more than just killer looks

"she has good intentions, it's obvious to see. but who is this girl, why can't we see?" [indie sarah walker rp blog; not spoiler free.]

[hexagonass-archive]

  “I — “ A defeated sigh falls from the operative, trying her best not to let it show. Only when Sarah’s hand finds her cheek does she look up. “I don’t… do emotional.” She does not move away, but rather finds herself at a loss for words.

[enfxrcer]

There was nothing in her training that would have helped her with this scenario, and she was at a loss of words. Seldom had she comforted others, and she hadn't recalled ever being comforted by someone else. She does know, though, that comfort usually came through actions. So - albeit awkward, and somewhat uncomfortable on her end - she wraps her arms around the other woman's torso, resting her chin on her shoulder.

[enfxrcer]

hexagonass:

  “No, not particularly. And — it’s fine.          Stay?”

"You can lean on me, you know. If you want to." She takes a seat beside her, hand tentatively reaching up to wipe her tears away.

[enfxrcer]

hexagonass:

  “Yeah?”

"You're...not okay, are you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you."

[enfxrcer]

"Miranda?"

[bloodredbitch-deactivated201411]

{ enfxrcer }

[enfxrcer]

bloodredbitch:

      “… The CIA?”

Still carrying that title of bio-terrorist - yeah Ada might be a tad wary seeing a federal agent. Fingertips twitch at her side, nearing her gun — oh she’d only shoot if she had to, but no doubt there’s a reason this woman is here.

The tremendous amount of effort it took to get this far was unfathomable, and even then it was out of sheer luck that got her here. She halts in her steps and places her hands inches away from her body - as there was scarcely any good position for cover, fighting the wanted malefactor was not a wise decision. "It's not often that someone knows who I work for," she replies. "You know why I'm here, then?"

[movedtobeforesunrise]

And remember, once you know all the cons… I ’ l l  n e v e r  b e  a  s u c k e r .

[rnaladroites]

“Oh, uh— on second thought, maybe we should just stay here and eat. I don’t want you to bother going through all the effort to get ready just for dinner! I mean, not to say that you look bad now! You look gorgeous! As always, of course. But— I mean… are—are you sure you’re hungry? We could order a pizza and share it!" He’s nervous, perhaps it shows far too much in his voice but then— he wouldn’t have really been this anxious if it weren’t for how he’d phrased some things. He hopes the other will just brush it off and so instead decides to try and distract her—not that Sarah could ever be distracted so easily—, moving to his laptop and beckoning her over as he opens the specific website for ordering it. “Vegetarian, no olives, amirite?" An attempt at being suave, and he casts her a smile that was supposed to be charming but could have otherwise scared off pigeons and so cognizant of this he quickly looks back at the screen. “And, uh, the basic chicken for meeee…”

[enfxrcer]

Brows furrowing in concern, she leans beside him and gives the online menu a swift glance, before offering him a nonchalant shrug. She was going to congratulate him on remembering her favorite type of pizza (but it wasn't he who had memory issues, now was it?), but she couldn't help but feel his anxiety—it was practically oozing out of his pores. She bites her lower lip, suddenly feeling conscious. "Chuck, are you okay? You don't have to do this. We can forgo eating dinner." She places a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "I would rather that my—" A pause, as she thinks it through, "—husband doesn't faint while chewing on pizza." She wouldn't have been so worried for his wellbeing had it not been for that smile. The blonde didn't even know he could smile like that, and it was...unsettling.

[enfxrcer]

"Alright, alright—I'm here." The time to be buried in nothing but pillows and duvets was over, after all.

[enfxrcer]

[ On hiatus until the sixteenth. ]

[deactivated-nolongerbartowski-d]

favourite character meme | two traits » protective

[fuckyeahstrahovski]

[xudinov-blog]

                     ( ; enfxrcer )

               ❝Don’t come any closer                         or I will have no problem                         pulling the trigger.❞

[enfxrcer]

"Relax—I'm not a hostile. I don't mean any harm."

[mychuckbartowski]

It’s no problem, my dear. Like you say, you only honeymoon once.

[beingfacetious]

Okay, here we go.

[hexagonass-archive]

   Given her genetic alterations, exhaustion didn’t often show upon her features, unless someone had taken the time to get to know her. Just the way the slight bags under her eyes formed, or the way her shoulders tended to slouch when she couldn’t keep herself in perfectly trained posture. For now, she was weary, worn, and ragged, but not quite on the borders of overt exhaustion. 

The questioning was a little daunting but it was nothing Miranda could not handle. She’d been through worse interrogations on both the receiving end and giving them. 

Lawson shifted her gaze towards Sarah again as her thoughts had begun to gather, trying to stay two steps ahead of her enemies. It had worked for her so far, though she was in fact quick to catch on, knowing the other woman was right, even if she was stubborn enough to deny it to start with. 

“Mmm. As I said, there are many, though some of them aren’t exactly the most intelligent of adversaries.” It was a rare sight to see, though knowing she had found herself an ally by chance gave way for the former operative to smirk. 

Piercing blues watched Sarah, meeting half way across the table as she leant down. It was almost a trick question, though with one arch of an eyebrow, clearing her throat, she attempted her best mimic of what she’d heard from Sarah in their time together.

“I can certainly.. try.” It wasn’t perfect, but with practise she knew she could pass it. Given her upbringing in multiple languages, accents were not all that difficult to acquire. “A day or two around you, and I should have it perfected.”

[enfxrcer]

Her smile broke into a Cheshire grin, and she nods her head. "There's not much we need to work on with the accent, but it doesn't hurt to keep practicing. There's also a lot of things we need to plan, so let's fill in the basics." She got up from her position on the table—something was making her more antsy than usual—and walked to the end table where a considerable amount of mail lay untouched. She disturbed its unaltered state and pulled out numerous shopping brochures, usually considered junk mail and then subsequently thrown out. For now, though, they were a necessity; as much as she had more than enough clothes for Miranda to wear, it would be an unnecessary risk to try and retrieve her clothes on a location that was now, no doubt, swarming with assassins. It was a good place to visit later on, but not until they were prepared.

She grabbed a marker on her way back to the dining table before putting the items in front of the brunette. "I'm not sure if we share the same clothing preferences, so I'll need you to pick outfits you'd wear and I'll buy them later." The blonde made a note to grab the discount cards glued at the back of each brochure. Her father had always taught her to save money whenever possible, and she had no idea how much was in her bank account—or if the ones she knew she had still worked.

Briefly, she wondered if she should explain to Miranda her situation. Would she be deemed incompetent, because she couldn't remember the last five years? Or would it mean nothing, as long as she does her part without flaw? This was something that shouldn't be kept a secret, especially if it had a chance of compromising their objectives. But the words remained stuck in her throat, because she felt humiliated and they weren't exactly close enough to share life stories. (That sounded selfish, considering she had practically bombarded Miranda with personal questions and got her to share her history with her father and this Cerberus organization.)

But this is hardly about me, she reasoned to herself. All focus should be on getting her sister back, alive and well. With that, she decided to forgo explaining herself. For now. "As for you, you're more than welcome to check out my closet—what's mine is yours."

[yvonestrahovski]

[enfxrcer]

It took a tremendous amount of effort for her to type in the current director of the CIA's e-mail address (a part of her remembered it despite her amnesia, alongside the sad memory of Graham's passing), and the courage to write her message. Her fingers gently shook on the keyboard, yet maintaining a string of perfectly punctuated sentences, with seldom typos in between. The man, she had known to be one of Graham's comrades, who was a big supporter of the departed agent's career—and to an extent, hers. Call it taking advantage of their friendship, but she had no qualms reminding him—subtly, as she wouldn't be fit for this career if she pointed the obvious—of who Graham's favorite student was. After all, this was her life on the line, every risk was deemed worthy.

Signing her name at the end of the letter, she hesitates when her cursor hovered over the 'send' button. This was what she had been waiting for for a long time, after all that indecisiveness and constant self berating for thinking too much. So why now, when she had finally put on a brave front and written all she needed to write? There was nothing else here for her, she reasoned. After the ties she had here were dealt with, where did that leave her? She had never been one for contemplating her future, always living life by the day—and that was enough for her.

Quickly, before she changed her mind, she clicked the button and let out a strangled breath, one she held too long that it felt painful to exhale. A window popped up and announced that the message had been sent, and she relaxed in her seat. Only time could tell of what the director will say, if he'd consider welcoming Graham's best enforcer back to the Agency that had served her well for so long. She should have been relieved, should have been excited because she just knew what the response would be.

So why did she feel like something had been ripped out of her chest?