“This is a mess.” The pastor was squatting down between all the cables, power cords and other electronic devices. She beat the ashes of her cigarette, the second in mere minutes, into a beer can. Smoke rose from its opening, not empty yet.
She stood up, kicked a socket over in the sand. With the back of her hand, she tried to wipe away what evidence was left of mascara under her eyes, but ended up with two large clefts of black. As if to emphasize her mood.
The blue one, then three to the left and—ugh, she lost it again. She was tempted to just pull out all the plugs to stop the madness on the screens but the fear of making it worse stopped her. With red cheeks and a trempled in her voice, she shouted into the night, “DOES ANYONE FUCKING KNOW HOW TO STOP THIS THING?”
In one smooth moment she yanked the powerbar holding this elaborate entertain system out of it’s socket from a few feet behind her. She’d followed it from the monitor, after she’d grown tired of the noise. But made sure to stay back, just in case.
Making the plug to stop this suffering a detonator for one of those three bombs that were looming over them all? It’s something she would of thought about in her on revenge fantasies.
Atticus was smoking a cigar, watching the video in silence. These were the most disconcerting moments, when Atticus became unreadable. “Well,” a drag and release to break up his sentence, “They have an admirable flare for the dramatic.” He maybe silent and unreadable, but inside, a storm, a rage was welling up in his chest and who knew how it would come out.
“They do.” Amma agreed, watching the screen with stiff jaw that clashed with her delicate features. “But that’s the thing with snakes, you bait them and they’ll bite ever time.” And leave their necks exposed.
Now they knew something they didn’t know before, that was a card dealt directly into their hand. They wanted them to be scared, to fear the swing coming instead of just dealing it. That particular intimidation attempt got under her skin.
tossing a hand over her mouth trying to swallow the urge to vomit at the sight of the body, not long after she’d stumbled across the body she found amma and dragged her to the sight. “ please tell me you don’t want me to help you…take him down. ” she said finally tearing her eyes away from the poor soul to the blonde beside her, “ i can um grab someone else, or uh, d-do anything really that doesn’t require me to be here. ”
“ don’t be daft. ” she slung the words over her shoulder at the other woman, watching from the corner of her eye as she tried to pull herself together. “ we can’t touch anything, the feds will show up any second. they’ll cut him down. ”
The sight of the mangled corpse swinging from the rope was enough to make Jack want to bring his breakfast back up, but he willed his stomach to refrain from making him spew all over the crime scene and embarassing himself— there was plenty of time for that later, when he was in the comfort of his own apartment and not surrounded by a growing crowd of civilians behind the cordon all trying capture the crime scene and the body for their snapchat, instagram and whatever it was these VULTURES succumbed to like brainless zombies.
He barks at ginger haired man in his early twenties who is trying to capture a selfie with the corpse in the background to show a little respect. The other man grumbles, reluctantly stuffing the phone into his pocket as he walks away from the crime scene. As he walks away he catches a glimpse of silky blonde locks, even with her hand covering her mouth he can recognise her — the family resemblance is uncanny. Amma Simmons, also known as Amma Barton, his bastard half-sister!
❝ What the hell are you doing at my crime scene? ❞ The concern in his voice isn’t for his sister, it’s for the fact that a hired killer known to be on Caito’s payroll is lurking around his crime scene of a dead reporter who leaked the story about a MOLE in their ranks.
❝ It’s America. Free country and all. ❞ She retorts, not even needing to look to see who had stomped up to her ready to pout in prodigal son fashion. Amma hadn’t known they were here when she ran from home. She didn’t seek them out to make them miserable, in fact, she’s laughed when she’d seen Buzz for the first time. Laughed at how fucked up it all was that they all ended up here, without a single conversation.
❝ Your crime scene’s untouched. ❞ Waving him forward and toward his crime scene. Amma knew she was far enough away to effect exactly nothing evidence wise. She was merely, observing the talent. ❝ Honest. ❞
Andy was there at the crime scene, she had come as soon as she heard about it. This was big. It was big and it was terrifying. Andy seemed more compelled than distraught or anything. She really wasn’t bothered by smells.
This wasn’t what they did, not the people who did her job, not usually. They usually made it look like other things, hide the bodies well, or made it look simple. This was grandiose.
Andy recognized Amma and made her way to the other woman. “This is going to cause hell.”
Amma nodded, a verbal response seemed unnecessary. Andy was saying nothing she didn’t already know. But there was a part of her that knew the person who’d done it must have known that too. There was a shift in the air, aside from the stink, she had this feeling. Like an electric buzzing radiating around a television. It was almost, exciting really. “I have no doubt.” Amma said softly, keeping her voice low in case anyone was listening.
It would raise hell, but wasn’t that were people in there business tended to thrive?
the inclination of betrayal isn’t foreign to them; another web of FEAR that catches and hangs among their aureate strands. a faint pang in their leg reminds them of why they should be celebrating the death. they should be. ‘ this is a horrible thing to watch. i don’t want to watch anymore. ’ and yet; their eyes never leave the descending carcass. absent reaction to the frothing putrid smell echoes in their thoughts, in their inflection. ‘ i’d hate to think what their dying words were. or what they thought as they fell. ’
‘ probably please no, and oh fuck. ’ Amma thought out loud, it was the most common response she’d seen to facing your own death. Especially a death like this. Turning away in with a mask of reverence, she looked toward the other. ‘ it’s awful, i can’t believe someone is capable of doing that to another person. ’
Amma looked up at the mangled mess of rope and flesh, it was taking them forever to get it down. And the meat was starting to cook in the summer heat. Covering her mouth with her sleeve, to passers by it would look like she was distraught over the sight. But really, she just couldn't stand the stink.
Whoever it was who strung up the poor bastard, they were fast, brutal and had style. The first two were traits to be admired in her line of work. The last one, was a double edged sword.
It made you stand out, but it also made you stand out.
Whoever did it, they sure as hell sent the message.
“UNLESS YOU HAVE some business being here, or are here to help, i’d suggest you not be.” sam looked up from the HK416 she had in her hands, being carefully cleaned. illegally imported, naturally, and intimidating– the assault rifle was one of samantha’s favorites to use. since the events of last week, it had had an atypically long break from being in the field with the brunette. however, evidently some of the cash that had been paid to her last week in exchange for a decently sizeable shipment had turned out to be COUNTERFEIT. of course, that could not go unpunished, and the funds could not go uncollected. backup in the form of ammunition was a necessity. as she finished, she set it down on the table next to her, standing up with crossed arms. “i’m heading out soon. need something?”
amma kept her face even, watching the assault rifle get cleaned filled her with a sort of flatness. she was supposed to be impressed, the size and capability of gun clearly meant to intimidate whomever found themselves unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of it. but instead, it filled her with the mental image of middle aged men in sport cars.
a bullet was a bullet, it’s where you landed it that mattered.
“I’m here for pickup.” she said as a means of greeting.
❝He is the kind of guy who carries himself like he gets laid a lot, a guy who likes women, a guy who would actually fuck me properly.❞
❝I would like to be fucked properly.❞
❝I sound quite slutty, don’t I?❞
❝You look all twitchy.❞
❝There’s no romantic present for wood.❞
❝Go home, fuck her brains out, then smack her with your penis and scream, ‘There’s some wood for you, bitch.‘❞
❝Seems lonely.❞
❝The cat was sweet, but extremely stupid.❞
❝Well you certainly take your time about it, don’t you?❞
❝So how likely is it I’ll meet someone I love, much less someone I love enough to marry?❞
❝'He’s doing what you tell him to do because he doesn’t care enough to argue,’ I think. 'Your petty demands simply make him feel superior, or resentful, and someday he will fuck his pretty, young coworker who asks nothing of him, and you will actually be shocked.'❞
❝Let me guess: baby of the family.❞
❝I am fat with love!❞
❝Neither of us gets stage fright.❞
❝This is how I always pictured it. This is exactly how I pictured it.❞
❝I sometimes bring my coffee and the paper and just sit.❞
❝You’re a planner, aren’t you? You don’t seem like the type to wing anything.❞
My muse has just taken a Truth Potion, send “Spill it” plus a question and they will answer.
Amma recalls her mother telling her the story, the first thing she ever said to what her mom referred to as her father’s troubled eldest son.
Ouchy, stupidhead.
Honestly, she was ahead of her time.
“I said what I said.” Amma gives a half-hearted shrug. “Ya hear people toss around that phrase, something like, family not ending in blood? Well, if those boys are anything to go off, it don’t start there ethier.”
It was nearing five am, sun poking through the trees, birds waking up. It was in other words; a peaceful morning. And Finn hated it.
The town had gone quiet since the scandal, fleeing like cockroaches under a light. It was ridiculous and stupid and for once Finn was glad that he kept his involvement hidden, it made it easier to carry on with his day to day life.
He had a cigarette, half burned, stuck between his lips and a loose jacket swung over his shoulder. For Finn the night was still young, having gotten used to working lates and sleeping even later. He was scrolling through his phone not paying attention when a honk caught him off guard.
Finn raised his head looking up at the car in front of him. It was early enough that he ever looked when crossing the road but maybe he should have. “Oi mate!” he waved his hand about to the space in front of him, “Fucking crossin’ can’t ya see that?” He wasn’t shouting but for the time of morning, it was loud enough. “Fuckin’ twat.”
“They think they own the road,” Amma said from a bench a couple feet away, takeaway bag in one hand and using the other to gesture with a single chicken nugget. Her accent giving away exactly who the they was referring too.
They dumped our tea in their harbour, and now they try to flatten him into a crisp.
She couldn’t fault them too much though, they did have twenty-four hour nuggets available. Which was the only reason she’d abandoned her couch, and set out to the streets at the crack of dawn. “Ya, alright?”
⋆ ◦ ° ☾ jodie comer + cis female + she/her — have you met amma simmons? they are a twenty-six years old known around town as the ghost. they’ve been in the gang life for two years, and currently work for the gang as an assassin. they are a bisexual gemini, which means they are observant + quick-witted, as well as self-serving + aloof. cat like eyes, clean blazers, faces in a crowd.
— tl:dr;
Born Amma Lyn Simmons on June 7th,1992 to her mother Faith, a twenty-four year old cocktail waitress and her father, a cop she’d been seeing on and off for about three years. In the lukewarm streets of London.
She grew up with a handful of memories of her dad: the occasional sorry i missed x, y, or z, gifts or the occasional phone call. But he was in and out of her life like the wind. Her mom fed her every excuse she could think of as to why her dad didn’t live with them like most dad’s did.
Truth was, he just couldn’t be in four families at once.
So it was just her and her mom for the most part, scraping by on a waitress salary and living paycheck to paycheck. Free of her father’s affection but also of chaos that followed him. Which, freed up the space for her own.
Amma’s always been a spitfire with a smart mouth, when she was younger it was people loved about her. Pair that with how observant she had always been, and it was a deadly combo of fast cutting remarks. The fact she could make them laugh seemed to keep people around, so she made sure to keep them laughing. As she grew up though, people started wishing she’d shut up more and more.
This resulted in a broken nose at age ten, a busted lip at eleven, and a week suspension for breaking a kid’s arm at thirteen. All of which taught her a lesson: you can only beat a dog so much before it turns into a wolf.
At fifteen, her dad started coming around more often, staying weekends and even teaching her how to gamble. Unfortunately, he brought his debts and collectors along with him and history started repeating itself.
Everything from that point happens like a flash, Amma and her mom hiding in back bedrooms to get away from people pounding on her door, her thinking she could gamble her way out, meeting Keegan, the arguments, the fighting, the beatings. It all ended with her standing over two dead men looking like the prom scene from Carrie and a flight to anywhere other than there.
— fast facts;
one of those half-bastards Benjamin & Jack don’t want to talk about. Amma doesn’t know where exactly she falls in the birth order of Barton bastards but she strikes me as only child by nurture, but a middle or youngest child by nature.
bad tempers seem to run in the family, and Amma’s no exception. she is volatile, using anything from guns, to broken off broomsticks as weapons if provoked. she got her label of the ghost because she’s excellent of coming in, getting a job done, and being gone without leaving anything behind or letting anyone know she was there. when you finally think you have her figured out is when you’re in the most danger.
she’s a major foodie, growing up poor meant weeks living on crisp sandwiches and pot noodles. so now that she’s got money, a good portion of it goes to eating whatever she wants. (one of her guilty pleasures are fast-food chicken nuggets, she’ll order twenty at a time if you let her)
she has a bump where her nose was broken, and a faint scar on her lip line from her busted lip.
