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"They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, the stink of fungus and decay, all of it, they carried gravity."
-Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

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Still here. Was waiting on @blumenk
Sera Angela Harrison -- The Songbird

Sera watched him through the length of his monologue, expression impassive. It could even be labeled as bored by a pessimistic eye, but that was just her default visage, nothing to do with the current scenario. She weathered all of his words and then sighed as her gaze drifted away, hardening when he brought the case back up a few moments later. She was a woman who grew defensive under scolding and for a second, she struggled with the urge to fight back. To argue her ability to protect herself, to argue his suggestion of 'weak points', to tell him she was more than he thought of her, than he could gleam.

But what would that do? It was ridiculous and silly to get puffed up in front of a man, she knew that. She lived that. So instead of fighting back, she thought of Rosemary and she offered her companion a small smile. "She will definitely like you. She adores the ones that irritate me."

Before her words could be questioned, she stopped the both of him with a small tug on his arm. They stood in front of a small bakery, hugged on both sides by dull brown buildings without any character to them. The bakery however was bright and flowery, with frills seen bordering the windows and a big sign in one that named it as 'Morris's Bakery'. In her heart, Rosemary had since renamed it as 'The Bonnie Bake', but knew she couldn't change it officially without protest from her husband's loyal costumers. Sera had successfully brought them to their destination.

A blonde woman peeked around some of the lace, peering at them as if summoned merely from the proximity of her significant other. Her hair was curled and pinned underneath a hat, her face a bit ruddy from the heat of the ovens, but she wore a bright and excited smile.

"Please, if you would, stay out here and do not encourage her. I will be back in a few moments." Sera said with a dreary tone of voice, reaching for the handle on the door. Rosie was out to meet her in a second and there was a quick whispered exchange. "Don't." Sera hissed to her, but the pixie of a woman was already standing before Cesar with a flour-dusted hand outstretched. A frustrated huff sounded from the Siren as she gave up on her protest and instead moved through the doors, now motivated to get dressed quickly.

"Hello there!" Rosemary smiled in a way that made her cheeks seem rounder and rosier and sweeter, her eyes bright with it. "You're a real gangster, aren't you, sir?" Awe was apparent in her voice from the question alone, as if she was honored just to be shaking the hand of a criminal.

Sera Angela Harrison -- The Songbird

There was an art to holding onto a man's arms while walking down a public street, one Sera had studied to mastership more than a decade ago. As a proper woman, she had to make sure not to step ahead of the man, to follow and not lead. Yet even in this scenario, where she was the guiding force, she used subtle little pulls and squeezes on his bicep to let him know the way they were supposed to go. This put her in the perfect position to feel the way his muscles grew tense, drawing her gaze down so she could see the way his fingers fisted at his side. The way his shoulders rose and fell when he forced a weighted breath. He wasn't very subtle.

She had heard a few of the stories about her newfound partner, at least the aftermath of his missions. Carnage was not exactly her type of thing, but to a certain extent it seemed to be his. She had only ever truly desired to spill blood once and after having done so she had no further urges beyond what might be assigned of her. For the right target, she could dispatch the threat with nothing but a few words, though that was not within her preference. She was here, ideally, to negotiate, to distract, to dazzle.

He had asked about her abilities? It was rather simple. "I tell people to do things, Mr. Ghirga and they listen. The weaker the mind or the more they are attracted to me, the easier it is to convince them to do the things I ask for. The situation varies drastically from one person to another, so I am never certain how effectively I can work, but I'll make do."

She studied him carefully from the corner of her eye, haughty but not challenging. "As long as you don't scare them too much or distract them."

Super busy today, will post tomorrow.
Sera Angela Harrison -- The Songbird

Sera was one of the first to arrive within the Don's office, having actually aimed to be there before anyone else and failed. Inconvenient. With other forces taking thee boss's focus and not willing to show rudeness to the man that kept her in business and in home, she had skirted around his desk instead. She found a perch on a side table that was descent enough. A rather unladylike position, Sera sat atop the surface with her long legs crossed, watching more and more family members work their way inside the hideout. Lips tight, fingers tense against a delicate white box balanced on her lap, her eyes burned with their usual cobalt Bunsen fire. A nervous tension brought a bounce to an ankle, exposed beneath the baggy hem of the trousers she wore. She appeared to be in a worst mood than usual, her approachability dropping.

It had been easier for her than many to wake up this morning; she noted the many tired eyes around the room. Living with and assisting a baker, she was used to an ungodly prep time, internal clock tending to rouse her before Rosemary even had the chance. She soothed herself with memories of the morning, watching her favorite gal work was always a near hypnotic experience. Something akin to the spell she could weave with her voice. Rosie's thin fingers working daintily at dough that was tougher than she was, pushing up on her tiptoes to use her wait to knead at it. Rosie looking up and giving her that sweet, sugary smile, blonde hair tucked behind her little pixie ears. She would explain what she was doing and didn't mind that it fell on half deaf ears. She'd drag Sera in close, pushing her hands into the mix and ignoring the protests as premature bread oozed between well bred fingers. When Sera managed her escape to the nearest sink, she returned to watch the rest of the show. Rosemary guiding thin stripes of dough into a braid, draping each one of the mass of cinnamoned apples along the center. The pastry box on Sera's thighs felt warmer, seeping into her skin and she squeezed it tighter to her.

She might have lit up the Don's office with a rare smile if she wasn't so tense.

Of course, with memories of the morning came an increased bombination of nerves inside her. She had seen the books, knew that the times were affecting the pocket change of the masses and decreasing their customer pool. Corvi's speech brought no relaxation to her spring-locked muscles, only worsening the case in fact. She glared at the opposite wall above everyone else's head as if it might be to blame for all this misfortune. Hearing of an impending conflict brought on a flash of the bakery into her mind-- destroyed. That was not acceptable. The depression really was threat enough to their little shop. She would not allow any harm to come to her one place of peace, would not let another group come in and take what was theirs. Her fingers were nearly crushing the object she held all the way up until he spoke her name. She looked up and forced her hands to release the box, stretching her fingers out. Forced her lungs to take in air again.

Breathe Sera. It won't happen.

She stood up as everyone began to prepare for their assignments, gracefully pushing off of the mall table and making her way to the boss's desk. A swell of pride overcame her as she heard Cesar's comment about her abilities, nodding with restrained smugness. "Of course, that is my function." She placed the small box delicately in front of Corvi, eyes downcast with a respectful smile. "Another gift from Rosemary."

Then, she was falling into step beside her new partner, taking his arm in on gloved hand while she leaned in close. "Do you mind a small detour, dear? If my expertise is to be used, I should change my get up." Things had been a bit of a disaster that morning for the two women. They'd both somehow forgotten their womanly duties to do laundry until last minute, leaving Sera to borrow Rosemary's previous husband's trousers for lack of skirts. It was fitted to her figure of course, but still felt a bit odd on her form. She'd done it before, just not in public. No matter, the laundry they had set out should be dried by now, so she could be more presentable.
Anxiety was kicking my ass last night, but I'll roll out a post real soon.

Here she is again :)
Ready and willing!

Having expected all of the assassins to simply take his command and leave, Kestrel raised a brow at Wanda's approach. He splayed his hands across his desk, assuming that she might be about to challenge his assignment and preparing to enforce it. (He wasn't quite in the mood to be gentle about it, but he would have made a attempt for the little bird). Sure, the job was much less confrontational than Owl's was, but he was trusting Pigeon with a lot in this one. Relied on the cleverness and ingenuity that had led her into finding Avia to begin with. No one else had sought him out like she had.

It was a relief at first when all she did was hold out her phone to him, which he accepted with more curiosity. Looking first up to her face, he examined it carefully in the hopes of finding a hint to what this was before even reading. Whatever he found there seemed to discourage him and his shoulders tensed just the smallest amount, eyes dropping the glowing screen. The tension nearly tripled and his lip curled subtly. Indigo irises danced back ad forth as he read the text rapidly, going back up at the end to inspect the image more closely.

His teeth gritted behind tight lips and when he handed the device back to Wanda, his grip was nearly enough to crush it. His gaze was back on her, or at least pointed in her direction as it grew unfocused with thought. The silence had been diffusing through the room for the past few minutes and it only grew denser in that moment, more foreboding. Kestrels hands were tight against his desk, crushing the wood.

There were so many things to consider with this, eggshells to plan how to walk across. Something very, very dangerous had happened here and even investigation was a hazard to consider. The Black Cats were more often than not time bombs, their fuse minuscule and Kestrel could already feel the lames on his face. He didn't want this.

"Thank you for showing this to me." The man said, voice quiet, though still enough to break through the fog he'd created in his office. Vision growing focused again, he stood and walked over to the girl. A hand was placed on her shoulder. "In addition to hunting down Mockingbird's lover, I need you to track down Derek Mann, the person they refer to as The Angel on the streets. I need to speak with him."


She nodded and the action was weak. And though in that moment, she took a small step to distance herself further from Liam, she also extended out her and. It was pricey, much more than she really liked to even hear as an offer, let alone what she would agree to. If circumstances had been different, more stable, she might have fought for it with more venom, but she was harmless in this environment, she didn't have venom. Besides, she needed this done and she needed to leave and all of that added up to her with her hand extended out to the Black King that so terrified, intrigued and disgusted her, palm sideways waiting to shake with this devil. She breathed out her fear and summoned confidence. "I will send the money to your account as soon as I can gather it. Just please.. Stop whoever is doing this."

Rook cheerfully pushed himself up from the chair as the deal was wrapping up (struggling a bit against the suffocating comfort), approaching enough to be notice, but not enough to be in the way. He smiled all the way to his eyes, which shut from the cheer of it, his hands folded in front of him as he rocked childishly on his feet. "I can take Mrs. Gilliam downstairs if that's all, sir~" The sweet boy opened his eyes, flashing those innocent jade pools that could draw people in so well. He tilted his head, grinning as he waited for his next official orders.

One could not deny that the Black Rook was impressive in his ability to lie with every inch off his being. He stood there with those naïve eyes, that bright smile, looking forever younger than he was. But he could have easily plunged a knife through this woman's throbbing carotid artery and hummed as the blood ran down the blade and over his fingers. All off of the King's command. There was a reason he was here.


Douglas was relieved when the door swung open, allowing him to step inside before he had to -god forbid- ask about Annabelle's personal life. He did offer her a gentle nod though, to signal the end of their 'conversation'. The closest to traditional politeness as he got.

He made his way into the room, passing by the offered alcohol. His fingertips traced over the caps, feeling ridges on the sides of the containers that labeled them unique, but he continued on past them without stopping. A deal had bee struck upon entering his relationship with Evelynn that barred him from the offer; he had promised to give up alcohol except on special occasions, which this did not count as. Her mother had committed suicide through a muddied liver, something she was insistent on never having to bear witness to again. So he forced himself to forget about the poison and continued deeper into thee room. He walked silently to the vases, resting beside a proudly standing sunflower. He went to feeling again, fingers tracing yellow petals and gaining all his focus for a moment.

Then, brown eyes canted towards the other two and took in the unusual population of thee room. "Just us?" Usually, it was either one assassin accepting their missions or a whole group. The fact that there was only the three of them then seemed to denote an unusual occurrence within the first district.

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