Annoyed Adler | Bell & Russell Adler | short story |
A/N: In the photo below, that's what I imagine my version of Bell would wear. Their outfit is a mix of everyone else's clothes because Russell and Helen weren't about to go shopping for a brainwashed operative they expected to die. It wasn't in the budget, nor was it a priority.
Unfortunately, Bell took full advantage of wearing men's pants. The oversized pockets were perfect for storing all the little things they stole and kept for themselves.
Russell couldn't even talk.
Today, he was speechless from the sheer bullshit.
Who was responsible, one may ask?
Bell was responsible for most of Russell's inconveniences. If he was pissed, blame Bell.
Their body trembled beneath the weight of the chair balanced on their shoulder. At any moment, it looked like Bell was going to collapse under it.
"Bell." His voice was laced with agitation.
His fist clenched against the desk. His tailbone was still screaming from when he'd landed flat on his ass. The chair he'd thought was behind him... wasn't.
His face flushed red with embarrassment at the memory.
Thankfully, nobody had seen Russell Adler—a seasoned veteran—fall on his ass because of a brainwashed Soviet operative.
With trembling legs, Bell walked out of the room.
"Bell!" Russell shouted. "That is my chair!"
He was left standing at his desk.
A slow realization made him clench his jaw.
He had lost to someone who was brainwashed. Not only brainwashed, but mute. Bell had won without saying a single word. Pure pettiness.
"What do you have in your pocket, Bell?"
Photos of Alex and Mason. Helen with Lazar. Sims working under a car.
Even one of Jason with his permanently scowling face.
All of them looked decent.
When they realized he was watching, Bell hid one of the photos.
Bell gave him one of the photos scattered across the floor.
"No." He handed it back. "I want the one in your pocket."
Bell finally relented with an eye roll, as if he was the one bothering her.
He wasn't wearing his glasses. His hair was a mess. He was asleep, mouth open, drooling.
The camera was far too clear for his liking. It captured every little detail.
He realized they had taken a picture of him while he was drunk. Completely out of it.
Before he could cut it up, Bell snatched it back and shoved it into their pocket.
"You know I can make your life miserable."
He flicked their forehead. Hard.
Helen had already told him he couldn't physically harm Bell in their current condition. They were still healing.
A small flick was nothing. It couldn't cause any serious harm.
Still, it made him feel slightly better when Bell grabbed their forehead and hid inside their jacket.
"Stop performing," Russell stated. "You're being dramatic."
Bell sprawled out even more. He knew exactly what they were doing. They were trying to get him scolded by Helen again.
That's all it took for Bell to start acting like themselves again. A bruise had already formed on their forehead.
He could tell Bell's pockets were full. As usual, he needed to check them. Just in case they decided to attack someone. As much as they had been brainwashed, they could still be dangerous to themselves and to everyone around.
Bell slowly began emptying their pockets. Placing each item on the floor.
A lighter. Probably Adler's.
The broken handle of a screwdriver.
Two bullets, which Russell immediately confiscated.
This greatly offended the kleptomaniac known as Bell.
Bell stared at him for a moment. Then, in response, they walked over to his desk and took something of his instead. A handful of his pens disappeared into their pocket.
Specifically, all of his good pens.
theartofmadeline
2087
yousharknotpass
amandla
kianamaiart
