#manhuntiing

[termdictation-blog]

. MAHONE . 

 ❛ YOU’RE A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES.   ❜  it’s less of an insult and more of an observation.  never does she crack a smile,  ceruleun pools narrowing as they focus on the other.     ❛  what’s wrong,  mahone ?  -- this job screwing up your sleeping pattern ?  let me get out my mini violin ...  ❜

        @manhuntiing ! 

[unwriite-blog]

@manhuntiing

‘ so -- my roommate might have seen you leaving for work and she might have demanded an honest explanation. maybe. ... how do we feel about that? ’

                                                                             ( .................. we? )

[unwriite-blog]

@manhuntiing

------- she’s in trouble.

( that filter that most people have would be great right about now. or, you know. a little less direct eye contact. is it just me, or is he standing awfully close? )

at least she just manages to bite back the line that’s already on her tongue. well, they definitely don’t make cops this handsome where i come from. christ.

she doesn’t quite manage to tear her eyes from his, though, and there’s that jarring mix of fear and anger and something else that heats in her cheeks, and he should really take a step or five back. her tone, when it comes, is taut, dry, more a civil variant on you won’t like what happens if you touch me than i could eat you alive. for now, anyway. 

‘ ... correct me if i’m wrong, agent mahone, but i don’t think we need to be sharing oxygen for you to ask me questions. ’

-- and yet, she hasn’t backed away either.

‘ unless one of ‘em is do you want coffee or how do you like your eggs, but those aren’t really on-duty questions, are they. ’

[realiist]

♬

ADAM LAMBERT—WHATAYA YOU WANT FROM ME?

    ❛ Slow it down. What do you want from me?. ❜

        Words are nearing the freezing point with the way they slowly drip from her mouth syllable by syllable. It’s slow && steady— show no fear, for you have no fear. That’s what her father thought her if nothing more before the untimely death unprocessed. Brunette locks cascade over shoulder as she changes position on the couch, unrestrained— how careless. Do you think women cannot harm you? Or do you just think the good doctor is specifically incapable of it? She wouldn’t like it, but she has to get to Michael. She promised him && she’s already let him down once too many. Stiff fingers fidget with the sleeve of her green shirt && she hastily begins to undo the string that pulls apart the fabric. Under pressure, you’d think doctors would shine— but when you’ve had a gun pointed at your direction, you could say all information packed inside that brain of yours might as well be cast to the wind. ( && Even then they don’t teach you this— not how to escape the FBI. The very thing created to protect you && serve this great country on its way to damnation. )