ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ.

[deaglefifty]

[nyotas-blog]

The Proposition (2005) → Silhouettes

[speakingparts]

The Proposition [John Hillcoat, 2005]

[telomnibus]

               It’s not common for him to request much; this isn’t his only job. The term “job”, of course, is used loosely. He’s not contracted and he’s barely legal, making work fluid and virtually stress-free. He spins the wheel against the flint and the end of his cigarette flares to life. Axel breathes in. Broad shoulders sit back on a sigh.              “You will give me one grand as down payment,” he explains. “After the job, I will assess the damages and we will talk about the rest.” This job is no different than any other, as far as he’s concerned. 

[merccnary-blog]

Cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved a tattered leather wallet. Inside, nothing but a license reading something or another, like Harold I. Starks or Victor Mancini or whatever other stupid name had been recently given to him by a forger. Well --- nothing other than a fat wad of twenty and fifty dollar bills. Gaze averted from the other, he retracted some and leafed through them swiftly, eventually folding a significant amount in half and holding it out between two fingers for the younger man to take. No questions asked.

[loveruined]

Whether it was intuition and she knew that he wanted some or simply the fact that she hated to do anything alone, when Jane picked up her desk phone to call reception she asked for two coffees to be sent up. If he really didn’t want it, she’d have no problem drinking both; today was going to be a long day, after all, and she was going to need all the energy she could get after her night of guilt-charged tossing and turning. 

“Tragic. Right,” she echoed. It really was. Though whether the true tragedy was his death or the fact that he’d caused it himself, Jane still hadn’t decided. Either way, she’d leave it a while until she reached out to his family to help them. Make it seem as though she’d heard of their situation from somebody and was just being charitable so as not to make her involvement obvious. Though, as he’d said – it would look like an accident. Perhaps she wouldn’t need to. 

A hand rose to stifle a yawn, and she rubbed her eyes soon after, for a moment appearing much like the child she’d been when she’d started this. Professionalism was very much something she’d had to teach herself, and exhaustion was one of those things that made the carefully-crafted mask slip. “I was wondering if you’d consider working for us permanently. On a contract, I mean.” 

[merccnary-blog]

Though her question did not come as much of a surprise, it was enough to make a dent in the iron-clad mask of indifference; forehead creasing only ever so slightly as his brows barely rose in an expression of wonder --- as expressive as he could be. He could not quite say he’d foreseen the suggestion – but merely that it was not the first time he’d received something of the sort from a client. Perhaps it was not that he was baffled by the offer in itself as much as the fact she would trust him enough after what could only be described as a brief encounter. She couldn’t even know he was telling the truth yet, that the objective had been carried out the way he said it had (it was, of course; but as always, he would be the first to admit he could not be trusted).

”You are aware o’ the meanin’ o’ the term mercenary.” As before, though his choice of words might have sounded reprehensive, his tone remained flat, matter-of-fact; and, as before, he was not asking a question. She knew very well what the term meant; in turn, knew very well what he was. His loyalty could be purchased by the highest bidder --- which made it virtually nonexistent. Set aside the security risks that involved working long-term for one sole client or remaining in one place for too long; it all circled down to the same thing. He could not, should not, be trusted; and far be it from him to tell her otherwise.

”There are repeat customers, certainly… but no regulars.”

[fvshiontactics]

[deaglefifty]

[skumbags]

[sinistergen-blog]

                    There’s a certain level of allowed disclosure with strangers, he’s been taught. You don’t talk about the bad parts of your past (or what you can remember of it), you don’t talk about the bad parts of your present, and you never voice your concerns for the future. That being said.                     “I don’t have nearly enough self-awareness to answer that question,” he admits after several minutes of calm silence. “I’m lacking the… right kind of data for a logical conclusion.” The corner of his mouth quirks up; he’s amused by the thought of trying to shove his still-undiscovered personality back into a box. 

[merccnary-blog]

He'd almost dare tell himself he liked this guy, if only he didn't know that couldn't possibly be true – that he couldn't possibly like anyone he knew so superficially (or at all, for the matter - liking people was not among his ever-narrowing list of capabilities) --- the one thing he could say with a certainty was he enjoyed the way this guy thought, at least. Words like self-awareness, data and logical were just about his favorites, and the ones he least expected to hear.

The quiet, huffy sound he called a chuckle was stifled against the back of his teeth as he shifted in his seat, watchful gaze remaining fixed on the other man. "There are other options." He mused eventually, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he sank further into his seat. "--- there are more livin' beings on this planet other than dogs an’ 'umans. Nothin' is ever just black an' white."

[sanithna]

Visit Original Link

[harloteliot-deactivated20230828]

I will go away soon.. -Dylan klebold

[lindeliz]

[merccnary-blog]

[nataliemaiaa]

[bledhopearchive-deactivated2017]

bbcmycroft:

send me questions you have about my character!

anything and everything. favorites. thoughts on people, on events. what they would do in a certain situation. how things would be different if something had/hadn’t happened. simple questions, complex questions. have at it!

[wordsnquotes]

I will vanish in the morning light; I was only an invention of darkness.

Angela Carter, “The Lady of the House of Love” (via aeducans)

[constantdriift]

     Something undeniably profound and sentimental in that phrase. Paired, too, with the way the older man looked directly at Isaac, hiding anything discreet and careful. 

     You don’t look at me like that enough. He wanted to say. 

     Instead he laughed, and gave his head a shake. There was some mutter about how you’re probably right, before Ike bent down to stabilize himself on the cement barrier. He jumped down onto the grass below and squinted through the trees towards where the pond should be. The pleasant hum in his limbs and veins seemed to purr at the idea of dipping his hands in the water and he nearly laughed at himself. Was it possible he felt young again? Or was it just he often never indulged this much? He looked Merc’s way. 

     “If this is lame we’ll go, okay? I really could use a beer.”

[merccnary-blog]

Following suit, his landing was a tad harsher; in an attempt to spare his bum knee and shift most of the blow to his good leg, he stumbled half a step forward before he managed finding his balance once more and, surprisingly still --- he did not feel the need to make up for it or try to mask it as he always did. He could allow being clumsy. He could allow himself a small moment of weakness. The drifter probably didn’t notice or, even more likely, did not mind. Somewhere in his mind, he knew this should have bothered him --- disturbed him to his very core.

Not now. Maybe in the morning.

Whether it would be lame or otherwise mattered very little. All that mattered was that the night was still young --- it was barely past midnight --- and he was going to spend it with him. They could be doing fuck all as far as he was concerned. All that mattered was that he was beside him.

”Yeah --- sure.” His broad shoulders had never seemed so light as he rolled them, shrugging the hood off his head before stuffing both hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It ‘ad be’er not be, though. Built me ‘opes up and everythin’.”