[hr][hr][center][h1][color=ff6600]Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway[/color][/h1][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/45a0e80969aaf630ff5189067cab6ed9/tumblr_n3ru4xe7Cv1r3ez0mo1_500.gif[/img][hr]Location: Club AfterDark[/center][hr][hr][color=ff6600]"Right...Standard gangster talk, got it,"[/color] Tuesday muttered, leaning her head against her hand. The skin around her eyes was pushed around from the placement, causing her to have the most weird and somehow adorable resting face ever. It all seemed a bit like a cliché to her, but Ronnie's line of work--no, her line of work--could be like that. [color=ff6600]"Four hours, fantastic. And it better pay damn well, that lady's the dictionary definition of irritating."[/color]

She glanced over at the bar again, spotting someone taking out a laptop. A laptop? At a bar? She rolled her eyes again. Everything felt irritating. She was on edge. Maybe she'd get something to settle her nerves, to calm her down a bit. She hadn't had any decent hits yet that day, and they [i]did[/i] have four hours to accomplish this mission. She scratched at her wrist, once again contemplating if she could start everything over. Would any medical schools accept her? Would [i]anyone[/i] accept her?

No. She made her bed. It was time to toughen up and deal with it. [color=ff6600]"So, fill me in, yeah?"[/color]
[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#00ccff]Cecily Ashworth[/color][/h1][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/dc98a52f6fe498ce2398d0ac1a8eee3b/tumblr_mqr81zwj9D1qf1aoao4_250.gif[/img][hr]Location: Queensguard Private Airfield[/center][hr][hr]Back in college, Cecily adored being right. Whenever an exam was given back to her, or whenever she confirmed her lab result, the pride from being correct sent a chill down her spine. It was a feeling that she craved, and through her investigation work as a forensic technician, each time her theory was proved, the same exhilarating rush coursed through her. 

But now, halfway from the bushes and the safety of the water, the first shot struck the ground. She heard it before she even recognized what was going on, blinking as Caesar screamed at her to move, to run towards the hangar. It wasn't too far away, but fear coursed through her systems, making her lungs feel like they were filled with cement. As much as a scream fought to rip its way out of her throat, it was all Cecily could do to keep on running. Her eyes flickered around madly almost, and she expected the phantom of Proserpine to rise from the ground, and gun her down. 

[i]Gun. Gun. Gun![/i] As she ran towards the hangar, perhaps the fastest she had ever run in her life, she noticed that Caesar was providing cover for her. But she knew rounds wouldn't last forever, and she had gotten her pistol in order to protect herself. Incredibly thankful that she had started carrying it on her, Cecily scrambled to pull it out as she dashed, before realizing that she didn't have any real skill with it. 

She hoped desperately that her flight-or-fight instinct, the adrenaline pumping through her veins, would see her through. She didn't even pause to consider how odd it was, that they fired at intruders, rather than merely surrounding them and arresting them. Cecily followed Caesar's word as gospel, dashing to the hangar, and hoping that none of those bullets would strike her. 

Truthfully, Cecily wasn't ready to die--not like this. Not like this.