revivalproject | Under the Gun

Entry tags:

Under the Gun

WHO: ~~Aeon Flux~~ Monica Distalus and you!
WHERE: The City
WHAT: Misadventures with a Merc
WHEN: Throughout the event!
WARNINGS: The Hellfire Club prompt has an outside link in case there's any NSFW content there. :) Otherwise I'll label anything as it comes up.

The Advertisement
In the latest edition of the newspaper, there's a plain ad: a triangle with a pop-art eye in the middle, its lashes long and bold. Above the logo are the words "Services Rendered". Below it: "Place Personal Ad In Best Foot Forward Magazine. Address To A.F."

The Hellfire Club - outside link for potential NSFW content
Maybe you're already a member. Maybe you found a way in otherwise. But if you're interested in the darker, steamier side of life, you might find yourself at Monica's workplace, The Hellfire Club. Or maybe you just wanted to get a hold of her and didn't know how to otherwise...? If that's the case, you're in for some interesting atmosphere.

The Mercenary
Aeon blends with the shadows in her black leather pants and jacket, a gun and a grappling cable at her hips. Whatever her target is tonight, she's not letting anything distract her from it --

-- hm, except for maybe that movement in the alley below that should, by all intents, not be there. She's canvassed the area and made herself familiar with its regular comings and goings, and this isn't one of them. Even if it's some mugger with a knife, she's not worried. She hooks her grapple over the edge of a roof and slides down to ground level to confront whoever's there. Whether it's you or she's accidentally your savior remains to be seen...

Wildcard
((Have we already planned something out? Would you rather do something else? Put it here!))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Excellent." He'd proven to be nothing but flexible and easy-going so far, and she really enjoyed that. It was refreshing, really. She gave the veggies a final press into the rice, then gestured to the refrigerator before starting to roll everything up. "Help yourself to a drink, there are plenty of options in the fridge. If you want something stronger I do have some mixers."

There were a variety of juices that played well with seltzer, with or without liquor, some lemonade, a few pre-made bottled smoothies. The interior of Monica's fridge was proof that she ate clean - not completely vegetarian, but fruits, vegetables, eggs, and cheeses outweighed any meat. The other mixers she was keeping cold spoke to what her taste in drinks was like: a few of the obligatory Beers For Company on the door, but the top shelf place of honor was reserved for three liqueurs: sour apple, and blue curacao.

A trait that was probably refined with years of life experiences, but one that served him well when it came to his day job. Plus she was nice, and kind enough to invite him over for an impromptu dinner of sorts.

Brown eyes drifted off to follow her gesture, eventually heading over to the refrigerator to do so. After days filled with junk-related deliveries, he appreciated the contents that lay within. "Think I'll stick with something a little old-fashioned for now," he said, hand hovering over the choices of beverage before picking out the lemonade.

"Simple things are best after something complicated," she agreed, pressing the bamboo mat tight around the roll to make sure it stayed together. "Would you mind pouring me a glass as well? That sounds good."

She left the roll alone for a moment to set while she checked on the potstickers, taking them out of the pan and setting them on a paper towel to drain.

"Is this the craziest thing that's ever happened to you on a delivery? Tell me."

"Don't mind at all," Echo replied, setting the pitcher down temporarily to fetch two glasses. Not to hard to procure in a pristine setup like this.

He was still thinking about it when he set the glasses down in order to fill them. "Craziest thing? That's a tough one because there's a good number of contenders. I've been to house parties that weren't supposed to be happening, ended up in the middle of a heated argument. And there was that one guy who just answered the door completely naked..."

Once poured, he stepped over to where Aeon was to offer her the other glass. "I guess being a surprise guest speaker at a high school's now up there with them," he shrugged, giving her a curious look. "Do you always wait in dark alleys to drop on unsuspecting prey, or is it more of a hobby?"

She took the glass, purposefully letting her fingertips brush his. "For the argument, you should have conceded the point to whoever tipped you most," she quipped with a wink, before turning to chop up the roll and plate their supper.

"I certainly wouldn't want to speak in front of a school about what I do. During the day, I mean. As for why I was up in the alley ... I was coming back from a job I was hired to do. A different kind of delivery, a dangerous one. But ... I have a little advantage that makes risky things very worth it."

Once she'd finished slicing the sushi roll, she glanced up to make sure he was looking and cut a shallow line along her palm. It bled for only a moment, then the skin closed up again before his eyes.

Echo's lips quirked into a lopsided smile at the touch, eyes flickering between the action and Aeon's gaze as he tried to parse the meaning behind it. Which...was obvious, but. "That would've been great if one of them didn't start throwing things at the other. At that point, I decided it wasn't worth getting hit in the face by a picture frame."

He was about to ask what she meant by her advantage after setting his drink down, only to falter when she held the knife to her palm. "Hey, don't– " Visible alarm soon turned into disbelief as the red line healed before his eyes, speechless while he took the time to process what had just happened.

"...How?" It was the first word that came out seconds after he gently grasped her hand, calloused fingers running over the spot where there should have been a cut. The mention of risk wasn't lost on him. "This is normal for you?"

"Yeah," she said, biting her lower lip as she watched for his reaction. His fingers tracing the delicate nerves of her palm were almost distracting.

"Only one other woman I work with knows. I found out about it saving her from an aggressive Hellfire Club patron."

He'd have to be living under a rock to not have heard something about the Club, no matter how true it might have been. Some said it was some twisted dungeon, some said it was a rich people's playground, and other people said it was just a myth, some fairytale told to the aspiring elite to make the dream shine just that bit brighter. Depending on who you talked to, there was a grain of truth in all three.

It was partially true; he overheard the name of the club whenever he was out – usually in bars, where he was either picking up for delivery or chilling for a couple of hours after the day's work was done. The drunkest patrons would talk about it the longest while they had his attention, only to be baffled when he once replied he was fine without ever going there.

While Echo recognized the name, he didn't realize how sensitive her hand was. "Hellfire Club," he repeated, looking up to meet her gaze just as his fingers lightly, unintentionally, curled over the same area. "You mean– ?"

Monica wrapped her fingers tight around his, claiming his hand in the name of... whatever this was. For some reason she felt a connection to him, something more than her usual flings with attractive men: like she knew more about him than he'd shared. Some sense of deep loyalty and devotion to something. She wasn't sure where that came from, but it stirred something in her heart, on top of everything else.

She leaned in close, sliding the tray of food onto the counter, possibly to be forgotten once she whispered to him.

"I mean, I can make this a memorable night in more ways than one, if you're up for it, handsome."

That much Echo noticed. He didn't pull away, glancing down to see her fingers wrapping around his, feeling the warmth of her touch. It was different, deeper than the flirtatious nature of what she did earlier, full-on contact instead of a teasing brush. Vulnerable, to a certain extent. And he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Yet whatever train of thought he had going had abruptly ground to a halt and vanished the second Monica leaned in to propose the idea she had in mind.

Not that he minded having her in his personal space. Heat rose to his face as he met her eyes again, gaping slightly as he recomposed himself. "...Well. I've nothing else planned."

"Hn." That blush and little gape were just as gratifying as any number of things to come over the course of the evening. She smiled, pressing a quick, teasing peck on the corner of his mouth. "Dinner first, or later?"

Whichever he chose, she intended to feed him at least some of it herself.

If it wasn't obvious before, his never being in this position was clearer now; one hand still in hers; the other hand hovering because he didn't know where to set it; and his eyelids fluttered at the peck, eyes briefly darting off to the side before returning to her face.

"Later," he exhaled softly, the answer irrational even if he knew she went through all the trouble of making dinner. "I'm fine with later if you are."

"You're the guest," she said softly, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go long enough to put their plates and glasses in the fridge so the rolls wouldn't go off and the lemonade would stay chilled. Potstickers were just as good cold, anyway.

"Now then." She strolled back over and took both his hands, this time, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Where were we?"

The space between them grew too soon as she left, finding himself temporarily disappointed while he mentally went over their last exchange.

What had just happened? What was he doing?

Whatever it was, he knew they were both thinking the same thing; any other questions flew off the instant he felt his hands and arms guided to encircle her waist. And he had to blow out a breath, laughing a little as he leaned in. "Last I remember, you did something like this," he said, lightly pressing his lips on the corner of her mouth. "And..."

While he stayed there, his brow creased slightly as he mumbled into her cheek. "...Actually, I don't think we planned anything past that..."

"We didn't," she agreed, leaning into the kiss and sliding one hand up into the soft fuzz of his fade. "But I'm pretty good at improvising."

Any other words that were supposed to be said failed to form as she did this, meeting her lips with little hesitation, his own fingers lightly tracing patterns across the small of her back.

Improvisation it was.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Under the Gun

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: self-harm

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

thread or ftb? your call. <3

ftbbbbb <3