#urobouris

[thomas-keen]

LUCAS BRAVO,  EMILY IN PARIS ( 2020 )

[asynjja-archive]

          endless edits of special agent moa zhao and the black-site headquarters.   featuring @urobouris and @demottcm.   mutuals may interact.

[atnoctum-archived]

        ❝ . . .  even death has a heart, it seems.  ❞   there was no smile or waver of the eyes. not even sardonic undertone. he knew who he was, and that was that.                                                                                       @urobouris​  /  starter call

[ekatomvi]

@urobouris​ sent :  ❛ you’re not a demon. ❜ he regards her, the juxtaposition of their colours. black to red, bleeding through the shadow of him, the shadow of her. they twist and churn together and rise up above, while their bodies remain rooted to solid ground.

it’s a sigh worthy of an athenian stage, leaving her lungs —— carrying the passion of a hundred erinyes, all her tempest, all her turmoil here condensed, precious jewel of a breath, all for him to hear: to steal from her, the way nobody ever would, unless permission was granted. he needs no such thing —— there is a thing in albert wesker she recognizes as familiar, as if it were hers too, a secret that would turn the consciences of mortals into decaying rot and yet is burdened over both their shoulders. to be a demon is a heavy responsibility. to admit to not being one requires even more sacrifice.

“ albert, my dearest —— ”, the assassin tilts her head, eyes lingering somewhere over his lips for lack of a will to meet his gaze. as if it were perhaps too heavy to carry: too sharp, looking into her like all the blades that have poked and probed in search for the endless spite that’d make her come alive again. even she withdraws from the blade, now and then, even from him —— considerably less than from anyone else, and always teetering over the edge of temptation to consign herself to him for good, spill her guts a hundred times over for him, be reborn, resuscitated, once again just for him. an amusing proposition —— one she entertains, at times, when the thrill of the chase dulls down to routine and her targets become about as rewarding as a toy prize at some town fair. but the demons ( the real ones ) would not allow an escape via retirement —— and so she remains in her cozy little flash of red, in between the blade and the heart, in between the spilled guts of a world she devours and him, the monster she enjoys calling home.

a coy smile curves her lips: elektra draws closer, a hand meeting his in gentle invitation. “ you won’t allow a girl escape from her own conscience ? ”. her grins turn cheeky, a gentle taunt: in stepping closer she leads his hand to rest over her forearm, where she bears the symbol of her belonging to him in silver coils. a whisper, then: “ though i suppose it might be easier to call me human than admit you’ve welcomed a ghoul into your home. ”

RE : MOTHER MOTHER LYRICS   /   ACCEPTING.

[indizien-a]

# several decades into their marriage and r.aymond r.eddington-w.esker still argues he’s better at chess   # @urobouris

[stfredsa]

MOA ZHAO’S APARTMENT, TUESDAY NIGHT, 11:23 PM.

the way she sits —— right on the edge of the couch, knees brought to her chest, barely balanced — one might think she’s performing an experiment in shrinking. if she could vanish, poof out of existence in the span of a second, she would be okay with it. it’s a gruesome, morbid thought —— it takes the shape of the duffel bag by the door in her apartment, loaded with not enough clothes for a real escape. she hasn’t told moa about the bag: it would break her heart, seeing it and understanding. the plan was simple, in theory: catch a red eye to dallas and only once she was in texas, with the ones she loved out of the crossfire, would she call victor up and say you got it, you won, i’m here, come and get me. it would hurt, yeah — it would leave her bleeding all over the place: but tom, eventually, would’ve gotten over her —— curse her and her stupid games, and perhaps find comfort in hating her. agnes would’ve moved on to teenagehood with a few hiccups, perhaps, but eventually grow into a woman with no room in her memories for her. moa… that’s where her plan failed. it was the sound of her voice, in the end, who got her to break down. come clean, confess her sins of escape routes and cowards’ ways out: she wouldn’t forgive her. she wouldn’t move on. and fred, she would never let herself be forgiven for carving out her own beating heart.

so this has to be the right move. asking for help —— as extraordinary a circumstance as her survival so far has been. she tells herself it has to be the right move, or else it means she is dooming them all and she can tolerate all the blame in the world, but not if it means she loses them. so she doesn’t think about that —— thinks about everything and nothing simultaneously, her brain a whirlpool of terror, but she fixates on the skin around her fingernails and how she’s gonna start bleeding in a second if she keeps picking at them, and how the man that stands across from her is technically still a stranger to her but she should not be roping him into this either —— that was kua’s joke, calling him a villain, but even so: if he was the worst creature to ever walk the earth, he still wouldn’t deserve her bullshit. freddie sighs, nervous —— looks around herself like something’s missing, like she’s supposed to be doing something. what’s the policy, here ? is she supposed to ask moa if she can serve drinks, wave and smile, while they sit and plot —— what exactly ? yeah. there’s no real way out than through, ain’t that what grandpa always said ?

“ i’m sorry about this ”. voice shaky, she looks up at moa first, then albert. suddenly she’s five again. suddenly she’s succeeding in shrinking into the pillows. “ i didn’t —— fuck. ”, a hand running through her hair, her body a buzz, her panic is barely contained. “ —— i didn’t mean to get you all into this, i —— i could take care of it. i could go. ”

plotted starter ft. @urobouris​, @asynjja​.

[aliasinvestigate]

@urobouris​ called alias investigations

❛  does anyone ever tell you that you give off major matrix vibes?  ❜  jessica’s eyes dart back  &  forth sweeping out ahead of her.  oily suspicion rankles up all of the fine, little hairs on the back of her neck, the same prickling sensation that feels like someone staring at the spot between her scapulas.  svelte shoulders roll back to dispel the foreboding. 

it’s hardly the first time that she’s found herself working dark channels to get to information.  but she’s still on edge, body hitched  &  guarded, fingers loosed into fists that hold at her sides.  

❛  ------  i need to find some information  &  FAST,  ❜  she finally gives in, turning to look at him.  ❛  you’ve got connections.  ❜  

she fishes her phone out from her pocket, the old news story already summoned across the spider-webbed cracks in the screen.  jessica turns it out to him where it shows the rubbled remains of the place where they’d buried the gates for the substance along with daredevil.  

❛  they’re  supposed  to be pushing up daisies,  ❜  jessica spits out  ;  she’s unwilling to dwell on the peril that took one of hell’s kitchen’s defenders out of the picture, at least not without a stiff drink.  ❛  have you ever heard of a place called k’un-lun?   ❜ 

[oraclespoken]

@urobouris​ sent a prayer: " Perhaps an arrangement could be made with regard to Niflheim, should our mutual interests align. "

                        ‘For the destroyer is coming against her, against Babylon,

                                        And her mighty men will be captured,

                                           Their bows are shattered;

                                    For the Lord is a God of recompense,

                                                He will fully repay.’

Upon walking into the office, the air around her changes. Lunafreya resists the urge to shield herself from the eerie cold stops her arms from wrapping themselves around her body. It took a lot for her to make it. The collared chain around her neck can only allow her to go so far before Iedolas takes notice. But it is now that she remembers the saying that a cornered beast is when it is most deadly. Desperate with nothing to lose, it lashes out. With no other options, it destroys everything within its path—no matter the cost.  

Her life won’t be meaningless, Lunafreya promises herself. Her parents and brother she’s all but lost. She won’t die without making them feel the pain they inflicted on her.

Lunafreya steels her heart and breathes in the frosty air. Sending the message was the first step and now that she is here, she would go through with it. Before the loss of Tenebrae and her family, Lunafreya had considered herself sheltered from the world beyond. But she had been baptized by the flames of destruction and had her eyes open to all the cruelty that exists outside of God’s reach. They are given challenges to endure and if the Lord names this her path, then so be it.

While mostly shrouded in mystery here are whispers around about the elusive organization that has been seen in many back-channel trade deals over the years.

Dr. Albert Wesker. His name is well-known in their line of work. That he would be the one who reached out to her directly is still something unbelievable. The Lord works in mysterious ways and he has sent her this man as his messenger.

The Lord is her shepherd; she shall not want. He restoreth her sunken soul: he leadeth the lost in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

But nothing is for free in this word. Humans cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. 

“When Niflheim falls, all the assets will be yours for the taking, Dr. Wesker,” she replies. Lunafreya had gone over the legal work, dancing through loopholes and fine print. The Organization is powerful. Surely additional resources would be of profit. “If I am provided the opportunity, they will be signed over by Iedolas Aldercapt himself.”

But she will break this chain and vengeance is hers, as is retribution. In due time his foot will slip; for the day of Niflheim’s calamity is near. She will crown him in the noose of thorns.  

“There is also the matter of the Starscourge.” Lunafreya looks to the man for a brief period for permission to continue. She lifts the attaché case and places it on the desk between them. A series of alphanumerical codes are entered on the digital pad, followed by a fingerprint scan. The case opens with a barely audible click.

Perfectly manicured nails retrieve the sealed folders from within. “Studies and experiments documenting its process and behavior,” Lunafreya explains while gently laying them out for him to see.