Feb 16, 2015
"Hey foxy. Get those gifts I sent you, yet? Y'know, the ones from Victoria's Secret?"
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"Hey foxy. Get those gifts I sent you, yet? Y'know, the ones from Victoria's Secret?"
Greeter; ∟ liesmithery siirenisms asgardianherald letmesingyouastory & iamrockandwheat
"I wish to train as a warrior," announced Iðunn, lifting her chin in defiance. It would have been a fair enough statement, were the thought of her ever fighting not so comical. Not only was Iðunn notoriously clumsy, she was also something of a pacifist.
''I care not why you are here. I care only that you leave.''
Hey, foxy.
Sorry I've been gone for a while. I'm back now. Let's get to work.
Despite how small she appeared in the large seat of her throne, Helja was the very envisionment of stoic regality. She only vaguely regarded the person before her with a curt nod and a 'come here' gesture. "You have thirty seconds from when I began talking to convince me to spare more time than that on you." The emotionless expression plastered across pale features did little to discern if she actually expected a case to be made in twenty two seconds or not.
Hey baby?
That fucker put up a fight this time around. Think you can get the first aid kit for me?
Haven't had a job in weeks and now I'm bored as hell. Baby, can't you find something for us to do?
Artifacts
World had told him that the museum director would be making an exchange and that it was crucial that Thursday behave himself for the time being. He could kill him later once the job was done if he so liked.
It was smokey and poorly lit inside the escort club, and Thursday stayed close behind World as they were shown to a curtained off room nestled away behind a line of tables. His pistol was tucked safely inside his pants and the duffle bag with heavier equipment was inside the trunk if the need for such would ever arise. As they ducked inside the room, Thursday glanced down at World's ass, smirking faintly at it's perfect curve. He gave a silent prayer to Freya in hopes for getting laid after the job.
The museum director was relatively handsome with a strong jaw and smoothed back hair. Thursday wondered what it would sound like if he took bat to that perfect jawline. World settled beside the director and Thursday kept his gaze trained, focusing on flecks of dirt on the curtain as he sat down across from them. He hated his part of the job because World always acted like such fucking a slut.
He watched the director, Mr. "H" as he liked to be called, place a briefcase on the table and Thursday swore that World's eyes lit up at the sight.