Miss Mercenary

Stay outta my past. Cause I’ll haunt you like it haunts me if you try to get in.

[alcoholicassassin]

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#open;  ///  #meme;

Emily's eyes meet his. They unfocused from him, flicking to look at nothing on the opposite wall as her mind puts together its understanding that this might be it. Their chances were awful, but there was no way she'd ask Santiago to do anything but initiate this firefight. She knew what those pistols meant, what rested in his hand when he carried them. There was too much to lose in a memory when everything was so readily taken from you in this kind of work.

With this thought, they return to those dark pools, all of this reminding her to capture that gaze of his to memory. To attach with it how they softened when he looked at her, how she managed to get those rare smiles to reach them sometimes. She had a horrible habit of being too hard to kill, and this is one of those times that she believes, if everything goes as her luck so often makes it, she might as well carve those eyes into her memory just in case they close.

Despite not a single thing on her face moving, the microscopic movements that Santiago had such a habit of picking up spoke for her as she feels the breath she's taking strain against a tight chest. Bad odds... very bad... but I'm with you.

With barely a turn of her head, it clicks to face one of the men across the table, sharpened greens locking on him. That one. He'll draw fast, his death will buy us seconds.

It was seconds that would determine the winner of this, it would take two and a half to stand, draw her sickles, and move them in front of her body- hopefully into the soft spot in the collar of the man to her right. That would buy them maybe three more. The visiting mercenary felt like her muscles were twitching, like an anxious racehorse stomping its feet and flaring its nostrils, waiting for the gunshot.

[alcoholicassassin]

Emily's eyes meet his. They unfocused from him, flicking to look at nothing on the opposite wall as her mind puts together its understanding that this might be it. Their chances were awful, but there was no way she'd ask Santiago to do anything but initiate this firefight. She knew what those pistols meant, what rested in his hand when he carried them. There was too much to lose in a memory when everything was so readily taken from you in this kind of work.

With this thought, they return to those dark pools, all of this reminding her to capture that gaze of his to memory. To attach with it how they softened when he looked at her, how she managed to get those rare smiles to reach them sometimes. She had a horrible habit of being too hard to kill, and this is one of those times that she believes, if everything goes as her luck so often makes it, she might as well carve those eyes into her memory just in case they close.

Despite not a single thing on her face moving, the microscopic movements that Santiago had such a habit of picking up spoke for her as she feels the breath she's taking strain against a tight chest. Bad odds... very bad... but I'm with you.

With barely a turn of her head, it clicks to face one of the men across the table, sharpened greens locking on him. That one. He'll draw fast, his death will buy us seconds.

It was seconds that would determine the winner of this, it would take two and a half to stand, draw her sickles, and move them in front of her body- hopefully into the soft spot in the collar of the man to her right. That would buy them maybe three more. The visiting mercenary felt like her muscles were twitching, like an anxious racehorse stomping its feet and flaring its nostrils, waiting for the gunshot.

[demonzoro]

love a character that's like. i survived (<- not a brag) (<- this is a curse that weighs on me every waking hour)

[alcoholicassassin]

In ever the insurmountable contrasts, as her world met his at the cut of the horizon, there were still gently discovered similarities between the pair that made such a friendship a treasure, like carefully turning stones to find whatever flourished underneath.

The law of Emily's world- and her branching path away from it- was a blessing and a curse. She was raised in a collective of mermaids, all sisters by blood or bond. Hunting, eating, resting, it was all done together. For a long time, and even longer still after Emily escaped from her clutch and found a fraternal group of mermen to replace them, she hadn't known isolation. Once she'd lost them, it had been years. Her new terrestrial companion was the first she'd had since, and she couldn't be more comforted the more she learned about, and from, him.

One of the things she'd learned is how she would struggle to go back to any fallen fruit she was lucky to find in the water if something were to happen to her new friend. Having someone on legs to pick it from the far away trees at the peak of it's sweetness turned it into her favorite at their meal times, and having him be the one to deliver only helped along how fond she was becoming of him. Her trinkets and knick knacks were only a fraction of what she tried to thank him with, not only for sharing his limited supply with her, but for the company and utter patience he had as she tried to put his words together and puzzle them back to respond.

Another tidbit of new understanding, that she was still getting used to, was how civil this particular human was. Despite the fact he would've made- never mind how bad she thought they tasted- an easy full belly for a few days when she met him, she betrayed her nature once more to drag this one to the surface after he'd found himself in her waters. The incredibly difficult haul of getting such a beast of a man on land had since shown to be worth the effort. He was unique. His fear, his anger, anything that made others so ready to drive a lance through a mermaid, it seemed so easily overturned by his intelligence, and a curiosity that she hadn't seen in many outside of some of their children.

Truth be told, she didn't mind when she felt his eyes on her. The only reason she didn't do the same was catching him turn away if he thought he'd been staring too long. It must be a courtesy, one that wasn't as prominent in her world, but she paid him it nonetheless. That, and if she met his eyes, she found something in her overwhelmed after too long- yet it made her smile. His inquiry called the attention of her own gaze, looking up to follow what he was saying, a moment taken to put it all together, think of her reply, and try to build it with what limited blocks she'd managed to collect, or that he'd taught her.

"Mm... is complicated." She chewed past a piece of fruit, swallowing to speak more clearly. "Kind.... ehh, sometimes. Kind to humans? Not much." Emily shook her head. "It is..." She gestured idly, hands moving back and forth slightly as she tried to think of how to describe it. "Survival. Lots of humans kill us... but I am different from my family." The blonde shrugged and nodded, pulling a mussel shell apart since she could eat them raw, where he couldn't- or at least shouldn't.

"You also. You are not the same to other humans," the statement being a compliment in her eyes was delivered with a smile, curious but delighted it was the case, "is there a reason? Or just with being here?"

[alcoholicassassin]

In ever the insurmountable contrasts, as her world met his at the cut of the horizon, there were still gently discovered similarities between the pair that made such a friendship a treasure, like carefully turning stones to find whatever flourished underneath.

The law of Emily's world- and her branching path away from it- was a blessing and a curse. She was raised in a collective of mermaids, all sisters by blood or bond. Hunting, eating, resting, it was all done together. For a long time, and even longer still after Emily escaped from her clutch and found a fraternal group of mermen to replace them, she hadn't known isolation. Once she'd lost them, it had been years. Her new terrestrial companion was the first she'd had since, and she couldn't be more comforted the more she learned about, and from, him.

One of the things she'd learned is how she would struggle to go back to any fallen fruit she was lucky to find in the water if something were to happen to her new friend. Having someone on legs to pick it from the far away trees at the peak of it's sweetness turned it into her favorite at their meal times, and having him be the one to deliver only helped along how fond she was becoming of him. Her trinkets and knick knacks were only a fraction of what she tried to thank him with, not only for sharing his limited supply with her, but for the company and utter patience he had as she tried to put his words together and puzzle them back to respond.

Another tidbit of new understanding, that she was still getting used to, was how civil this particular human was. Despite the fact he would've made- never mind how bad she thought they tasted- an easy full belly for a few days when she met him, she betrayed her nature once more to drag this one to the surface after he'd found himself in her waters. The incredibly difficult haul of getting such a beast of a man on land had since shown to be worth the effort. He was unique. His fear, his anger, anything that made others so ready to drive a lance through a mermaid, it seemed so easily overturned by his intelligence, and a curiosity that she hadn't seen in many outside of some of their children.

Truth be told, she didn't mind when she felt his eyes on her. The only reason she didn't do the same was catching him turn away if he thought he'd been staring too long. It must be a courtesy, one that wasn't as prominent in her world, but she paid him it nonetheless. That, and if she met his eyes, she found something in her overwhelmed after too long- yet it made her smile. His inquiry called the attention of her own gaze, looking up to follow what he was saying, a moment taken to put it all together, think of her reply, and try to build it with what limited blocks she'd managed to collect, or that he'd taught her.

"Mm... is complicated." She chewed past a piece of fruit, swallowing to speak more clearly. "Kind.... ehh, sometimes. Kind to humans? Not much." Emily shook her head. "It is..." She gestured idly, hands moving back and forth slightly as she tried to think of how to describe it. "Survival. Lots of humans kill us... but I am different from my family." The blonde shrugged and nodded, pulling a mussel shell apart since she could eat them raw, where he couldn't- or at least shouldn't.

"You also. You are not the same to other humans," the statement being a compliment in her eyes was delivered with a smile, curious but delighted it was the case, "is there a reason? Or just with being here?"

[alcoholicassassin]

Y’know what, someday I’ll come back here consistently ffs. Apologies for another absence.

Hey y’all, just started classes again but ironically in an effort to procrastinate them, I might actually return. Fingers crossed!

A reminder I am on d!scord, almost always on d!scord, and enthusiastically write on d!scord quite often. If you wanna write, PLEASE feel free to add me so we can make a writing server and shred some threads!!

Handle below the cut, you will NOT bother me AT ALL if you hit me up to write!

Miss you all dearly.

Lock Tooth#6858

[onceuponadaily]

[therpman]

Send me a number 1-100 and I’ll write a lyric based starter with the corresponding song from my Spotify Wrapped playlist!

[skelkankaos2]

well. fair enough

[thebabysitter]

ALIENS — 1986, dir. James Cameron

[ragingstillness]

In love with the concept of characters with insanely specific moral compasses. Like those who’ll kill people all day but be kind to animals, or torturers who refuse to work on women and children, fighters who are willing to maim but not kill their opponents, vigilantes who will finish an opponent off if asked but won’t kick them when they’re down, righteous people who will happily kill but would stop someone from committing suicide, robbers who refuse to steal from old or disabled people, hooligans who’ll shoplift but not jaywalk, enforcers who’ll rough people up but protect someone being assaulted, just people with lines they won’t cross that feel sort of arbitrary considering what else they’re perfectly fine doing.

[soulrph]

send in " hey, look at me, okay? stay with me, it's gonna be okay, just stay with me... " ( OR if your muse wouldn't say this: 💧 + [WHATEVER YOUR MUSE WOULD SAY] ) for the sender to find the receiver badly wounded or dying from unexpected yet serious injuries.

alternatively, send in " you weren't supposed to see me like this... " ( OR if your muse wouldn't say this: 💀 + [WHATEVER YOUR MUSE WOULD SAY] ) for the receiver to find the sender badly wounded or dying from unexpected serious injuries.

[qoodbyedean]

Sunset Blvd. (1950) dir. Billy Wilder

[dailyquests]

Go to Hell before you Die.

[a-l-y-z-e-deactivated20240322]

Greeter Starters ( @alcoholicassassin​ )

The hair tuft on the German’s forehead was hanging lower than it usually was. Showed that he hadn’t yet again walked out of his lab for some time. The whole day he had been running around his lab. His lab coat and the red gloves were hanging on back of a chair where he sat in front of a desk drinking coffee which someone had brought to him. Either it was out of curiosity for what the man could be doing or because of pity for his work schedule and lack of sleep. It didn’t help that he was drinking it during time when a person with a relatively normal schedule would be going to sleep.

The smell of coffee filled the lab but it had mixed up with all the other weird substances and liquids that the German had laying around there. Archimedes was nesting inside a little box because it had been sick and Medic had isolated it from the other pigeons so it doesn’t cause harm to the others. And more importantly he did it because Archimedes was most important of them all.

The German could be heard humming some tunes while he went through a newspaper that was a weeks old. Since every newspaper had met Spy’s smoking room the ink paper smelled of their room as well. Didn’t really matter if the newspaper had anything interesting for the German at least he could have a moment to relax his racing mind.

The coffee cup was placed on the desk and the doctor himself stood up from the chair after folding the newspaper. Just when he was about to continue the job on hand he heard a knock on his lab doors which he had currently locked for… more or less scientific purposes. In doctor’s language he wanted to be alone.

“My doors are closed for zhe rest of zhe day! Come back tomorrow… unless you’re seriously bleeding.”

[alcoholicassassin]

Usually a self sufficient creature, Emily hardly ever went to the Medic unless it was a complete necessity, and even then she would hesitate. She could do her own first-aid well enough, sutures and gauze were no foreign thing to the mercenary... now, her own neglect making her personal kit run out of dressings before a supply shipment had come in? That would force her hand to go to the medbay, and lead said hand to rapping on the Medic’s doors.

When he'd announced he wasn't seeing anyone, something in her thought relief. 'Sure,' she thought, 'I can come back tomorrow-' but the thought was cut short when she looked at the wound where here forearm and elbow met, caused by a thoughtless lean onto the kitchen counter, from where one of her cooking knives had yet to be moved. The cut wouldn't stand being left unattended for the night, it'd sooner reopen with one wrong shift in her bed than last until morning.

"Ah, wounded enough to warrant a visit, herr doktor." The blonde called through the door, sighing at herself for forgetting that her gauze had run out (a dumb mistake in an apparent chain of several) this morning, the last time she'd rewrapped the consequence of yesterday evening's incedent.

"It'll take a second, doc, promise. Just need some supplies. I'll even do the repairs myself so I don't take up your time." And because she didn't trust a doctor as far as she could throw one, especially one hired for a company like Mann Co.

[badtrigger]

      Check. Raise. All-in. This hold'em game isn’t going to be worthwhile to Santiago because even if he wins, which seems likely based on his incredible hand, he knows he is not walking out of here with any winnings – maybe not even his life. Avarice runs through his opponents’ veins and they have made it quite clear what it is they itch for: his two intricately engraved pistols. Involuntary participants of the pot, the pearly white 1911s look to the privateers like they would fetch a handsome dollar. Maybe they would. But Santiago would sooner take a hideous beating than relinquish items that mean so much more to him than they would ever mean to these men. Carry anything shiny, it seems, and these roided oxygen thieves will swarm to it like flies on shit.

      The pirate has not spoken a word beyond what the game necessitates since its start, but he doesn’t have to be the one to tell the woman beside him the danger they’re in. Emily surely knows; the writing is on the wall. The privateers do a good job of making anyone who doesn’t wear amarillo feel out of place, small, unwelcome, and the conversation at this table isn’t so chivalrous towards its female guest. Being vastly outnumbered doesn’t give the two much in the way of recourse, so play along it is.

      Santo leans back in his creaking folding chair. He stares down at the cards in his hands that will secure him a flush win, feeling at his sides the weight of the pistols whose fate remains to be seen. It’s the final betting round and he’s up against a house that will have the ultimate say in whether or not his win is going to be acceptable.   // @alcoholicassassin​

[alcoholicassassin]

     When those pistols were dragged into the pot like lambs to the slaughter, Emily only could add her hand to the game to help secure Santiago a win. It wasn't a bad spot of luck for her own hand, and she knew the other pirate at the table well enough to see the microscopic movements in his face. How he shifted on his elbow and the way his hands idled all meant something to her, telling that he was going to win- and was worried about it.

     In her deepest taught natures, the mercenary would banter back enough to keep the privateers entertained, alleviating as much of the thick and vicious silence as she could, and drawing whatever attention they’d allow from her partner onto her. It wasn't much, but keeping them talking and keeping their eyes off Tiago and their desired prizes felt less uncomfortable, despite how ugly the focus became if it was on her. Luckily, her tolerance for such talk was exercised by those on Rook, such festering comments were easier to ignore and let rot on the floorboards.

     A subtle, under-the-table touch of her knee to his was all Emily could do to send a note to Santi, the gesture saying ten things at once, reassurances and concerns, a reminder that she was at his side and that he was still at hers. Such a gesture had to be as cautious as moving a bottle of nitroglycerine, a relationship is chum in the water to these types.

     The blonde followed suit with her companion, pushing what she had left to the middle of the table, the motion telling the others their odds were slim. She expected aggression incoming soon, and was only thankful she'd put her harness and two unique blades on this morning. All she could do in that moment was beg some deaf higher power that they wouldn't have to use them.

[jondrettegirls]

[ID: A page of a play. It reads as follows, "Theseus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. / Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. / Theseus: Stain them, I don't care." End text.]

Herakles - Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson)

[ojibwa]