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This isn't good ⸻ ❝ Does... Does... that look like they are multiplying? Please tell me you've drugged my coffee and I'm hallucinating; that's... one, two, forty. Ugh, I should retire. ❞

#he's all complaints today #granted i'd be worried if anything as multiplying too #[ VERSE; 616 ] All he ever needed was to trust his own wings #brutlist

❛ was it you? did you do all this? ❜

chris will have to cling to the possibility that heugh's confidence amounts to a verbal spray and pray of accusation rather than there actually being any of his own cards placed on the table. with a grimace, he steps backward until his tailbone meets the edge of the counter and leans back on his hands. it takes a few moments to get the speechlessness out from under him and he is conscious to spend them looking more offended than uncomfortable.

" did i, what? murder a senator? " he tilts his head and lets heugh sit with how ridiculous he makes it sound coming from his mouth. " are you confusing me for a mirror, heugh? "

@brutlist

#brutlist #v. when i go disappearing into that goodnight.#:****

🦴

jacob heugh is a large man. what phil might have in height, jacob has him in weight; they have their talents, of course, but it is very much akin to watching a sledgehammer and a scalpel stand up against one another. heron and shield are two sides of a coin - one mottled, one shiny.

better make it look good, big dog. jacob grins, mouth bloody, from the opposite side of the ship deck and he's dressed in tactical gear, he's got a stab vest and he's heavy -- weighted down -- so when the ship pitches heavy in the raging storm, it's to his advantage. phil, as ever, is in a suit. that is piss-wet through and clinging to every tight wire in his shoulders. this is what happens when you don't coordinate your efforts, when inter-organisational conversations aren't had and well. you end up chasing the same fucking tail.

tugging off his tie, he grins. " alright. "

it's a short, savage fight. jacob hits like a hammer, even holding back. the punches he pulls still lodge in phil's ribs like a ham wrapped in tyre-rubber, three sudden pops into the space between his lungs and kidneys; there's another in his stomach that knocks the wind out of his long frame so hard, it brings him to a knee.

the ship pitches again. the bay of bisque is a cruel fucking bitch.

y'got nerve comin' out here. look atcha, phil. this ain't your style no more. jacob has to yell over the rain and the wind and the storm, and phil gets to a knee and shoots him a wink. " maybe. maybe not. " and with a speed that deceives given his frame, he launches himself across the short distance and finds his shoulder wedged into jacob's torso, the grunt lost in the hail. the charge backwards like a two man rugby ruck and jacob's back finds the corrugated metal of a shipping container BANG breaking in time with a lightning crack.

what phil doesn't realise until a second later is that his arm has broken under the effort -- the metal gong, the rolling thunder, the bone snap.

#here i am just vibing :)#brutlist #V || MY HEART IS A VALLEY ( SHALLOW & MAN MADE )

@brutlist : from here.

"you haven't seen the worst i've got, either." truth is tempered in humor, the rare kind that hangs a little more softly around her mouth, but still something she can smirk through, make light of. her thumb and forefinger pinch the zip of her jacket, and mindlessly drag the catch against the teeth a few times before she glances up toward him with the remnants of that smirk ebbing gently away.

"i'll try to keep it that way."

#brutlist #: |||#cool

there's still time for a midnight wander.

* @brutlist, 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 : THE OVERSTORY, PT. 2

this man, the one that some have named the bear, his arrival had not been accounted for in the last few weeks of careful preparation. the thought does cross his mind that it might be wiser to take his leave. but anatoliy has met many men, and in the end the only names that matter are the ones left upon their headstones if they are lucky and loved enough to be buried with one.

“ i am not the one who does not belong, mr. heugh. “ anatoliy’s pistol, an elegant creation of plasmic power, whirs in his hand as his aim is raised to the level of his voice. “ i will not the be the one leaving. “

#brutlist #* INT : ANSWERED.#* VERSE : ALL THAT I LACK AND ALL THAT IS LACKING IN ME.

@brutlist

" -- it's, ah, actually an article for the san francisco chronicle. war crimes. it's a...hot topic right now. "

#brutlist #phew !#V. THIS WAY FORWARD. ( MAIN )

IT’S HIS TURN TO EXTEND GLASS BOTTLE , his own already half - empty . weight settles into rickety chair and he’s able to lean back just enough to feel a little lighter . “ pretty sure i owe you one , right ? ”

➞ @brutlist / sc.

#brutlist #» — threads .#» — verse / main .#hope this works :)#queue.