Getting in was easy – no lock could ever keep Mimic out for long. He’d gone through each room, each hallway, clad in black as always, tip-toeing low to the floor, with all the elegance as a panther, silently cartwheeling past open doorways, and slinking up, over and under furniture, putting his expert skill as an infiltrator to very good use, all without making even a single floor board creak, setting off even a single trap ( if there even were any ), and didn’t even so much as disturb the weight of the bed as he’d climbed up onto it. And now, like a gargoyle, and as unmoving as one, too, Mimic had been perched atop the headboard for nearly 6 hours, his beak not more than a foot away from the “sleeping” ex-Diamond Cutter, his weight so evenly balanced between two arms, legs and four tentacles, like a gymnast, that it never shook under him, and that Mimic never had to adjust himself even once. All the while, he grinned madly down at them, so drunk on his own skills, knowing he could slit their throat so easily and finally end the borrowed time Slinger was on. Fuck, but he was so good at this. How far Mimic had come from being just the breaking-and-entering guy for a rag-tag “team” of war solider wannabes, now one of Mobius’s top assassins, as silent as the grave he put his marks into and just as deadly as the knives he wielded. His tongue flicked out across his beak.
When they finally woke, Mimic didn’t resist, and even barked out a laugh as he was pinned. They were on high-alert, from ears to tail-tip, and Mimic took it all in, that fight or flight reflex, with a flick of his gaze down and back up, the corner of his beak twitching up into a smirk. He never got tired of it.
“Ha, well, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes. If I’d been tryin’ to kill you for real, you’d already be dead. But, you already knew that.” Mimic was let go of, but rather than sitting up, he folded his arms behind his head, and a leg over the other, getting quite comfortable, and as he spoke, he lightly bounced that leg. “But I gotta say, I’m disappointed, Sling. It’s not just the knives I got strapped all over me that makes me so dangerous; all this time I’ve already been in here, I could’ve messed with anythin’. Poison in all your food and water. Rigged some traps. Hell, just set some bombs and blown the place sky-high. Seems to me like you’re either goin’ soft, losin’ your touch, or just wanted to talk to me so badly that you made it this easy for me to get in. Well? Did you miss me, Sling?”
NOWHERE is safe────has EVER been safe. Not since he ran away from his village all those years ago, not since he joined the Diamond Cutters, not since he survived, and ESPECIALLY not since he became a mercenary. So he should’ve KNOWN better than to take those pills to help him sleep────and sleep so DEEP────but he was so TIRED, the pain would not let him rest.
The STITCHES are so unsightly, his WEAKNESS on full display. As is that knife, held close to his body and ready to strike like a cobra should Mimic get too close.
❝ Couldn’t care less what you’ve done to the place; it’s not mine to destroy. ❞
Nevertheless, he is out of here the MOMENT he can get away...but it won’t be easy. For WHATEVER reason, Mimic chose to wait for...gods know HOW long, until Slinger woke up. And he made it a POINT to let the ocelot know that he is armed to the gills────of which Slinger has no doubt. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Mimic somehow found out about his near-fatal INJURY beforehand. It’s really no wonder he’s just lying there, so at ease: he could have EASILY killed Slinger, who is in no condition to fight back.
But the assassin is here for SOMETHING, and he wanted Slinger present and conscious for it.
...Calmly────but no less guarded────Slinger scoots back until he can recline against the headboard.
❝ Seems more like YOU’RE the one who missed ME, Mic. LONGING for those Diamond Cutter days or something? Never pegged you to be the NOSTALGIC type. ❞
Play along. Buy some time. His gun is RIGHT THERE in the nightstand drawer...
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