Is anyone interested in roleplaying this prompt with me? I just wrote it after seeing an assassin!Lydia manip somewhere, and I'm really in the mood to do it, but Omegle is doing that irritating thing where it randomly bans me again. I'd love to go with replies, Chatzy, or just plain old email. Just message me if you're interested, because I'm so into this one.
[AU in which Lydia works for an organization that is tasked with ensuring the continued secrecy of the supernatural world. When people ask questions, she takes them out, and is paid a fee for her trouble. This is written with either a Stiles or a Parrish in mind, but I’m open to anyone. Don’t worry about matching the length – I tried to cull this down as much as possible because big prompts are kind of daunting, but it’s mostly intro.]
Lydia’s orders had been simple: get to Beacon Hills, take care of the nosy deputy who knew too much, and get out. It was about as black-and-white as any job got when people started to ask too many questions in a small town where disappearances and violent murders were unlikely to be overlooked so quickly as in a city, where danger lurked around every corner. It was an easy mission, one she thought to be beneath someone of her calibre, but work was work, and she had no intention of passing up the chance to spend some time – if only a weekend – soaking up the California sunshine.
It had been the perfect plan, the one she’d drawn up on the flight over, and she’d executed it to the letter. She’d arrived at the sheriff’s station as a damsel in distress, her hair and make-up a disaster, with black streaking her cheeks and smearing below her doe eyes, a rip in her dress at the shoulder indicative of a struggle. Someone had mugged her, she’d explained tearfully; he’d taken her purse and everything in it – her keys, her phone, her I.D., her money. Over the shoulder of the concerned female officer at the desk, she could see the deputy in question and willed herself to tremble rather than smile smugly. There he was, poring over what from her vantage point looked suspiciously like some kind of article on the supernatural, if the graphic of a howling wolf was anything to go by. He certainly knew too much.
It was just her luck that he happened to be the one who insisted on interviewing her after she (just loudly enough) explained that the man who had attacked her was frightening, with elongated canines and eyes that glowed amber. At that, the young deputy had practically leapt out of his seat in his hurry to whisk her away from his colleague. They’d spoken for over an hour, and Lydia had done her very best to appear as wounded and perplexed as possible. Vulnerable and pretty – just the right mixture to entice his good nature, to ensure that he’d offer to give her a ride home, after which she’d ask him in for coffee as a gesture of thanks.
The plan went off without a hitch, and soon enough, Lydia was stepping over the threshold of the apartment she’d commandeered for the weekend with the handsome deputy in tow. Oh, yes – he was handsome. It felt like a waste to her, but her hands were bound. Contracts were never torn up because the target was simply too attractive to throttle.
Sadly for Lydia, there was something – just something - about him that made the idea of thrusting a blade into his throat almost unthinkable. He was compassionate, intelligent, an excellent conversationalist, and – rarest of all – he was capable of making her smile, laugh, even giggle as they shared a bottle of wine together. In spite of her best efforts, Lydia found herself enjoying her time with him, and when he leaned in to kiss her, she almost forgot herself and returned the embrace for all of ten seconds before she was yanked back to earth by her senses.
“We can’t.” she blurted, panic beginning to set in as she realized her mistake. This would be messy, now. Lydia had allowed herself to grow fond of him, put a face to the name, which would make killing him so much harder. She tore herself reluctantly away from the deputy, drawing the blade from her belt and pinning him against the couch with a soft, resigned sigh and more strength than her small frame suggested. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Lydia repeated under her breath, biting down into her lower lip and attempting to steel herself. Her fingers were shaking around the gilded handle of her blade.
ellievsbear
theartofmadeline
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