she probably should have texted first ---- you know, instead of just showing up at his door and barging in like a full stampede the moment he opens the door. in her defense, it was an impulsive move and taking the time to give a HEADS UP would have defeated the purpose. sue her ; she’s had ( another ) a shitty day and his place was the closest victim. “ i’m so done with this bullshit, ” she seethes through gritted teeth as she furiously peels off that god awful janitor jumpsuit and flings it at the floor with a bit too much strength. “ tomorrow i’ll kill someone. and it won’t even look like an accident. ” she should probably choose her words more wisely given she’s kept the part about being an ( demoted ) assassin out of her friends with benefits application.
Even in the darkness that shrouded room he could still make out the outline of the more built man in front of him. There were no words to be said between them as the two slowly got closer, hands already working to lift the hems of the other’s shirt. The strong earthy undertones of the stranger’s cologne felt intoxicating to Adrian, but he didn’t mind it as he felt the softness of their lips interacting. Slowly his eyes started to close as the man started to use his tongue to aggressively attack his, which the witchlighter felt was really odd. The things that people do. Arms raised as he takes off his sweater and lets it fall to the ground of the broom closet. Tired of the man’s lack of skills with his tongue he urged him to move on by pulling back and directing his head to his neck for starters, but just as he was starting to enjoy it the door swings open. “𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇?” he asked when they were suddenly hit with the light. The two come face-to-face with a woman who seemed rather peeved, her tone really said it all for him.
as if it wasn’t bad enough that she’s been kicked into the tenth circle of hell as toilet scrubber in a place surrounded by screaming children and snotty teenagers, the only way to cover up her expenses is to also take OTHER crappy jobs. and since she’s only good at this whole janitor thing nowadays, this is her new area of expertise apparently. her field, if you will. ( one of these days she’ll snap and employ herself some assassination job on the dark web. ) either way, this is why she’s working a shift at this bar tonight --- instead of doing something more pleasant, like DRINK there. not only is she deprived of that joy, but now she also has to deal with this ----- whatever this is. her alerted senses calm a little when it turns out there are no hidden enemies waiting to leap out of the closet and slice her throat. paranoia turns to annoyance and she looks at the two like they’re deer caught in the headlights. “ i’d ask you the same thing. the broom closet? really? ” she’s willing to let it slide as a mild inconvenience until the OTHER GUY gets awfully defensive and in her face and asks her what the fuck is her problem? unsurprisingly, she doesn’t take it well and her first instinct is to whip out her pocket knife and point it just an inch short of the underside of his chin. “ right now you are my problem, fucking asshole. skedaddle before i cut your tongue off and shove it up your ass. ”
tick, tock. tick, tock. she can hear the metaphorical bomb waiting to go off in the form of stomping– growing closer with each second, and by the time it does, harlow has the biggest smile on her face. ( she had even played the jaws theme on her phone. ) “ EXCELLENT TIMING.” she completely disregards everything barked in her direction. yeah, yeah– she shouldn’t be in the rooftop of this specific institution but there are a lot of things harlow shouldn’t do and yet she finds a way to do them. she’s determined like that. “so the rumors are true,” she finally takes a look at her, fully turning around once she gets a PEEK at the uniform. an unashamed once over as she chuckles. “oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
a brief pause befalls the surroundings, but it’s not one moment entirely silent. in its aide come the whining of the door as it slowly moves to a closing after it’s ricocheted and the buzzing of blood ringing in her ears. she knows all about the theory of not LETTING THEM WIN and about how any disturbed reaction marks a victory ; she just sucks at putting said theory in practice. and it’s not her fault that one of her least favorite people ( nicely put ) is rubbing salt in the fresh wound that is still so very much hurting. “ what? i think i rock the look. you don’t agree? ” an attempt at sidelining the voice that tells her to just SHOVE the demon off the rooftop. ( she morbidly wonders how well they can heal from being turned into a literal bloody pancake. ) “ are you going to leave or do we have to get nasty? ” she digs her fists in the loose pockets of the jumpsuit and treads an invisible space as she steps toward the other. “ i just ate. ”
he can hear her before he sees her, finding no reason to scramble on his part, as he waits for the loud stepper to come into view. pleasant surprise or not? he was yet to decide. there’s a small scoff, expressions unresponsive at being told to get out. a pause in the air before the faintest of smirks lifts on the curve of his lips. amused? maybe. “thought you gave up chasing me?” he jests, almost teasing as he gives their last meeting a moment to become fresh in her memory.
she came in guns blazing, like with most things in her life ( some would call it a drive for chaos, of hoping to actually get a belligerent high out of things ) --- and seemingly hit a wall. not because she can’t shoot her shots anymore, but because she’s as easily extinguished as she is aggravated. if she starts fighting and someone doesn’t fight back ------ that’s a LOSS. “ piss off. i never said that. ” there’s a scoff and an eye roll of disbelief as she slams the door shut behind with a kick of her heel. “ i left it to chance ; looks like it insists we cross paths. blame it on your fucking luck. ”
“… breaking and entering, what does it look like i’m doing?” calm in the face of her fury, a perfectly shaped brow raised at her… request. “no.” simply put. carmen was in-front of a small box atop a dusty table. she had many contacts, some who wished to remain anonymous. inside the box? nothing that concerned the woman. nothing of real importance, just a slightly stolen object she wished to acquire and add to her collection. “i was here first, why should i leave?” of course she remembered this one, the one who stole from her. she spent days simmering troubled waters with a couple of very unhappy buyers.
“ you were here first? you look like a big girl. the kindergarten logic doesn’t really work. ” her memory is bad. and yet, it works amazingly when it comes to a certain breed of people: enemies. that’s what she can boil it down to, even if there is more beyond this vague umbrella term. ( if you’re not with me, you’re against me. ) she takes a step closer to the other, one of the faces she does remember for that specific reason ( someone she’s robbed more than once doesn’t really classify as an ally ). “ i’m not some great fighter for justice, ” that is to put things mildly, “ but i’m pretty sure the owner of the store was here first. ” no, she’s really not a fighter for justice ; it’s not morality driving her to this interference. it’s pure spite. if she can wreck someone’s plans, she will.
there are seldom schools in which the young and gifted can prosper. he praises those in which do and have such as the salvatore boarding school for the gifted. it’s one of the reasons he’s sent his own children in that direction. some have grown and in some cases, can only grow, in well suited circumstances. take irati monedero for instance. it’s not disappointment, no, but something else entirely as he watched her run down the hallway with a broom swatting at a child ( a teenager but still a child in his aged eyes ). “IRATI,” his voice booms after her. he had come to check in on her and alaric, to see how things were going with her current perdicumant and well, he concludes WELL ENOUGH. @triggerboom
there’s that first instinct. the one to immediately go WHAT?!, as aggressively as possible, when someone interrupts you at the most inappropriate of times. the instinct is there for her ---- gliding along the tip of her tongue. even in the thrill of the chase ( the chasing of a snotty teenager with her broom, more specifically ), she allows the sound frequency to appeal to her ration. a rare occurrence, but a trained one. ( it’s part of her skill set. ) she stops in her tracks, clicks her tongue, and flips the broom around in her hand, ramming the hard end into the floor. she doesn’t turn to look at him, not immediately. she lets herself simmer in that bitter taste, so poignant in her mouth. “ yahontov. ” she wheels herself around at a lazy pace, though the slowness of her movement perfectly contrasts that condensed sharpness in her eyes. “ come to visit the inmate, are you? ”
it’s one sound, just one --- but she hears it. on a good day, she notices most things. on a bad day ( which is, to be frank, most days ), she’s hyper-aware of her surroundings, seething with paranoia. it’s no surprise that she pursues that noise, like a fuming train speeding on tracks, AFRAID of what could be found and SUSPICIOUS of the intentions. “ what the hell are you doing in here? ” the harsh query is launched before she even opens the door, rattling it its hinges. “ get out. ”
( ursula corbero, 25, she/her ) welcome to san francisco, IRATI MONEDERO. rumor has it they are a CAMBION, but only they could tell you the truth! when i close my eyes, i think of them and imagine BLACK HELMETS AND MOTORCYCLES, A KATANA WITH FRESH DRIPPING BLOOD, THE NOISE OF A NUCLEAR ALARM.
tw: child abuse, violence, murder, child murder
born in madrid, spain, to an alcoholic abusive father ( hector monedero ) and a mother to meek and ill to help anyone, including herself ( martina monedero ).
is the oldest of two siblings, having a brother who is three years younger.
hector has hated her from the moment she was born, seeing how he’s always wanted to have a son.
they moved to the usa after martina’s case became a social case and a charity funded her treatment abroad.
needless to say, hector was overjoyed when a son was born and the two became very close. in fact, hector was steadily building the boy in his image, so hector’s torment started to double.
as a child, irati was obedient and shy, though all of the things that rained down on her were simply taken and bottled up inside of a volcano. when she was 14 and her brother 11, she witnessed him do some horrible things to a girl. she jumped in her defense, but ended up getting carried away and beating her own brother up to a pulp. looks like violence became her answer for everything too.
oddly enough, that made hector like her slightly more. and since she felt apologetic, she and her brother started over and their bond was closer than before. they both came to understand hector was ruining them, so they decided to do something and rid themselves, their mother, and the world of his torment.
unsurprisingly, they killed him. turns out that irati had quite the nerve and stomach and that her brother was terribly good at covering things up. their mother caught them and, amid the shock, had a heart attack and died on the spot. in a fit of rage, irati burned down the house and she fled together with her brother.
they were later found by someone who made a habit out of ‘collecting’ troubled and dangerous supernatural kids, taking their worst traits and turning them into useful things for doing some good ( really badly ).
murdering came easy to her and she quickly rose as a skilled assassin. by the age of 25, she became the head of the assassination group and was sent to carry out a mission that should have been simple in theory. they dealt with a demonic cult and then ran into a boy, no older than 15, who was one of those truly evil cambions.
some of her team claimed he was just a child. he did too, claiming he was starting anew. but she recognized that glint in his eye, that sweet lie, similar to her own father’s. in a fit of paranoia and a bit of ptsd, she pressed the trigger and killed him, breaking the biggest rule: NO KILLING CHILDREN.
she was demoted from her position and kicked out of the home for a janitor job at salvatore. it’s mean to serve as a lesson or whatever, but truth be told, she’s pissed. she believes she’s made the right choice, that the kid would’ve grown up to be another hector, and she’s definitely not made for trash duty.
she’s been on the job for around three months and it gets worse every day. she can’t leave because there’s nowhere else to go and because she kinda wants her old life back ( and might also kind of want to redeem herself ).
WANTED CONNECTIONS
another one of the foster kids.
someone she used to tag team with for assassination missions.
a friend with benefits.
a student at salvatore she especially hates.
someone who knew her as a child, before she killed her father.
someone who lost a beloved person bc she offed them.
