( `their positions are set in place, but he does not particularly see them in masculine nor feminine roles here — unaffected by such notions detecting powerplay, even if she embodies the blood bruised lip female down to its intimate details and he checking all those tiny boxes for a consummate professional male; she seeks for control through the need to horde her victims between sharp nails like some obscure black widow, slit their throats in ways he was trained and beaten with rocks in white bags to never do. down at an angle, never straight across. efficiency mattered over the desire to get off on narcissistic delusions, there was no place for mental disorders in perfection.
her aim wasn’t a kill shot by any means, waiting as they bled out dry under her pumps, and fucking dripping wet in panties she spent too much on when that light finally flickers from their eyes — desire charges through her at this sight more intensely than their greasy hands fumbling to unhook her bra. she was fucked up and somehow he finds it all endearing in the end where others would have strayed far away, pricking her brain apart. people dissolves into mere subjects he can decipher, but somehow the assassin just manages to see her countenance in the midst of grayed out bodies and lines.
there is a significant psychological explanation for this odd ability to see her in the entangled web that makes up his mind, but he does not know and he ignores it effortlessly. she checks her makeup, blood rushes to her cheeks, and it’s tangling sweet in the air, emphasized by her fumbling together tattered edges to present an immaculate delusion to the world. the irony is lost on him.
for a second, she’s transparent, as if he can see beyond thin flesh to the battered bones locked away inside, and a mocking smile pulls at his lips when her attention is fixated on the tiny compact mirror — it altogether melts away into a straight line when she looks back at him. onyx as icy as his own collides in a flickering moment, offset by the lights shimmering neon stories across the backdrop, it shines red, then blue, then red again across her face like a wasteful canvas; ) Most of what I do is considered nice, you’re simply biased.
( `he catches their conversation from the distance, supernatural abilities allowing the male to hear them as if they were merely inches away and he waits without intruding upon the interaction, because patience had always been his only virtue. russian was his second tongue learned, and the words sound as familiar to his ears as his own native language. he never underestimates her ability to deceive, it’s a natural trait she has perfected over the years at this game.
Our friend Dasha.
she’s nothing out of the box spectacular even if her blonde hair pops against the sea of brunettes, but he doesn’t fuck white girls, he simply eats them, and the smile that cracks across his lips might look sincere in all its boyish lies when he greets the female, though it is anything but under the contorted edges. ) Let’s go then, ( `the vehicle is push to start and it takes him less than ten minutes to roll up in front of a choice motel within prostitute flocked streets, settled somewhere on the edge of gang territory that he chooses to overlook — some obscure one he ignores like he does all the roach infested hideouts through Seoul City. )
{`and you're simply a liar -- she'd bitten the comment back behind teeth like so many others, choosing to settle into silence rather than stir up pointless friction when their goal tonight is one and the same. there's a time and a place to challenge the smug superiority that clings to him like overpriced leather (namely, not now and when they're alone); while it's an entertaining enough pursuit on its own, it pales in comparison to the one that awaits -- if they play their cards right.
with Kai in the driver's seat she slides into the back with their companion, tasked with keeping her occupied, keeping her distracted. Vita's hand on her thigh and breath in her ear sufficiently contain her focus to the backseat. it wouldn't do for curiosity to have her staring into the rear-view mirror at an inhuman savage with his human mask not properly in place; it's an act he puts on well enough when they're face-to-face with him, but Vita's not so sure about the rest of the time
illusions will be shattered before the night is through, but at the moment they remain very important.
the motel is one she doesn't recognize -- this is good. she makes a point never to frequent the same place twice, at least not for this kind of rendezvous. the unfamiliarity of this place, all flaking paint over crumbling brick, spares her the necessity of making up some story as to why this one's no good, better find another, and within moments the three are entering a dingy lobby under the leery gaze of its proprietor.}
One room, two beds, please. {`she requests in high diction, her voice clear and bright. the man's eyes shift from her smile to the two behind her, sluggish gears turning in his head to try and suss out connections between the three of them based on body language, but it's a useless effort. he determines nothing, though the air remains awkward as he retrieves the keys and gives directions.
( the best part about a motel this shitty -- they never ask for ID.)
there's only one reason for checking into a room like this and when the evening's company is paid to provide it, you do not waste her time. at least that's the plausible explanation for why Vita's so insistent in leading her to the bed, breaking away from a heated kiss only long enough to brace for the impact with the mattress. once more she slips easily into her role as his foil, the perfect accomplice, for with painted lips staining one's neck red who has time to worry about the man in the room, the weapons he's concealing, the vileness in his eyes?
no one. those eyes find hers and Vita gives an almost imperceptible nod.
Your move.}
