her own green finery. If there was ever a sight for sore eyes, it was Zaira Cross, a vision in green, at home amongst the blooms. 

His lingering gaze drops to the floor and he’s immediately filled with guilt, eyes widening in concern upon the realization that she’d walked in barefoot, with dirt and glass and shreds of toilet paper strewn all over the floor. “Z, get your feet up right now,” Ziggy demands, pulling his stool from behind the counter next to the one meant for a customer on the other side, setting up a makeshift seat and footrest combination for the woman. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I think it was just some kids pulling a Halloween prank, that’s all. But, of course, they went for the only place on the block with windows from the 1930s,” he explains with a shrug of his shoulders as he searches the counter space for a clean cloth. The line of well-counted bills is pushed awkwardly to the side with a sigh, and as always, Ziggy relaxes into the truth in the presence of his friend. “Just… Can’t help feeling it’s my fault, you know? So, I’ve been counting ‘em out for the last few hours trying to make sure I ain’t missing something.” 

The florist gives up on finding a spare rag and resorts to using one of the store’s shirts for sale instead, intentions for it made clear once he kneels on the floor to properly inspect the damage done to Zaira’s feet — damage done on his account, the guilty voice at the back of his thoughts reminds him. Ziggy clears his throat, motions for her to prop her feet up, and returns the focus of their conversation to her, saying, “Alright, you’ve seen how my night’s gone. What are you doing here on Halloween? And, why the hell are you barefoot? In here, out there — NYC’s not kind to naked feet, you know.”

`

She can’t help but roll her eyes and get up on the stool, dropping her heels by the chair, just dusting off the dirt on her feet with her bare hand like it’s nothing and pulling out some rocks that ended up between her toes. No glass in her feet, thankfully, but even if she had any she probably wouldn’t even feel it. The wonders of wearing heels for hours, she’s amazed her feet don’t look like balloons right now.

Still, her attention moves to him, listening to his explanation of what happened, feeling a lot more relieved that it wasn’t an actual break in, but some kids messing around, and at her visible relaxation she realizes herself that she’s been grinding her teeth in worry. She scratches at her arm for a moment and frowns. “Can’t be your fault, nobody would’ve predicted this to happen. Plus, you’re safe, I think that’s the most important part.”

She then sighs loudly and looks Ziggy with a tired expression. “Try wearing high heels for as many hours as I did, asphalt on naked feet will feel like walking on a blanket,” she shot back. “The Cartel invited me to their Halloween party, was heading towards your place, ended up stumbling here and seeing the mess so I came in to see what happened and make sure you’re okay.”

She then paused as red and blue lights flashed from the street, but paid no further attention to it as they disappeared from out of view. “You think there’s enough for a replacement window? Because I can chip in to help. Not like it would have any negative impact to my pockets.” And she puts her hand on his shoulder.

[agresti-s]

jjbaptiste​:

—

“’Eighty’?” He cackles. “Shi-it. How much are they payin’ you to be nice?” If the decision comes down to the ones in charge, then cheap wickedness is certainly widespread. Still, it’s all in good fun — until eventually, it isn’t. “If I walk outta here a frog, at least do a brother a solid and leave them a bad Yelp review for me.”

Should the state of affairs be any different, Jacques would perhaps have made less of a lousy  attempt to keep his eyes off of said ‘bomb body’, but her words are practically an invite to call out any bluffs — so downwards his gaze does well to travel, snapping back and fitting to each curve. And to think sobriety still reigns. 

“There ain’t no arguing that,” he says with a delayed but confident shake of the head. Damn the vixens of her kind. “And wouldja figure — green is my favorite, too.” Particularly of the stacking, wallet-feeding kind — if one is familiar with even the most shallow parts of him, they know that much is implied. “Ha. You’re warm, alright — almost hot.” Jacques straightens out slightly, as though it’d expand her view at all. “‘Coming to America’, ya ever seen it? That guy.”

`

“Ugh, they should pay me for being here,” she groans. “I’ll make sure to give you a kiss if they turn you into a frog and give a bad yelp review. Kill two birds in one stone, y’know?” She grins up at him and gives him a wink.

She’s mostly playing herself up, she wasn’t really planning on kissing anyone soon, but she had a couple of drinks, so it’s harder to give a shit and be a little more flirty with no harm done. It’s a party after all, and it’s not like she has any commitments to pay mind to, even if she isn’t really looking.

“Oh! That makes a lot more sense. Fuck, man, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen that. Or... seen any movie or show for the matter. Never have time for these things nowadays.” She sighs and lifts her hand to rub her eye in habit, but stops right before it touches her face and she awkwardly scratches at her cheek. She keeps having to remind herself she has a lot of makeup.

“I think green is in general a pleasant color, right? Like, we see it all over the trees and bushes and even lakes, so there must be something to it. I have my entire desktop set up in different shades of green,” she tells him proudly.

[agresti-s]

noravidal​:

Nora kept her gaze fixed downwards, glued to a couple of half-finished cocktails, each of a different color; and her hands were steady, as if she wasn’t a prey being carefully observed. “Mmm,” she hummed softly. “I’ve learned most people here don’t need a valid reason to think of someone as their enemy– are you not one of them?” Nora picked up her gaze, arching an amused eyebrow. “Ah, a thrill-seeker in our midst. Can’t blame you,” she added with a chuckle. Back in the day, Nora considered herself to be one as one– she loved it, the adventures, the adrenaline rush, the excitement filling her chest– before her spirit got broken, and she was stuffed in a cage of her own making. “What do you consider fun? What do you like doing for fun? Amuse me,” Right, the other brunette had a point– bats, all around, (and not just the Halloween decorations) and Nora feared not all were made out of foam. “I know them, the Cheese Ball human— they blew out their knee a few years ago, haven’t fully recovered so if they dare to lay a hand on you without permission, you know where to strike– or I might just grab a bat,” she informed with a wink– the opposite gang or not, women should still have each other’s backs. 

`

She made a disgruntled noise as she was adjusting one of the transparent straps of her dress when it digs too hard into the side of her shoulder, but she was looking back and forth between the crowd and Nora almost as if she was timing every single glance  —  twenty seconds at Nora, ten seconds at the crowd. To be frank, she wasn’t doing it intentionally, but more as a habit she formed from looking back and forth at her screens to make sure she didn’t miss anything. “I just don’t give enough of a shit to make enemies, ya get me? That takes effort and time out of my day and I already got enough shit to do. And if someone fucks with me, I just deal with them straight away.” She spun the now empty glass and started watching someone in particular carrying a drink with a ribbon around the glass. “Useful information, if you give me his social security number too I’ll be a very happy girl. As for... how I have fun. Well,” She leaned a little closer to Nora. “See the man with the deer antlers? He’s here with his wife, lovely couple. You know when someone came earlier requesting a certain type of Brandy you have and attached a ribbon and a card attached to it that says ‘Glad to see you here, my dear, missed you since last week. Hope we can meet each other again tonight - G’ with a heart at the end. Well, that was me, I just asked some guy to deliver my present. And now... we wait.” With that, her eyes remain fixated on the Deer Antler Dude, soon after receiving the drink his wife prying the card out of his hands, reading it, then starting to yell at him. Zaira chuckled in satisfaction.

[agresti-s]

manuelnarvaez​:

He listened to the other, giving her a slight nod, “Yeah, I guess so, but I always thought Halloween was kinda for being someone you’re not, ya know? Being able to try somethin’ you usually don’t or express a different side.” He shrugged, deciding maybe he was thinking too deeply about it. He furrowed his brow then, giving her a puzzled look, “Ya think so? I thought leather could be kinda sexy depending.” At least, that’s what he usually hoped to convey with the leather jacket tucked away in his closet. 

`

Zaira scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes as if she’s picturing something in her mind. “You know what, yeah, motorcycle guys with leather jackets are very hot. With long messy hair and a deadly look on their faces? I heavily approve.” She grinned and winked at him. “But otherwise I don’t really have any strong feelings about leather. It’s the people who really obsess about leather that I find kinda creepy. And, maybe it’s bold to assume, but that guy seems like one of them creepy guys.”

[agresti-s]

scnguineous​:

In a few points of the night he had crossed paths with some Syndicate members, everyone seemed to face the situation in their own way and truth to be told Nikolai was already tired of creating theories of how the night would end.

“I don’t know, there are enough clichés in this room for me” he admitted, standing beside Zara “We create our own fears and feed them, if that makes sense, it doesn’t depend so much on the environment you are in, at least for me”

Nikolai frowned, taking another sip of his drink "Too philosophical for a party I guess. What would the ideal vibe be like for you? Your night doesn’t seem too bad, it could be worse”

`

Zaira hummed, downing her entire glass to get ready for the conversation, and she smiled in Nikolai’s direction, recognising him from the few brief meetings they had if she ever ended up around the HQ, but she doesn’t think they ever really talked.

She nodded once and crossed her arms, leaning back on her heels. “Then I created myself some really lame fears. Like debt. And men with really thin moustaches. Genuinely can’t trust those fuckers, have you seen them?”

She then laughed mostly to herself. “I don’t know, I’m not really searching for a scarier vibe, honestly, just a Halloween vibe. This feels kinda like any other party, just with costumes. Like they could’ve at least made a scream room or something. I wanna see a skeleton hanging from the ceiling holding a disco ball. Actually, speaking of disco balls, do you want to help me do something a little stupid? Scratch that... very stupid.”

[agresti-s]

ziggyhawthorne​:

closed to: @agresti-s location: THE GREEN ROOM ( floristry )

By midnight, his eyes had learned to count the bills not by the numbers printed on the corners, but by the pictures of dead presidents painted onto each one, names and images he’d never bothered to memorize even when history and law had been the main driving forces of his career. By one in the morning, his eyes were no longer necessary, as his fingers had learned each bill by the miniscule tears on their sides, the individual creases that hadn’t yet smoothed out, the singular weight of each and every note that, by now, had been held a thousand times over. 

In truth, it was borderline obsessive — in a way that didn’t usually befall someone as happy-go-lucky as Ziggy Hawthorne — but he couldn’t afford to be complacent with the shop tonight, even if the break-in appeared to be little more than a Halloween prank gone awry. So, he counted, and calculated, and memorized, committing the same numbers to heart for an hour straight, terrified and half-expecting to realize an error somewhere along the way that’d require the late-night involvement of the owner — or worse, the police. 

The bright ring of the chimes above the door causes him to lose track of his latest count, and the unexpected guest is greeted by little more than an exasperated sigh. His eyes remain fixed onto the bills as he calls out, tone unusually flat and voice hoarse from the mental exhaustion brought on by the evening, “I know we like to say our doors are always open, but when one of the door’s windows is broken… Both doors are closed, a’ight?” 

`

It’s late as she’s walking barefoot on the sidewalk in her Poison Ivy costume, her heels dangling off her fingers and swinging back and forth completely out of sync, one moving faster while the other only clanked against the other; she still feels buzzed from the party she’s been to earlier, but she isn’t as tired as she thought she would be, the events of the night still keeping her awake after the little chaos she managed to cause, which she still feels very content about.

She forgot where she was heading somewhere in the middle of her walk, lost in thought and just trusting her feet to take her home, wherever that ended up being. It takes her a moment to register where she exactly is, and when it clicks, her eyes widen towards the broken window, a rush of adrenaline sending her right through the doors, but that rush quickly dies when she sees Ziggy, and she fully slows down when she hears him, the exhaustion in his voice being something she never really encountered before and gets her even more worried.

“I... It’s me, Ziggs, holy shit,” she says, then mutters something under her breath about the shattered glass as she walks past it the best she can, because she’s still barefoot and there’s already enough on Ziggy’s plate. “Did they take anything? Are you okay?” She finally reaches Ziggy, raising her hand towards him but dropping it back down midway through.