to live like a bullet

tell me what i am stripped bare: no moon, no packs. no hunt, no howl. a gaunt figure haunting the suburbs. skin no god wants to see. VEX. twenty nine. she/they. robber.

[fromvex]

𝐕𝐄𝐗 —

— biography  //  character summary //  possible plots //  connections //  full application linked in discord

[fromvex]

oldhalo​:

Old Halo watched from the Atlantis’s bar as Vex practically robbed their opponent blind, shooting balls straight into holes like it was an art form they’d mastered. It was almost admirable, if it wasn’t such a stupid way for them to risk their divinity. 

She’d intended to stay out of it, but when Vex put their cue stick up against the stranger’s neck, the stranger got a pissed-off look on their face like they were considering getting their money back another way. She sighed; she didn’t want to see anyone get hurt, meaning she had to intervene.

She stood and approached Vex from behind, silent as a cat. She was close enough to speak right in their ear by the time she made her presence known. Softly, she said, “Word to the wise. I think you better quit now, before you lose it all.” She flashed a charming smile to the man across the pool table.

“Sorry to interrupt your fun.” She was not sorry at all. She was of the opinion that she was saving Vex from themself. “Do you mind? I want a word.”

—

When the warmth of another breath fell upon her ear, Vex recoiled away at once. Acid on their tongue, they reeled back to lash out, but the moment passed too soon; Old Halo was draw her weapon, and her weapon wasn’t one Vex could fight against easily. How do you trade blows with a goddamn smile?

Well. Vex could pull her arm back and strike a blow across Old Halo’s chin. Her elbow receded, her fingers tightened — but the stranger was already huffing away, slamming divinity down on the pool table, uttering the same words Vex had already prepared for Old Halo. 

Divinity took priority, and so Vex shot Old Halo a glare made of venom and rushed forward to collect her prize. First, she counted; then she snapped her attention back to Old Halo. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I didn’t ask you to follow me here or get in my damn way, Resurrector.”

[fromvex]

twvlfth​:

—

A bit of stew. One single beer. That’s all Twelfth wanted to get from The Atlantis before getting up and getting out. Maybe they’d go for ride, maybe they’d go back to their room, they don’t really know. What they never expected, though, is how they somehow ended up playing a game of pool with no one other than Vex. 

“Hm,” they hum in thought, looking at the pool table and then at her opponent. Twelfth never really knows what to expect with Vex, whether it’s a nicer reaction or words as sharp as any hunting knife they’ve come across. Still, they go along with the game, enjoying just how much that is the main focus of the company rather than whatever words Vex might decide to throw at Twelfth out of nowhere. 

Twelfth can’t help the annoyed expression that grows when they feel Vex’s cue stick on their chin. Without hesitation, they just slap it away. “If it means there’s another round of you just playing and not talking,” she starts as she changes her cue stick from one hand to another and look at Vex, “sure. Double or nothing.”

—

This is the best Vex has felt in a long, long time. Taking money from one of the Jack Odyssey gang’s own is something like poetic justice. Like divine retribution. Like everything Vex never had the chance to want falling into their hands. Though it might feel better if Twelfth were Shotgun or Cain, and not just some weakling who couldn’t stomach their own crimes. 

For not the first time, Vex wonders what the fuck Twelfth thought this life would ask of them. Would take from them.

Sometimes, the sight of Twelfth makes Vex feel like boiling water, ready to bubble over and burn whoever is too close. It makes their blood vessels want to pop. She makes Vex want to hurl something at the wall or shoot it until it’s unrecognizable. A glass vase, maybe, or a skull or all the naïveté she sees in Twelfth’s dark eyes.

They’re taking it out on Twelfth now, grinning spitefully at them. “Fuck you, I’m a delight. Losers reset the pool table.” A pause. “That’s you, Twelfth. Though Twelfth is an odd name for someone in the Jack Odyssey gang. Where’s Eleventh? Tenth?”

Vex knows the story, and so she knows to sharpen her gaze as she continues: “The First?”

[fromvex]

ofparagon​:

Vex might not be partaking in the swill the bar is serving tonight, but Paragon helps himself. Helps himself to this hustle, too, when he sees Vex with a patron cornered. The man seems likely enough to take her bait—especially with a little peer pressure, what with the way he sweats at the collar.

”You’d be a fool to quit so early, with a pot like that,” he calls to the table, pulling an expression like he’s just plain envious he isn’t the one who gets to go toe to toe for it; appealing to that sense of possession over the doubling pot. Then he drawls his false assurances (just in case there’s a shred of hesitance left): “come on, lightning don’t strike twice.”

Of course, he knows it’s more skill than lightning where Vex is concerned, but what this betting man doesn’t know won’t hurt him past his pockets.

Round two, and Vex wins again, her pool cue finding its old place beneath the stranger’s chin. By then, the patron’s either ruffled or drunk enough to go for a third round, but Paragon cuts in, guiding the end of the cue to his own neck instead. “Hell, I stand corrected, my friend—you’re not careful, and she’ll clean you out all over again. I’d leg it, while you’ve still got enough tip for your bartender.”

Once he’s gone, Paragon quirks a scarred brow at the pool cue. Swats it jovially aside.

“Train job’s not sitting nice enough in the pockets?” He teases knowingly. “You gotta turn the town’s out, too?”

Vex hates herself for being comforted by the sight of him. The deep hum of his voice. The sweeping gait with which he walks like he belongs in every room he enters. Paragon is larger than life; always has been, even back when they knew him by Sweets and he knew them by Naomi.

But he doesn’t go by Sweets anymore. Naomi is dead. The Lost Boys rejected them both, and they’re not so lost anymore, are they? Paragon belongs to the Jack Odyssey gang, and Vex — Vex wants nothing more than to see the Jack Odyssey gang burn.

Even so, there’s still a part of Vex that wants to lean into the camaraderie he offers so easily, like it costs him nothing. It costs her everything.

She resists. She doesn’t return the familiarity of his jest or the warmth in his eyes. Lowering the cue stick from his throat and narrowing their eyes at him, Vex accuses: “Could’ve made more if you stopped showing up where you’re not wanted.” Yet despite her resistance, Vex grabs another cue stick and holds it out toward Paragon. “You owe me a game. Don’t care if I win or lose — you’re paying me double what I just made.”

[fromvex]

ramblcr​:

Stirred from his slumber, he woke up to a black cat lingering on his windowsill. He instantly stiffened, superstitious dread winding its wires of tension around him as he eyed the creature warily. The cat merely languished in his gaze, prowling back and forth beyond the glass, tail swishing behind it in curling flickers. As the moment stretched, Rambler concluded that beyond the blatant bad omen, there were only two possible interpretations for the scene in front of him: either the cat had recognized his dread and was taunting it for its own amusement, or it was drawing his attention towards something. A cursory glance around the room, and the answer quickly made itself clear.

His own cat was nowhere to be found.

With a groan, Rambler hastily shuffled off the bed and stood up – only for the expression of frustration to choke into one of anguish as he absentmindedly placed too much pressure on his injured leg. Easing off, he took a deep breath, throwing a begrudgingly grateful glance at the intruder at his window before venturing through the inn. When a search across his floor proved futile, Rambler descended the stairs and limped towards the entrance. He wouldn’t be surprised if Cherry had gone off to explore the surrounding area; it was an inconvenient inclination of hers whenever they settled down in a new place.

He only took two steps before he was staring down the barrel of Vex’s gun. Forced back, he winced as pain flared in his leg, yet his features soon smoothed over once he adjusted his stance. “What are you trying to prove, Vex?” He quietly asked. “Your actions speak for themselves. If you think about it, you’ve already killed me. If I hadn’t managed to fall into the car, I’d be dead. So what’s the point of all this?”

—

Are they supposed to feel a flash of remorse when Rambler grimaces? Is Vex supposed to soften at the quiet timbre of his voice? Like his life is nothing, Rambler declares himself already dead, and Vex his killer. It doesn’t matter to Vex whether Rambler lives to see the sun rise or not, but this open-eyed acceptance of their end — it baffles Vex. Confounds them. They have never been able to understand Rambler — and it’s the most infuriating thing about him.

She holds Dahlia’s gun steady. Her voice is clear and unshaken as she calls out, “What kind of mind games are you tryin’ to play, dumbass? You askin’ for me to pull the trigger?”

Vex considers firing a warning shot. Decides against it because they can’t afford to waste a bullet. Besides, the sound alone might draw the kind of attention they know means trouble.

Every movement is deliberate and measured as Vex lowers their weapon. It hangs by her side, though she does not return it to its holster. Anything (anyone) they don’t understand is a threat; it has to be, to make it out alive. "You’re a goddamn coward. You don’t even want to save your own skin? Or what, are you trying to pull one over me so you can kill me in my sleep?” 

Vex sneers and spits across the distance and aims for Rambler’s feet. Her spittle doesn’t quite make it, and falls somewhere in the middle. “You’re even crazier than I thought if you really believe I’d fall for that.”

[fromvex]

eastcfeden​:

at THE WHEEL / feb 4th / open

The thing looks like it’s about to fall apart and that’s probably why Cain is so drawn to it. He takes it as a personal challenge, the fact that the wheel’s still standing and he’s definitely willing to see if it can do with a little shake—the view from up there must be something, right? His hand grips the bottom of the ladder and when he lets go of it, there’s rust on his fingers, the brown residue melting into his skin. Cain reaches for the gloves he keeps in his back pocket—should be easier to climb like this—and then someone approaches him as he puts them on.

“Gonna take it for a little spin,” he says as he looks up, eyes squinting—and the left one hurts from the blackeye the engineman gave him yesterday, now all dark and purple around his socket—he can’t really see the top from where he’s standing right now, just the insides—metal rods coming out of everywhere, paint peeling, rusty and noisy. It looks like it’s about to give out but Cain asked around and everyone said it shouldn’t. One way to find out, isn’t there?

The loud ticks and screeching sounds the structure makes only seem to attract Cain further. “Wanna make a bet?” he suggests; if he’s about to do something so stupid, he should at least have some fun with it. “You could time me. Twenty div I make it up and back down in less than ten.”

—

She recognizes him from far away; has spent hours burning the shape of him behind her eyelids. Even with her eyes closed, she can find them — Cain and Shotgun. Loss has become her reference point to navigate the world, and vengeance, her compass; their ruin, her North Star.

Vex intends to derail him or spit at him. Rub salt into the wound of shooting too quick. He almost fucked it all up; would have if Gull hadn’t been there. Shouldn’t you have learned your lesson by now? Vex wants to jeer. Shoot too early and you’ll be your own downfall. (That same mistake was what brought Vex to the gang’s lap, wasn’t it? And that’s certainly what they intend to be: Cain’s downfall.)

Instead, Vex scoffs and rolls up the sleeves of their shirt. “No, I don’t want to make a fucking bet. I want to fucking race.”

They conveniently choose not to mention the fact that Vex fully intends to push Cain off the damn thing once they’re high up enough.

[fromvex]

brntide​:

𝐖𝐇𝐎: BRONTIDE & OPEN 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: RAVEN’S REST, EEL 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: FEBRUARY 4, 2349 – APPROX. 2:00AM

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘. It was difficult for them to determine exactly why they still felt so on edge – replaying the events of the heist over and over again, despite walking away from the train with enough divinity to last them weeks and a nod of approval from Jack. It was like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop – for something they’d missed to come back and bite them, jeopardising their success and tenuous utility within the gang. Though they’d always been caught up in the past, dwelling this thoroughly on a heist was new – coming with the newfound scrutiny they imagined themselves to be under following their sudden desertion and even more sudden return.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that sleep didn’t quickly befall her. She’d always been a light sleeper – mind never quite switching all the way off, after years of ensuring she was constantly vigilant and alert. Her sleep had always been plagued by dreams – distortions of the past that sent her tossing and turning and unable to clear them from her mind, even long after she’d awoken. Tonight, however, Brontide could not even reach this stage – their mind stubbornly refusing to clear even for the few minutes they required to fall into what would surely be a fitful slumber. Seconds stretch into minutes which stretch into hours, and when they next check their watch they find that late night has bled into early morning, and they decide to give up on the fruitless endeavour.

They stalk their way through the halls of RAVEN’S REST – ( the inn was quaint, but big enough for the needs of the gang, and the owners hadn’t asked many questions yet ), slipping through the entrance and out into the cool night air, breathing it in. EEL was quieter at night – though the odd person or two could still be spotted on the dimly lit streets. It would be almost peaceful were it not for the sounds of patrons stumbling out of the Atlantis down the road following last call – drunken revelry bouncing off the walls and echoing through the streets. The faintest hint of a smile graces Brontide’s face at the sound of the inebriated singing of a familiar tune – but it is gone as quickly as it had came, replaced once again with an impressive impassivity, giving nothing away, even in solitude. 

They are soon disturbed from their thoughts by the sounds of footsteps approaching, a hand instinctively reaching for the gun on their thigh before they recognise the familiar face, obscured by night, and slowly retract their hand. She eyes the newcomer up and down, letting a long few moments pass before finally speaking – “And here I was thinking I’d be all alone out here at this time of night.”

If there is one thing Vex can trust about the world — one thing she knows will stay true, no matter whose gun is fired or whose stomach finds the bullet — it is that nothing comes easy. Nothing is free. Nothing remains. Sleep doesn’t come easily either, not on the nights after a job. She is waiting for the sky to fall, or the inn to be taken over and claimed, along with their lives. It’s happened before; Vex remembers, and she does not forget.

This is the most dangerous part: when the night is still and all seems at peace. The air is thicker and calmer. It lulls the soft-hearted to sleep.

It leaves Vex uneasy. Their skin crawls, up and down and side to side, and they scratch hard down their arms with what little nails they have left. Success is too easy to trust. Hiding means waiting — means being found — means dying, means losing.

Vex watches the hand that goes to the gun, watches Brontide recede. They wonder if Brontide would pull their hand away if they knew who Vex hired to burn Jack Odyssey down. They wonder if Brontide's ever seen them: the bulky, burly asshole who Vex paid with all the divinity they had left.

“Don’t be an idiot. No one’s asleep.” Vex jilts their chin at Atlantis, sound leaking out from its walls. “They’re all celebrating. Wasting their money on shitty beer, too.”

[fromvex]

— open to all

FEBRUARY 5, 2349. THE ATLANTIS. They’re not drinking tonight. Never liked the taste of liquor much, and never liked the way it made their limbs feel loose and their chest feel light. But Vex does like the games. The edge of the pool table jabbing into her stomach as she leans over and aims.

She’s never been the best shoot, or the best at pool, but when she closes one eye and then the other, imagines Shotgun then Cain then the rest of the Jack Odyssey gang spiraling across the green and falling with a clack! down the rabbit hole —

The 8 ball falls neatly into the corner. Vex straightens, and grins with all her teeth. Stretches the cue stick out until it taps at her opponent’s throat, pushes up against the fleshy part of the chin.

“Double or nothing?” Vex taunts, eyes flashing.

[fromvex]

— closed for @ramblcr​

FEBRUARY 3, 2349. The evening chill whistles clean through the bone. It’s quiet. It’s too late to be awake, but Vex cannot unremember the way Rambler looked at her as she turned away and left him to die. His dark eyes blank and bottomless, unknowable. Her boots clanging against the train with every resolute step away.

If he had died, would she be sound asleep right now? Vex turns the ring on their middle finger — the green one, the one that reminds them of Scales and their abhorrent fondness for lizards. 

Probably, they think.

They don’t realize what they’re waiting for, leaning against the side of Raven’s Rest, staring hawk-eyed out into the dark. Only when Rambler arrives does Vex push herself off the wall and step out of the shadows, into the sliver of the moon. She slides Dahlia’s gun out of its holster and aims it at the space between Rambler’s brows. It’s always smooth, there; never creased, never wrinkled.

She’d like to see a hole clean through it.

“Don’t you ever forget it,” Vex says, deep and dark like a river at night, “I coulda killed you then, and I could kill you now. Wouldn’t hesitate, either.”

[dustrp]

WANTED! DEAD OR ALIVE!

GOES BY THE NAME OF NAOMI BLAESE, AGED 29. USES SHE/THEY PRONOUNS. WORKS UNDER THE JACK ODYSSEY GANG AS A ROBBER. SUGGESTED FACECLAIMS: PAULINA SINGER. CURRENT BOUNTY: ✹90,000

TRIGGER WARNING: Death, bloodshed

Your first encounter with the Jack Odyssey gang is just the beginning of your ugly time with them: you hear screams of fear in the lobby of the hotel you and your friends have settled into, after months of trying to find a place to lay claim to without being discovered by The Faith. A bullet shatters the window and misses you just by an inch — you’re quick to scramble to the lobby, only to find Daffodil and Aster held hostage. They’re on their knees, snared by the hair, jaws cinched against the steely kiss of the pistols pressed to their cheeks. When you look to see who holds them — who could have found you so soon after settling in? — your stomach drops. You recognize the faces of the infamous Shotgun and Cain immediately, and you recognize the blood-soaked body lying unmoving behind them: Scales, another one of your friends, the barrel of their gun still smoking not even a foot away. You can see Dahlia in your periphery, crouched behind a counter, undetected, but you can’t afford to shake your head at her without alerting Cain or Shotgun to their presence. You throw a sharp glance her way in hopes of staying her hand. It’s futile, as she rounds the corner and buries a bullet in Cain’s shoulder. That is her sole pitiful victory. You choke back your terror as she drops dead before the second shot can land.

You can’t run to any of them. You can’t breathe. The one who has their weapon trained on you — Shotgun — steps closer. All you can do is stare and try to swallow around the lump in your throat. You ask what they want, and they declare that they’ve laid claim to the nondescript, run-down motel your group’s been holed up in, on the run from a handful of Revenants — but that your friends fired on them before they made it all the way into town. Daffodil spits insults at the gang, vehemently refusing to surrender the place you’d all been so ready to call home. They’re dead within seconds. Aster elbows Cain in the crotch, launching around with a snarl to tackle them to the ground. The gunshot leaves your ears ringing, and you watch as they are swatted aside by the outlaw with a sneer. You can remember standing, or trying to. They ask if you’re going to leave or join them in the grave. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears. You know now that it’s a selfish, dishonorable impulse. You don’t even have the voice to answer. You just run, grieving for yourself and your friends in equal measure… and they let you.

Now that you’ve lost them, all you have is yourself, and that’s never been good for you. Surviving alongside others and calling them family has made it easy to forget that you at your core will always default to self-preservation. No one cares more for you than you, but they made it easy to believe that you could become someone more loyal. You have no choice but to go back to stabbing backs and cutting corners, and that truth settles over you like a funeral veil. You decide you’ve got no other option; if you’re going to go back to cruelty, you might as well commit. You carry your mourning,  the grief you’ve been heaving under, and you make your way to some of Jack Odyssey’s rivals. You’d heard them crowing all over Bounty some years prior — they’re the ones who exacted vicious vengeance upon the ruthless Brontide, or so they say. You pay them with everything you have left in your pockets, and they concoct the plot. Despite their warnings, you insist on being present when they make their move — it’s one last selfless act before you abandon yourself to your true nature. You tuck yourself into a corner, watching with glee and vigor as the Odyssey gang falls into the trap you’ve set for them.

But the trap fails. Like the outlaws they are, they fight their way out, shooting any and all in sight. Your proximity to the site only serves to damn you. When Cain finds your hiding spot and says that they recognize you, you’re certain that you’ll meet your end. This time, though, you find yourself face to face with Odyssey himself, and for all his famously floundering leadership, he’s clever enough to realize the condemning implication of your presence — you were the one to set the trap. Against all odds, he refrains from putting you down, and contrary to the ruthlessness you witnessed when your friends were wiped out, Jack gives you a choice. You will be spared if you’re able to pay the cost of your crime: the sum of what you paid to their rivals, returned to Jack Odyssey, plus interest. It’s not mercy so much as practical gain; he clearly thinks there’s more use to you alive than dead — you haven’t proved him wrong. These days, you pull your weight, and you go above and beyond in order to rack up cash for your monumental debt. You couldn’t care less about the Odyssey gang, or anyone in it. You know you’ll never forgive yourself for choosing your own desire to live over personal retribution — but you’ll do everything to show them all just how far out of reach forgiveness truly is.

WITNESS. You have completely different places in the Odyssey. You think of them as a capable individual, who would have so much to offer to the gang if it weren’t for the disregard and dismissal they constantly face and their unwillingness to play nice with others. You, on the other hand, go wherever the promise of cash takes you, focused on nothing but paying off your debt and watching the rest of them crumble in its wake. Still, you share the same predicament of being bound to whatever the fuck fate you’ve been left with, and so you’ve banded together. You’ve promised each other that the moment one of you has a chance to leave the Odyssey in the dust and make a break for it, or the chance to sell the Odyssey gang out, you’ll be pulling the other along and leaving together. You have no intention of honoring that promise, but for now, you’ll play along and bide your time.

SHOTGUN. You despise them for many reasons, but the biggest one of all is their callous pretense of being the kinder of the two in their dynamic with Cain. What you saw in that hotel as they killed your (albeit new, fair-weather) friends in cold blood for entirely understandable hostility — that wasn’t kindness. It was brutality, and they’re lying to themselves if they pretend otherwise. At least their partner, Cain, embraces their viciousness: they hone it openly and unapologetically. But Shotgun? They’d rather slither beneath the grass, disguising their bite beneath the flare of roses. Hypocritical as it is, their cowardice disgusts you, and though you’re keeping your hatred on a tight leash, you’ve given them enough of a glimpse for them to know it’s there. You long for the day when you can finally let it loose.

WIDOWER MAY I. For whatever reason, they’ve mistaken you for someone who ought to be taken under their wing, and you’d have given them hell for it if it weren’t for all that you’ve gained. Committed as most members of the Odyssey are to leaving you the bottom of the barrel in terms of jobs and robberies, Widower’s mindless endeavor to help you is just about the only venture that’s shaved a portion off your debt. You haven’t thanked them for it, and you have no intention to, but you’ve steadily grown less and less hostile in their company. Of all the outlaws you could find yourself in the company of, you’re glad it’s them. If their kindness continues, Widower might just be spared when your reckoning descends upon the Odyssey.

— VEX is currently TAKEN and played by JULIE.

[ragnaroque]

paulina  singer  in  dead  of  summer  episode 1,  patience.

[antigonick]

“I don’t know if I believe in rage as something always acting in opposition to tenderness. I believe, more often, in the two as braided together. Two elements of trying to survive in a world once you have an understanding of that world’s capacity for violence.”

— Hanif Abdurraqib, from “Board Up the Doors, Tear Down the Walls,” in A Little Devil in America

[mossyshadows]

Past a certain point, you stop being able to go home. At this point, when you have got this far from where you were from, the thread snaps. The narrative breaks. And you are forced, pastless, motherless, selfless, to invent yourself anew.

The Four Generations of Chang E - Zen Cho

[justthishumanheart]

Were you safe?

I was never safe, even when I was most hidden. Even then I was waiting.

—Louise Glück, from Mutable Earth

[firstfullmoon]

“If I have the destruction of something that I once loved to carry with me at all times, isn’t it like I still have a companion?”

— Hanif Abdurraqib, from “Rumours And The Currency Of Heartbreak,” in They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us