@gun-slinger-leon
— you're not arresting me for this
.... are you?
Desperate times come for desperate measures.
This was one, big leap off from the criteria — but what she lacked in patience, she made up for in ... well, breaking and entering. With small whines of locks, she greets herself through Leon's apartment door, setting her bag down near the entrance.
The redhead murmurs to herself, lips pursing at the bleak decorum. Lack of, really. She didn't have enough synonyms to describe how depressed the place was. Bleak as the place it was built in.
Just had to drive to bum-fuck D.C....
Boots thud dully against tile, leaving the faintest trail of rainwater; another stain to neighbor the rest. Turning a corner, she lifted her hands up. Almost scoffing at the glinting metal.
If she had a dime for each time he greeted like this? She'd have...two. Weird it happened twice.
Her hands lower in pace with his firearm, resting at her sides. Almost itching at the loose threads on her jeans. Claire's irises, red-rimmed and almost blurred into her sclera from the trip, worked him over, noting exhaustion colouring his appearance.
She observes, her tone lacking a proper mocking edge. Sounding something akin to hollow. "Looks like the past..." Claire did the mental math, eye twitching up momentarily. "—three years treated you decent."
Seven fit neatly — neater — in chronological order of the roller-coaster of events he was nailed into.
Or, maybe, he was always destined for this life. Condemned to a yawning chasm of purgatory at the time of conception; his parents sins too heavy of a burden, they overflowed into their kin.