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How did she end up here? Amber eyes stare almost vacantly up at the ceiling of the military building as the sound of the meeting started to dwindle down to a close. This place was insufferable, full of grand standing elected officials whose care about political power and economic status was greater than their own pride. Lazily do long eyelashes flutter narrowly as eyes dart back and forth between the visage of Sonya Blade, the incompetent GENERAL of this facility and task force, and the multiple government officials and politicians that surrounded her. Her focus seems to hone in on the fake half smiles the blond offers the men around her, valuing that in the very least despite her inability to lead properly due to her own SHORTCOMINGS and PARANOIA, she shares the same level of disgust for male creatures as the matriarch did. Long nails run over the surface of golden bracers, body pivoting to turn when-

‘ Come and save my day, you’re a SUPERSTAR. ‘ A THICK Mediterranean accent catches her heavily off guard, stopping her dead in her tracks. It takes a moment to process the words and their meaning, and admittedly while she bore her own benchmark of bearing the burden of her arabic accent, intermingling with a multitude of languages she’s learned over the steady years of her nomadic lifestyle and practices, it was hard to discern words for a moment, especially that last one. To and fro, back and forth, the voice that called out to her seemed to all but disappear like a phantasm, haunting her own assurance of whether or not she was mistaken, a trick of the mind dulled by this laughable meeting she had to attend because of her utter mistake in choosing Special Forces to ally with. It’s not until she’s dead center in the crowd of people that she see’s HIM... a smiling, eerie priest who seems to have appeared practically out of THIN AIR. Her skin crawls the longer bright amber eyes linger on to directly look into the man’s own gaze, her frown deepening by the second.

‘ You hardly look like you belong here. ‘ Khadijah scoffs, words sharp and cold to match her stature. To this, the taller papal figure only lets out a misplaced, heavily sultry chuckle that’s enough to make even the Medjai feel stuck, waiting for what words he had to offer her. ‘ Si, but perhaps the same could be said of you. I wasn’t aware I was able to find such ah... well, such a WOMAN in a crowd of soldiers. ‘ Makube offers a smile, trying his best to suffocate wolfish fangs beneath the furs of his sheepish grin. There’s a moment of hesitation, but before the woman can unfurl another remark, the priest extends his final offering of escape. ‘ Tell me, perhaps you and I can indulge our curiosities outside this drab meeting. Hm? Indulge me. ‘ His gaze never leaves her face, and she never takes her eyes off him. How curious, she thinks to herself, she can’t help but feel the need to take the dive.

‘ I’ll privilege you with 10 minutes, starting now. ‘

@hierarcha

#❤ │█ ❛ FANMAIL ◜ asks.◝#hierarcha #did I make him slimy enough bailey????#I enjoyed this way too much time to add another trash king to the trash pile

@hierarcha / ✟ (cont.)

Son of a Holy knight or not, Heinkel’s less than impressed so far with Iscariot’s latest acquisition. Whatever training the boy’s had up until now is only a hindrance for him. Section XII isn’t a division for war. They’re black ops. People light on their feet, that fight dirty, and they get their job done without the gaudiness of the papal army.

Makube certainly doesn’t fit that description. But Heinkel’s the one tasked with changing that. It’s likely going to be one heck of a shock to the rich noble’s child.

“I’m sorry your highness. We don’t usually get our orders days in advance here.” Biting sarcasm’s dripping from their lips as they stand in the doorway, facing away to shield their eyes. “I’ll tell Maxwell you’d rather stay in bed than hunt the unholy.” Most other new recruits would’ve jumped at the priest’s barked command, but Makube’s nonchalant attitude Heinkel the wrong way entirely.

It’s only because situation isn’t what it seems that the priest hasn’t torn down the newcomer completely for talking back to them.

“Main gate. Four minutes.”

#hierarcha #「 ᵃ ˢᵒˡᵈᶦᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵍᵒᵈ; ᵃ ᵈᶦˢᶜᶦᵖˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ʲᵘᵈᵃˢ / verse: pre-war. 」

@hierarcha / ✟

Makube might consider himself suave and clean, but to the Regenerator, who’s never particularly taken to him, the bishop is not much more than an oily irritation they can’t seem to be rid of. They don’t, however, need to like him to recognise that he’s done a half-decent job at recobbling the tatters the crusade left Iscariot.

Heinkel’s pretty much the only tattered thing remaining these days.

Except maybe the corpse they’ve left sitting in the interrogation cell. At least it had the decency to actually die, which is something they haven’t managed to accomplish yet. (They’ve stopped trying, for the most part.)

It’s a pity the reaction they get from the director is minimal. For all they’ve put Makube through, he’s managed to stay surprisingly level-headed—at least towards them. At first Heinkel resented it, thinking he pitied them, but over last few years the two of them seem to have come to an unspoken understanding: Makube doesn’t try to fix them, and Heinkel respects his authority (at least somewhat).

And the bishop’s gotten better at hiding the hint of sympathy in his eyes.

There’s no compassion at all now, as that head thumps into a wastebasket, and Heinkel begrudgingly approves. He’s less high-strung than Iscariot’s last leader, still something of a narcissist, but doesn’t seem the kind for grandiose acts of war.

That doesn’t stop them momentarily scowling in distaste at ‘friend’.

They don’t have friends—don’t need or want them—but they do agree with Makube’s other assessment. That head was their last lead for the time being. Digging up another will take months.

Makube’s question has them pause mid-turn and snort in what might be amusement. Raising their right, mechanical hand, Heinkel flexes it slowly before uttering a single word through their gruesome smile.