#exploitted

[prototyperk-blog]

“What’s this? Oh, it’s blood.”hi nerd

Brutalmoose movie reviews  {Sentence Starters}

While not the squeamish type exactly, Calliope still feels something turn inside her at the sight of Parker stained in both red and blue. To be completely honest, she’s not sure which one is worse -- the crimson clinging to his clothes and skin or the sapphire hidden from the human eye. 

Although she’s lacking many of the abilities the newer RK models have, she still can take in his appearance and imagine what just happened. He doesn’t seem harmed or at least it’s not anywhere visible so all of that mess is probably not his which.  .  .  is good to some degree. 

“Blood.“ flatly parroted back as she steps closer but not close enough “What happened to you?“ And why is he seemingly so calm about it? She would have assumed that he’d be a little more shaken. 

[prototyperk-blog]

[ disagree ] uHHHHHHHHHHH hi

❥      NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE .[ disagree ] your muse sternly telling mine  ‘ no ‘ .

By this point, it’s almost a sort of tradition. Calliope buys a bouquet of carefully chosen flowers and keeps them in a vase until the new person arrives at the DCPD. As far as her knowledge of what happened goes, all she knows is that he’s supposed to help around for an indefinite amount of time. So why not try to make his stay more bearable? 

Lo and behold, it’s not long until he walks through the front doors and makes his way over to his assigned desk. And it’s not long either until she skips over, a bright smile on her face and the bouquet held tightly to her chest. 

“Hello!“ and a small pause in which she waits for an answer before continuing when none is provided “My name is Calliope, but you can call me Callie, and I brought you these as a welcome gift~!“ 

Yet still no response whatsoever almost as if he’s ignoring her on purpose. Which doesn’t do much in deterring her from at least striking up a small conversation with him. At the very least, she wants to know his name. 

Mouth opens again as she sets the bouquet down on the corner of the desk, away from him as to not knock it off accidentally when a voice reaches her ears -- no. Blink. Blink. Is he referring to her attempt at trying to talk to him? And although it doesn’t do much to dent her cheerfulness, she can’t help but wonder why the stiff attitude. 

“Well, if you need help with anything, the desk without the plaque is mine. I’d. Be more than happy to assist you.“ followed by her lingering for a moment longer before she leaves, a sinking feeling in her chest.