licensed to hunt

DILYN MYLES 💀 b o u n t y h u n t e r blue steel flashing, hot lead flying I wonder what they feel like when they're dying. someday soon it might be my turn Is it worth the money I earn? and it seems to me this is one hell of a way for a woman like me to earn that pay.

[licensedtohunt]

If you could do anything besides what you're doing now, what would it be?

“There’s a small part of me that just wants to say ‘lay on a beach and drink tequila’ but after a couple days that’d get boring.” 

“Honestly? I’d probably be doing the same thing– only, I’d pick my own contracts. And I wouldn’t have this bomb in my head. As long as I get my daily target practice, I’ll be happy. And a contract I actually stand a chance against.”

“Actually you wanna know what I really wanna be doing right now? Finding out all about this new grappling partner of my brother’s.”

[licensedtohunt]

Highest bounty you've gone after?

"Well I mean– I used to like to say there wasn’t a limit of what I’d go after, and the higher the better.." "… but I think I’ve found that line with my current contract." 

[licensedtohunt]

rxmanianxdevil:

Hunched over the bar as he fixed the tall, stout bartender with an unblinking, baleful stare, the combined scent of perspiration and nervousness permeating the air, Adarian rapped the metal knuckles of his left hand against the thick, wooden countertop - once, twice, three times … until the man finally relented and averting his gaze to the counter, fetched a bottle of the club’s most popular seller, Wild Stinger, and reluctantly placed it down beside his hand—before abruptly retreating to the far end of the bar, the rigid line of his back and the tightening of his jaw the only, true telltale signs of agitation he struggled so hard not to show, obviously determined to play the role of big man on campus until the bitter end … 

      … save for a scent that could not be manipulated or hidden.

   Scent beat make-believe every damn time.

“Hey,” Adarian called out, a raspiness to his tone that led one to believe he didn’t talk much. “I’m runnin’ on empty.” Four, little words—innocent enough not to raise any alarm bells. But when coupled with a deep, gravelly, voice and dark, flint-hard eyes, they were enough to send chills down anyone’s spine. As if on cue, the bar quieted, all activity suspended as several pairs of eyes fell on him, as though to gauge the extent of the threat he presented; lines of tension formed between Adarian’s brows as he reached for the bottle, his fingers tightening around the glass as he kept a trained eye on the bikers in the mirror behind the bar.

“No sweat, man. It’s free of charge,” the bartender hastened to say, trying to disperse the tension with an amenable comment. And something in the dark expression in the hybrid’s eyes must have proved too … bellicose, for mere seconds passed before they resumed their conversations, no longer paying the stranger any mind. 

Acknowledging the bartender’s generosity with a curt nod, he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a large swig, hoping the alcohol would dull the pain in his head; a throbbing ache that would only erupt when the three different breeds currently inhabiting his body vied for dominance. Rarely were they quiet, domineering in nature and determined to be heard over the cries of their neighbors. It had taken him months to adapt to his circumstances, his head an accumulated mass of darkness and confusion that would ofttimes drive him to question his own sanity. 

           Like now.

    When his instincts, a dangerous combination of therianthrope, warg, and dragon, warned of approaching danger. Not from the bikers or club members scattered throughout the bar—but from an outside source, the familiar scent of spice and gun powder wringing a wordless growl from him. 

She’d tailed him for days—maybe even weeks—tracking him to remote areas around the state, and just when he thought he’d lost her, the damn female had the nerve to throw in an appearance. Again. But this … This was the closest she’d ever come to tagging and bagging her quarry, the closest he’d let her come. Because he was over this cat-and-mouse game, tired of smelling her every-goddamn-where he turned up, a scent that provoked the beast and triggered its hunting instinct despite the fact that it had three very different, competing forces feeding its hunger.

Conscious of her presence, watching out of the corners of his eyes as the locals turned their attention to her, no doubt identifying her as the lesser of two evils, Adarian maintained a silent vigil, patiently awaiting her arrival with an outwardly calm demeanor—when, inwardly, he was feeling anything but calm. “No,” he grunted, slanting her a sideways glare the moment she claimed the bar stool next to his, in no mood to humor her tonight. If she wanted the big fish, she’d have to get a little wet first. “Game’s been over. Now it’s time for you to scram.” And then, finally swiveling on his stool to face her completely, he saw her face for the first time in weeks—and stared, aghast … motionless. 

Mia.

“No,” he rasped, eyes tracing every line of that beautiful face—a face that had haunted his dreams for months. “No!” He clutched at his head, struggling to think past the torturous pain in his head—to rationalize a dead woman’s appearance—but nothing seemed to work, and soon … soon, he would be too far gone to care.

Everyone in the bar was wary of him, it was clear in their body language, the wide girth between him and their scattered groups of drinkers and pool players, all of them with their bodies slightly slanted his way, none of them quite willing to turn their back on him. 

             He was one man, and he had a whole goddamn biker gang scared of him. And she was sliding into the seat next to his, despite the thickly growled no that sent more of a chill down her spine than she’d care to admit. Swallowing, tactful, Dilyn kept her resolve by staring straight across the bar she sprawled an arm over, fingers uncharacteristically fidgeting with the cardboard coaster that was more for advertising purposes than to keep the bar clean.                                                                                                              It was a tell. It irritated her to no end how much safer she felt from the rest of the bar’s occupants within the immediately zone of his circle of intimidation. It was a stupid thing to feel, considering he was the biggest threat of them all and by the tone of his voice, he was finally fed up with her following him           Well fuck. “You think i’m doing this for shits and giggles?” Dilyn snorted, but she never had a chance to continue, to explain she had no choice— his scream caught her off guard and instinct had her jump to the defensive, hand going immediately for that special gun Thead had outfitted her with. Muscles tensed, spine ramrod straight, Dilyn stared him down, suspicious as fuck and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Fingers slowly curled around the handle, ready to wield it.             Was this some kind of play to catch her off guard?                                                                                          No.                                                                                          Instinct told her it wasn’t. Rather than draw her weapon, Dilyn slowly raised an empty hand and against all better judgement reached out, fingers hovering over his arm more than making contact. “Hey— ” The fuck was she doing? “Everything okay?”                                                         It wasn’t.                                                                                       He wasn’t. 

              He was an unstable hybrid— how many times had she read that in the dossier? Dilyn swallowed, barely breathing as her mechanical eye whirred and buzzed, scanning his face for micro-expressions that might give away his intent, searching his own eyes for any sign of his next move. There was a shift to his irises, a focus in the pupils that burnt wildly and intense. He was losing it. She leaped to her feet, hand shooting to her gun and this time drawing it, aiming it directly at the heart of the man she’s supposed to bring in alive. 

                   Shit just got real. Behind her, Dilyn could hear chairs scrape against the ground as all the other occupants got up, the crunch of leather and click of metal indication enough they were pulling out their own weapons. Question was, were they aiming at her, or the hybrid? 

                  “Don’t make me shoot.” She growled, low, guttural, traced with a hint of fear.

[licensedtohunt]

xcaedes:

“Careful,” Donovan warned, not even a hint of amusement in his low baritone—because, as it stood, he was being serious. Not nearly as serious as a heart attack but close enough. “You’re treading on dangerous grounds.” That once crossed could not be uncrossed. “You wouldn’t want me lumping you in the same category as a raging bitch-face on a PMS kick … Would you?” Women and hormones just didn’t mix sometimes. And Dilyn—when she got going, it was hard to shut her down. But blaming hormones on every little problem would be stretching it quite a bit. They might play a part in intensifying a problem, but they weren’t the sole reason for it. “Yeah, yeah—on a good day.” He snorted at her brief show of disdain, in tune to every nuance of emotion, no matter how small it might prove to be, in her arsenal. He’d give her points for trying, though. “But that’s why you have me.” Brother to the rescue. Anyone who wanted a crack at his family would have to go through him first. “We stand a better chance of taking him down together.” 

And it was obvious by her reaction—even if she did her best to hide it—how much his offer affected her. Emotional was the last word he’d ever use to describe her, but even with her seemingly limited range of emotions, he could tell how much his support, freely given, meant to her. “Nah.” Mindful of the other presence in the room—his nape prickled, as if fingers had ghosted along his skin—Donovan crossed his arms, an arguably defensive posture to some, and shook his dark head. “Zoe knows her way around the house better than I do. If anyone can avoid an invisible wall, it’s her …” But then—as if saying her name aloud had conjured her image, he heard the soft pitter-patter of little feet, running feet, dashing down the hallway … before the exuberant, dark-haired girl rushed into the living room in an excited whirl of kremlin slip and lace. “Aunt Dilly!” She cried out happily, launching herself at her beloved aunt with all the determination of a young girl on the cusp of tweenhood. “Did you meet Daddy’s new friend?” It was an innocent question but one that set his cheeks ablaze. Shit. “He’s his new grappling partner!” Uttered with pride, a mere recitation of the explanation he’d given her last night when she’d discovered them in a rather … compromising position. Sighing, Donovan considered distracting her with promises of an ice cream cake. 

But the damage had already been done. 

The invisible wall had been identified.

“Dangerous. Sure. Sure.” Was that answer reckless? Maybe, but in her defense she wouldn’t have been his older sister if she didn’t latch onto every chance to tease him as possible. At least she wasn’t being serious. She might call him very insult under the sun, but not a single one of them stood merit. He was her family. “I am a raging bitch-face, but pms has shit all to do with it.” Try the ticking time bomb in her eye socket. It didn’t get wet like her real one. She tried to hide but was relieved by the pattering of little feet that gave her just enough time to open her arms and catch the hurtling child. Dilyn staggered back a half step, more by surprise than the actual weight of her niece. “Zoey!” She cooed, spinning the child around in circles. Mr. Invisible Wall was nothing if not an opportunist, and he took the munchkin’s arrival as the perfect opportunity to tip-toe away from the middle of the room and the pillow at his feet to shuffle silently closer to that luscious specimen of a man, drawn in by that flush even more than that virile intensity. Muscles like that just begged to be touched, so his wandering hands were the real victim here, magnetically attracted to those lovely abdominal obliques. It was a crime they were covered by a t-shirt. Auto squeezed, still invisible — although it was growing increasingly more difficult to concentrate and keep it that way — as he leaned in, lips ghosting against the stubble of the other man’s warm cheek, tauntingly close to his ear and whispered, “I like when you flush.” “Grappling partner?” Dilyn repeated, both in amusement and shock as she set the likely dizzy Zoey down — hell even Dilyn was mildly dizzy, though that could have been from finding out Donny had a secret male friend. “Why no, I haven’t yet.” Dilyn winked down at her niece, ruffling the child’s long hair and shooting a far too pleased glance over Zoey’s head towards her all but celibate father. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to, her expression said all kinds of shit, ranging from since when to a what the fucking hell why didn’t you say shit? Mostly though, she wanted to know how exactly Zoey managed to find all this out, and so with a wicked grin turned back to her niece and asked, “When did you meet him?”

[licensedtohunt]

xcaedes:

“Did you just compare me to that thing?” Donovan harrumphed, soft enough to go unnoticed; but having a sister like Dilynalmost guaranteed she’d pick up on it right away. “Five-second advantage - that’s all a good bounty hunter needs,” he retorted, his tone deadpan. A really good bounty hunter would only need two, but he wasn’t nearly stupid enough to say as much. There were very few people he trusted at his back - even fewer whose opinion he truly cared about - but she’d scored the golden ticket there. He’d rather forgo the whole cold-shoulder, silent-treatment, looks-that-could-kill spiel from her if he could. “You don’t have to go at it alone.” A pointed look - proof that he was more than willing and prepared to help her capture that thing, alive if need be.

And it was a good, clever way to take her mind off of the more … dangerous topics - such as the fact that according to her, they weren’t alone. But since that had nothing to do with him … Or it wouldn’t have if she didn’t decide at that precise moment to throw something concrete at the invisible presence she was so sure was standing in the room with them, previously unnoticed. He, on the other hand, liked to pretend otherwise. As if he would allow anyone other than Dilyn or Zoe - and Thaed on the rarest of rare occasions - to skulk around his living room. But, of course, she couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie and had to poke her nose in his business. “Ah-hah?” Donovan rolled his eyes at her triumphant exclamation, tempted to flick her forehead for having the gall to look so proud with herself. “So you hit the wall. Big deal. What do you want - a prize?” A wall that moved, but that was neither here nor there.

“You’re both males,” Dilyn argued with a pointed smirk and an eyeroll, ultra vague because fuck that no way was she alluding to the dirty details forming as the shaky foundation to her newest last ditch, aka this better fucking work, plan. “That’s enough to lump you in the same catego- “ her nose wrinkled, eyes widening mid-word. Proud indigence at it’s finest. “Excuse me.” every syllable rolled with disdain, “I only need two.” The hybrid fucker didn’t count. Neither did War! War who was-shit, willing to risk everything for her ass. Well shucks. The sides of her lip twitched, ghosting into the start of a smile, one stubbornly bit back. It’s not that she ever doubted it, that her brother cared, but they didn’t exactly go around say i love yous. That’d be weird. Still she caught his eye, the significance of his offer shining bright in her own. Shit she even felt choked up, not that she let it show. Not with a stranger in the room. Did he really think she was that dumb? “Dude, fine. Since when do you have an invisible wall in the middle of the living room? Ain’t that like a major child safety hazard?” Rolling her eyes, Dilyn strode without warning towards the pillow that lay conspicuously in the middle of the floor and, after eyeing the empty air above it which heat was totally radiating from, surprisingly didn’t say a word as she bent to scoop up the pillow. War could keep his secrets. For now. Whoever was there wasn’t a threat. She even turned her back on him, facing her brother again instead. "You think you could get the drop on him, if he's distracted?"

[licensedtohunt]

xcaedes:

He wished he could tell the government to fuck off - wished he could shield her from the consequences of their greedy demands - but doing so would most likely result in retaliation … of the fatal kind. He could handle dying for his family, especially if his death would set them free from their inhumane clutches. But what he absolutely refused to consider was the possibility of them dying because of him. They’d already seized Zoe once, with the intent to prove just how easy it would be for them to snuff her little, fragile life out. And Dilyn - they’d done something to her, probably affixed some kind of kill switch to her brain like they’d done to him. Fucking government. But that thought had no time to settle - because, at that exact moment, the woman-in-question managed to catch him slightly off guard with a throw pillow to the face. Instinctively lifting his hand to catch it before it could fall to the floor, Donovan shot his sister a peevish look. He had to hand it to her, though. She came up with the most interesting plans. “Might work,” he grunted, his lips nearly curving but the twitching muscle not quite able to form the gesture. “Doubt he’d see it coming.” He certainly hadn’t.

Neither was he prepared for her next question. Stiffening, he didn’t say anything at first, refusing to look behind him for the source of her newfound tension. And then, forcing his muscles to unclench and relax, Donovan threw her a furrowed brow, his reticent frown in full force. “Who?” Not exactly evasive - but when in doubt, play dumb.

“Might,” she agreed. “If it can trick you.” Too bad a pillow didn’t hurt, and wouldn’t stop the bastard from retaliation. She’d gotten lucky with War, the same couldn’t be said about that goddamn unstable hybrid. “The trick angle isn’t a bad one, though.” Catching the thing unexpected might be her only hope in hell. Crazy as it was, it even had her considering real desperate measures: playing femme fatal. Hybrid or not, the thing was still male wasn’t it? If she could get it to bed... No way Dono would consent to that plan. Dilyn stared at her brother dumbly, then at the heat signature that was most certainly not his, even if it was behind him. It was a foot away from his body, and it was way too big to be little Zoey. Nevertheless his furrowed brow and owlish who made her question her hardware. Had she fried a circuit earlier? Getting hit in the face? With a skeptical brow Dilyn stood, reaching to tug the throw pillow free of her brother’s hands, whipping it immediately in the direction of the heat source. The pillow sailed through the air before suddenly stopping, as though hitting an invisible wall. “Ah-hah!” She declared triumphantly, shoving a single finger against her brother’s sternum. There was totally an invisible intruder, and curiously Donovan was nowhere near as tense as he should have been over it.

[licensedtohunt]

xcaedes:

Standing with his feet braced slightly apart and his arms folded across his chest, Donovan regarded Dilyn with a thoughtful - but austere - frown, trying to think back to the last time he’d seen his sister in such a poor state. Poor for her, at any rate. She was a woman quite accustomed to bringing in a successful haul, after all, skillful at handling the most difficult of cases - and the hybrid they’d arrogantly and foolishly sent her after would certainly qualify. But to see her so bedraggled and weary, her gaze alight with a mixture of raw, negative-based emotions - those of which he could easily read in the various expressions that flickered across her face, one after another, eliciting a furrowed brow from him - did something to him … something unpleasant; it threatened to set fire to the embers of anger and frustration that he had no choice but to keep a tight reign on. Because, without that kind of tight control, collateral damage would be the least of their problems. 

“You planning to go after him again?” The question was out before he knew it - but rather than try to recall it, Donovan stared down at her in expectation of her answer, well aware that her nature would practically demand as much. She didn’t like to lose; neither did he. It must run in their blood. “You’ll need a better plan if you do.” One that would hopefully end in success this time around.

Staring pensively ahead -- situated so her stare shredded conveniently just shy of his side -- Dilyn shrugged but the edge of her lip wavered a hint. ”It’s cute that you pretend I have a choice.” For a heartbeat she let their matching eyes realign and felt like a kid again, back when their biggest concern had been taking the neighborhood bully in kick the can, back when they’d schemed like little brats to get out of everything from chores to homework, back when their stupid, wild and ridiculous schemes actually worked. While their eyes were locked, before she could even blink, Dilyn whipped a throw pillow at his face. Immediately, maintaining her frown became much more of a challenge. “You’re right. Maybe I should get him with a pillow.” Dilyn taunted, losing the battle against the smile and jerking across to the other side of the couch only to freeze before clearing the reach of retaliation, the mechanics of her eye whirling and shifting to focus not on her brother, but an invisible heat signature behind him.

"Who the fuck is that?”

[licensedtohunt]

xcaedes:

He was tempted to give her forehead a good thumping - it’d get his message across, loud and clear. But seeing her bruised, battered, and weary stilled his hand; more than words ever could. His sister had obviously been put through the wringer … Should’ve known her bounty would reduce her masterful hunting skills to rubble the second she texted him the details, vague as they were, of her job. Because if the bastard had been easy prey, the damn fools would’ve gone in for the kill themselves. But they’d chosen to send another one in - collateral damage for their greed. Even Donovan, for all his combative knowledge and skill, would have found that particular target hard to handle. “Don’t throw the towel in just yet,” he replied with a calmness that was at odds with the intensity of his energy - a gift from the very government he’d faithfully served for years. “Once the towel goes in, the light goes out.” As his only sister - and the only family, aside from his daughter, he had left - he had a duty to ensure her safety … no matter the means necessary to get the job done. “Don’t give me that shit, Dilyn,” Donovan snapped, noticing her avoidance of all eye contact - and disliking it on the basis that she wasn’t the type to avert her eyes like that. “You took one hell of a beating … What happened to the target?“ He could only assume the thing had escaped … again.

Goddamn. Dilyn kicked her feet off the couch turning her half-assed sit into a proper one, knees bending at a 90 degree and arms sprawling out across blanket covered thighs as she sighed.  Thickly. A loose strand of hair got caught in the updraft and blew from one side of her nose to the other. It tickled yet hands remained white-knuckling the crushed velvet. Don’t throw the towel in? Hah. Like she even had that choice. Dil snorted, nostrils stretching wide to intake the much needed breath of sanity. More like breath for sanity. If only the answer was as easy as death. Dying wasn’t an option. Neither was failing. She’d just have to bring that fucker in. Somehow.

With another breath she forced her fists to unfurl and then slowly cocked the shallow of her gaze upon her brother’s face. Trust the brat to call her out on being avoidant, she who'd sooner brazenly charge the flames. “What happened?” She started, with no other option now but to answer, and snorted, rolling her eyes before going through a whole gambit of emotions: frustration, self-loathing, guilt and even a turn at anger. The torrid mix in no particular order but rather seemed to swirl through them all unsettled, like a dial being turned one way than the other. “He let me go.” 

[licensedtohunt]

xcaedes:

It was a testament to his foresight - and knowledge of the nature of his sister, who hunted for a living - that he didn’t even blink despite the dangerous swiftness of her movements … How close had he come to a near choke-out over the numerous years he’d found her camped out in his living room, too exhausted to move a single step past his front door? Too damn many times to count. But then, he was responsible for teaching her not only how to properly defend herself at a young age but to kick the ass of anyone stupid enough to threaten her. So it was only natural that he’d, at the very least, recognize some if not most of her moves. “You’re a hundred years too late if you think you can take me,” Donovan replied simply, closely studying her face under the muted sunlight filtering through the heavily curtained windows. There was a bruise on her cheek - and was that blood?

“You never got back to me last night,” he added in a sharp mutter, frown deepening as he narrowed his eyes on her bruised cheek; proof that she’d had one hell of a rough night. “Didn’t go the way you planned, huh?” Was the thing captured … dead? Judging from her battered appearance - unlikely.

It never escaped her notice that she got away with hell in a hand basket when it came to her brother. Fuck, anyone else who’d tried a throat grab would end up with broken fingers, if not a totally dysfunctional hand. It was a sign, more than anything, of how much the grump actually trusted her. “Little secret brother,” Dilyn mused, the mechanics of her eye buzzing as she shifted focus, “I never actually think I can take anyone.”  

"But I do." She shrugged, like that fact was wholly insignificant and after a beat, winked. Though typically one to toot her own horn, with Donovan -- at least in the rare moment -- she could admit half her success was pure luck. Her cheek hurt, and she could taste blood but she waved off her sibling’s concern, the truth of the matter was she shouldn’t have even been breathing. He’d gone easy on her. Only her pride had been beaten down to an inch from death. Snorting, Dilyn squeezed the poor velvet throw nail-bitingly tight and averted her gaze. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

[xcaedes]

@ licensedtohunt

Fixing the occupied couch with a peevish frown - how many times must he ask her to use the guest bedroom whenever she chose to crash at his place for the night? - Donovan considered grabbing the edges of the grey, plush velvet throw blanket clutched tightly in her hands and giving it a hard yank, uprooting her from her comfortable nest of blankets and pillows. But he wasn’t too keen on the idea of waking Zoe so soon after he’d managed to put her to bed, their unexpected visitor only adding to the business of a night that should have been quiet and unassuming.

“Dilyn,” he murmured, his tone nearly a whisper as he nudged her blanket-shrouded shoulder none-too-gently. “Dilyn, wake up.”

[licensedtohunt]

It was a sign of the times that her hand went straight for his throat as eyes jerked open, but her palm fell short of its actual target, white knuckling the velvet throw instead. “Shit,” it came out airier than she’d like to admit, tailing on the hinge of a gasp. This wasn’t some treacherous alley with a hybrid. She was safe. At home. Well, Donovan’s home. Close enough. “You tryin’ ta get yourself killed?” Dilyn grumbled, blinking the sleep out of her eye and absolutely refusing to admit he’d just woken her from a nightmare. Still. The poor bitch was white as a ghost.

For a hard second Dilyn just glared, then shook her head and with an intentionally dramatic sigh, hoisted her sore as shit body up into a half-assed sit. “So? What’s so important you had to wake me?”

[licensedtohunt]

Donny: / If / she's trainable ... But something tells me that's a no-go.

Donny: Smart girl.

Donny: Do I even get a say in this? But hell, it's the season for miracles - so if that shit actually works, I'll know who to thank for it.

Dilly: Never say never, but good luck getting her to fight.

Dilly: Hah. Remember you said that.

Dilly: Um no?

Dilly: Sorry man. That yknow, it's so bad.

[licensedtohunt]

Donny: Only if you agree with yourself ...

Donny: Bastards really know how to get their way. But you and I both know karma's a bitch. It's only a matter of time before she throws herself at them.

Donny: ... Probably not. Ignorance is bliss.

Donny: Peace is the ideal dream, forever unattainable. But fuck if I don't wish for it every day. A peace of mind at least ...

Donny: When walking into a goddamn convenience store for a pack of cigarettes suddenly turns into a brawl, you / know / it's bad.

Donny: But I'll get over it. I always do.

Dilly: ... Fuck. Touche.

Dilly: Are we talking about the same Princess Buttercup? What? You training her to take the whole project down?

Dilly: Ignorance is deadly, but in this case I still don't want to know.

Dilly: I could sign you up for anger management classes. or yoga maybe, take up some meditation, find your inner zen. Totally know what I'm getting you for Christmas now. A huge, outdoor zen garden on that massive property of yours. How about it monk?

[licensedtohunt]

With the recently acquired engine purring between her thighs Dilyn propped up her aviators and gave the rundown shack a cold eye. The mechanics of the artificial lens hummed, scanning from left to right for heat signatures. There was twelve total, two more than the number of bikes parked tightly together out front, where a neon sign flashed Full Throttle. The hoots, hollers, and sound of breaking glass inside confirmed the obvious: biker bar.                                                                        Great.                                                      This was supposed to be easy.                                  Okay. Maybe not easy. More like in and out. Clean cut.                                                            Little mess. No death.                                   Tell that to the monstrosity she’d been tailing for weeks.                                                     Mr. fucking didn’t get the memo.  It was all cat and mouse, where she was the goddamn rodent stupid enough to give chase (right into the metaphorical fucking vipers den) and he just smugly gloated over the game of it. Reaper-man was right. Shoulda went with the rifle. The handgun tranq had seemed like the obvious choice, it could be concealed, and didn’t require the steadiness of a sniper but meant close combat and so far she hadn’t gotten within range— at least nowhere that wasn’t overtly public.                                                  Eleven was too many bystanders.                                      She’d have to try and flush him out of the building.                              Waiting wasn’t an option. That’d require too much patience. Killing the engine Dilyn slid off the bike (that Donny had miraculously procured) and took a gamble on risking entrance, storming the door with motorcycle boots that crunched gravel and hands bunched in pockets, ignoring her fear. Inside the fluorescents were dim and flickered ominously, the only thing more noticeable the stench of stale beer and day old b.o that competed to overpower the room in a level of rank that would normally have her walk out the door.                                                   Right now it didn't fucking matter.                                  Neither did the dark. His heat signature gave him away.                                             It was the only one with a cold blue arm. The only one without a potbelly, for that matter. Not that it discredited the threat of the leather clad men. A quick scan indicated they were nearly all armed, even the tart who acted like she was passed around, and nobody was suited up more so than the bartender. Please don’t let this be a club’s home bar. To her horror, the patches on most of their backs matched the insignia on the walls. Wonderful. 

                                                   Maybe it was just a coincidence. She made it halfway to the hybrid before feeling eyes on her. Multiple sets. There goes not getting noticed. Dilyn swallowed, mentally ran through the gambit of curses and cast a nervous glance around, but didn’t stop progressing towards her target. One who appeared remarkably calm for a man whose dossier was covered in warnings of being unpredictably volatile. 

                                                                     Surprising. 

Even more surprising, only one drunk tried to get all touchy feely but he was easily diverted with a shove and a gritty “I’ll cut ‘em off next time.”                             Still. She shouldn’t have been so relieved to reach her target.

                                But she was. Couldn’t help it with so many eyes on her. Casually taking up the adjacent bar-stool, Dilyn sprawled out her elbows and stared straight ahead, avoiding looking at the fucker she had no idea how she was going to bring in. There shoulda been a whole squat team assigned to this. “If you wanted a date, you could have picked a better bar,” the bounty hunter griped, sarcasm as thick as molasses as fingers twitched for a knife. “Look it’s been fun, but games over.” Dilyn drawled, tapping an impatient rhythm out against the counter. “Time you just come with me.” Hah. Unlikely, but the easy way was always worth a shot.

[licensedtohunt]

Donny: You're a sister. Sisters are genetically programmed / not / to listen. It's a fact.

Donny: How / are / they keeping you in line?

Donny: ... I have many - might as well make good use of them.

Donny: Why do you find that so hard to believe? If I could successfully bottle this damn energy and free myself from it for ... hell, thirty seconds, I would. No questions asked.

Dilly: Okay so that might be arguably true / but / you think I would have listened to myself.

Dilly: I mean, nieces still make good collateral, in case the whole bomb in the brain starts to look like a peaceful end.

Dilly: Do I even want to know why you have so many?

Dilly: Because war and peace just seem like opposites, but I had no idea it was that bad.

[licensedtohunt]

Donny: Yeah - you may want to work on that a little more. Impatience can be deadly in our line of work.

Donny: / Everyone / is expendable to them. No one is safe.

Donny: Fact. Be mindful of that rumor, and you'll be fine.

Donny: Uh huh. That you are. Between you and Zoe, I'll never know a moment's peace.

Dilly: Yeah, I know. All those years of me telling you to keep cool you think I would have listened.

Dilly: I don't know about everyone. They don't threaten to kill you off to keep me in line.

Dilly: You're totally pulling in an owed favor, aren't you?

Dilly: Peace? / Y O U / want peace?

[licensedtohunt]

Donny: Patience. And desensitization to loud sounds.

Donny: If they expect success on your part, they should - at the very least - provide you with suitable resources.

Donny: He'll have no choice - so yes.

Donny: ... Only when you get your way.

Dilly: I'm desensitized... Patience however, m i g h t be lacking.

Dilly: Sometimes i'm not so sure their expectation / is / success. I'm expendable, you don't send a valuable asset on suicide missions.

Dilly: Rumor has it he's very particular who gets to touch his guns.

Dilly: Hah. Not true though, I'm just more vocal about it.

[licensedtohunt]

Donny: It made for good practice ... which you failed. Every. Damn. Time.

Donny: It wouldn't surprise me. Because you / do / know him.

Donny: ... No.

Donny: Fine.

Donny: You will have your bike.

Dilly: It made for terrible practice, what good does it prove other than being still while bracing for a loud sound.

Dilly: Jesus Christ. Well, I suppose if 'the company's' gonna make me do this, might as well utilize their resources...

Dilly: You think he'll agree?

Dilly: Love you too baby bro. :)