#wolvyn

[saevita]

​‘   you   ...   just lost me a lot of money.   ’       his sigh is tight - lipped,   the mask of blankness dropping to allow for a tightened jaw   [   two thousand for the death,   three thousand if you make him suffer   --   the details of the man had been scratched out,   useless information for a blade   ...   what killer needs a name,   a motive?   he cared only for the outcome:   body exchanged for the cash in his pocket   ].   his boot touches against the man’s head,   red - tinted with the gentle kiss of his brains against his skin.  dead.   dead enough that there would be no point in putting another bullet in him,   calling the kill his own.   NOT HIS MARK.

‘   how frustrating.   ’        there is more to be said,   words revolting upon his tongue,   but his tongue cuts his voice into pieces before it can be set loose   (   you sound like a rotten child when you speak   --   keep yourself clipped,  well - timed,   never reveal more than you have to   ...   how many kills had she stolen from under him now?   he’s sure the number has tipped over ten,   a chalkboard of his own inadequacy where his mind should rest   ).        ‘   you don’t happen to have two thousand on you,   do you.   ’

@wolvyn

[kineticplay]

he shifts his weight onto his other foot. contrary to popular belief, underneath the smugness lies an anxious young man. he’ll never let it show, though. he’d rather be caught dead than show a semblance of weakness. that’s something people could exploit, and jet couldn’t afford such a thing. so, he’ll mask all his uncertainty through a finely curated layer of sarcasm.  “ that supposed to offend me? ”  a chuckle for extra measures.  “ i don’t get why you can’t pretend to like me at least. ”

@wolvyn​   /   s.c.

[thewolvenspirit]

I am many, pulled together as one. Different people with different thoughts. I am just so done, Trying to find what I have lost. My happiness, my life, Thrown away out of reach. Just one more hit of this pipe, To find what I really seek.

[thewolvenspirit]

Take me to the end, take me to the end. Take me to a point that only I can understand. A certain point of mind of insanity, I’m an empty soul with no creativity. It left me years ago but I miss it so. As a person, not a plant, I wish to grow. Feed me, feed me, give me life. Give me a point that makes everything alright.

[odisn]

( sms ): so. looks like we're partners, huh.

[ SMS : EVELYN . ] → looks like it.

[ SMS : EVELYN . ] → let it be known , I won't hesitate to abandon you if you vex me .

@wolvyn​ / p. / sel.

[borskovlegacy]

🙌

This is Boris, Ivan's former employer and friend. Boris prides himself on being a man who can connect people with whatever they wish to acquire, so long as he gets his cut. Guns, drugs, fake IDs, the works. This business has made him rather wealthy, but also has earned him many enemies. He once had Ivan on as a personal bodyguard, a position in which Ivan excelled. They eventually parted ways, but Ivan made sure Boris was left in good hands, and the two have kept in touch since. When Ivan is in a pinch and needs to get ahold of difficult to acquire things, Boris gets a call.

[stfredsa]

ARGUMENT STARTERS   /   accepting .

" oh, spare me your holier-than-thou bullshit! "

like a fist, fred hardens against the words that leave evelyn’s mouth. in part it is a spontaneous reaction to the aggression in her voice, as sharp and carefully aimed like a bony index piercing through her ribcage —— and yet it’s something else that truly fuels her scorn, the assumption that she might be, in fact, a pile of bullshit: that her pining for salvation, her endless striving for more and more atonement than a penitent soul could bear —— the one thing, really, that has kept her going this far —— might all be fake. as if words coming out of evelyn’s mouth should carry an exceptionally sharp quality that marks them as different from the words of anyone else —— as if, perhaps, in a way, this dark shadow of a woman, blurring in and out of the definition of a bad guy, possessed a sightseeing ability unlike any other and could tell, past all the masks and the lies and the games, that freddie’s path to absolution is in fact a self-imposed prison. a shelter, if you will. or an excuse not to see the reality of life outside of it. now fred tightens her fingers around her crossed arms, tense as steel, words slithering out of her lips in a half whisper: “ you can be a real asshole, you know ? ”, her words emotion-less, or at least emotionlessly performed. when she speaks again, her questions are loaded with an acid-tasting rethoric: “ is that what you have to tell yourself to sleep at night ? that questions of morals are just BULLSHIT ? ”.

@wolvyn​.

[toscrve]

@wolvyn:  ❛  i  don’t  regret  any  of  it .   not  a  single  thing .  ❜ soft angst starters  /  not accepting.

they’ve come a long way, he supposes: from worthy adversaries in their first few encounters, to—this. a steadily forming alliance born out of a shared evil that he thought had been eradicated years ago. what was that saying, again, that the enemy of my enemy is a friend? ——though he’s not sure that’s quite so true, anymore. isn’t sure that they were meant to be enemies in the first place.

there’s an aura of anonymity she carries, despite what encrypted information HYDRA has on her. he can only assume she speaks of the havoc she's wreaked on the organization throughout the years—none of which have been particularly pretty. no matter who they are [ a relic of the past or a sentinel of the present ], their line of work is the stuff of nightmares. gaze holds against hers, steady; and then, a tip of his chin. understanding. what he did all of those years, that coated his hands in blood, was a compromise [ sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well; but we did it so that people could be free ].

“so you were trying to warn me, then. all that time.” that there was more damage done than met the eye; a poisoned legacy, the rot spreading to the root of an organization he thought he could trust. he’s beginning to see it for what it is now, has resolved to set down rose-tinted glasses in order to uncover the truth—no matter how mangled or ugly it may be. and it all starts with this: a crisp manila folder filled to the brim with secrets, a woman with an all-knowing smile.

“how long have you known?”