played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
He was a man who could not tolerate failure. Failure, after all, in his field of work, equated to living witnesses with bullet holes at his expense. Failure, in his field of work, equated to the soft gaze of the Doctor hardening into disappointment, into something that brushed upon anger, too soft to be fearful of but too sharp to ignore. Failure, in his field of work, made him a failure. One mistake was enough to sully him – break his wings, tear him down to the level of the others. Death machines had no room for miscalculations, malfunctions. He had to be perfect for X – for the country – for himself. Failure could not be tolerated.[break][break]
But he hadn't.[break][break]
The irony of this all was that, by all means, Nikki had succeeded at what he had set out to do. Further the cause came the orders, heaven sent, spoken from lips who had heard the word of their god, yeah, you know the game. Another bullet. Another corpse. Another mission that pushed America ever closer to its well-deserved reinvention. The crimson that bloomed on on the canvas of his flesh (his, impossible as it should have been, not only that of the man he had just left bleeding from the head and dying on his own Persian rug) had not been because of conflict caused by carelessness, nor had it been brought about by a well-timed blow from a calculating enemy. He'd fled the scene, as always, gone as a thief in the night – and had fallen two stories, on both garbage, which very well may have saved his juvenile life, and broken glass, which had him spitting scarlet onto concrete paradise.[break][break]
A year ago, he would not have known how to keep the blood in, at least enough to not lead a trail from the place of his accidental and repeated stabbings straight to the heart of anarchy's X. Training afforded it then, when fortune wouldn't afford him a short distance to walk, weak and feeling more faint by the second. By the time he was slipping in through the front – thankful that the face behind the counter was another member, and not a part-timer who would question – he was quite certain he, Death, was at his own door.[break][break]
No pretense. No preamble. The moment his eyes fell on Billie's frame (although, he didn't know her as Billie, just as that medic), he held out one blood-covered hand, displayed his most certainly non-fatal wound, and said: “Hey. I think I'm dying.”
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|
|
played by
mae
POSTS
45
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me billicent
she/her
24 YEARS OLD
April
9
aries
seattle, washington
pansexual
medic/spy
TAG WITH @billie
BILLIE MOORE
until we close our eyes for good
[attr="class","revolutionist"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
there's something to be said about making money this way. she's putting herself into a dangerous position, but the danger seems further away than when she'd be beaten into the ground and just barely choke her opponent out first, hands curled around flesh, fingernails digging in and crimson beads-[break][break]
bad train of thought. time to go somewhere else.[break][break]
the danger billie is in now, as a medic and a spy, working to better society as a whole from beneath the bleeding cracks she wants to heal - it's not as immediate as the fights were. it paid better too. so, there's something to be said about making money this way. but who's gonna say it?[break][break]
the door to the coffee shop opens, a creak and a jingle accompanying it, and billie looks up at the intrusion, hands curling around her phone. she blinks, slowly, glancing down to the bleeding hand stretched out to her, and then back up. "i'm going to assume that that's not your only wound, because if it is, then you certainly will be dying, just not from it." her voice is a bored sigh, tinted with disdain; her face holds an expression of disbelief. "how much of the," she pauses, lifting a hand to make a sweeping gesture at him, lips curling up in something resembling disgust. her stomach roils. "the blood. how much of it is yours?"[break][break]
while waiting for a reply, she quickly taps something out on her phone, sending the tweet before she thinks anything of it.
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|
|
played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
“I'm going to assume that that's not your only wound, because if it is, then you certainly will be dying, just not from it.”[break][break]
There's annoyance in her eyes, disdain coloring her syllables, but while Nikki takes note of it, his mind can't process what it means. Instead, it latches onto the vocalized possibility of death, from lips attached to a woman who would likely know better than him, and the panic it induces consumes any chance he may have had at putting two and two together. In his youth, his father only ever bruised, never drew blood; the only time he'd been the hospital, it had been due to overdose caused by intentionally given misinformation. How is he supposed to know how much blood loss it would take to steal him away from the Earth? The most blood he's ever had shed was that taken from scrapes on knees, and perhaps one well-aimed punch to what would later reveal itself to be a broken nose. He levels her with a gaze as sharp as knives, something that would almost appear accusing had it not been for the obvious anxiety that infected the words. “So – I am gonna die? Fuck. Fuck. Alright.”[break][break]
By now, the hitman would be saying his prayers if he had any to make. He barely catches the question she spits out, like poison on the teeth, deluge from a wound. She looks repulsed – by the blood, maybe, or maybe just him – but terror has griped him too tightly to notice it at all, much less make an educated guess on its source. “How much of the... the blood. How much of it is yours?”[break][break]
Ah – does she assume these wounds were earned in the heat of battle? Logically, it'd be her best guess. He's a hitman, one of precious few in the organization, and the boss's pet, no less; only the most rookie don't know what he does and what he does it for (drugs, revolution, retribution), so it would only make sense to assume this is some sort of battle scar. He'd be offended, truthfully, if his mind was in any right state. Instead, he blurts out what it is she wants to hear, too frightened to prolong his treatment with the standard fair of traded verbal blows. “A... all of it. I – I fell into broken glass. Fucking stupid, right?” No energy to fight, but enough to feel shame, and little enough to admit to it. What a mess. “Th-there's more beneath my coat. God, please don't – don't let me die because of some shit stain's garbage.”
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|
|
played by
mae
POSTS
45
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me billicent
she/her
24 YEARS OLD
April
9
aries
seattle, washington
pansexual
medic/spy
TAG WITH @billie
BILLIE MOORE
until we close our eyes for good
[attr="class","revolutionist"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
the scars on her knuckles itch in phantom pain, so she locks her phone and sets it to the side, absently rubbing her hands together to soothe them. her fingers are, well, crooked, have obviously been broken multiple times and healed without proper setting; they're no longer dainty and soft like they used to be. billie's never sure how to feel about this. over time, she'd learned how to patch herself up, how to bribe away medical supplies with the little she'd had. it comes in handy now, her crudely refined knowledge, learned through reading and then doing and then reading again to make sure she'd done it right, had twisted her arm the right way to push her shoulder back where it was supposed to be.[break][break]
she scoffs, rolls her eyes. "no, you're not gonna die, jesus." billie pauses, lips pursed, bright eyes assessing the amount of blood covering his person again. "probably," she adds quietly, an afterthought, and then straightens up from where she was hunched over the counter, stretching, hearing the joints in her back pop and crack.[break][break]
and then she stops where she is, arms up in the air, back arched, shirt sliding up just the slightest bit from the angle. billie stares at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped open, before she splutters in shock, goes back to standing like a normal person, and rushes over to him. "you could have lead with that, you know, like what the hell dude?" her voice is a low hiss as she says this, glancing over at the door for a moment before returning her attention to the problem at hand. "take off your... whatever this is. coat? just take it off. try to take the shirt off too, but if it hurts too much, stop. now, this probably sounds cheesy, but i gotta ask, so: on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain right now? and where does it hurt the most?"[break][break]
this was so fucked.
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|
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played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
“No, you're not gonna die, Jesus.”[break][break]
Nikki spares himself a moment to be hopeful – extended graciously by him missing her muttered breath of “probably”, the likes of which would have otherwise sent him right back into his pit of despair – but finds the reprieve short lived. They always are, aren't they? It's in the way she moves, the way her eyes shift so drastically they could have popped out from the sockets if this had been a children's television series and not one of his few nightmares made reality... it almost seems like she's not taking him seriously. But that's not right. Hindsight and its twenty-twenty ways are the only things to finally, finally clue him in. “You could have lead with that, you know, like what the hell dude?,” she says in her rush to close distance, a sudden realization that he isn't some child X has freshly plucked from the graden that is Seattle's streets complaining about a sliver. Funny, if not unfair, that he only finds his pride wounded when the strike to it has already been retracted. He's almost a big enough man to smolder the irritation before it can slip past his lips, if only because she's ultimately his best hope in these trying moments. Almost. She comments so haphazardly on his coat, and for reasons he can't explain (blood loss? disease? still lingering fear?), that is what ultimately tips him over.[break][break]
“It's a – trenchcoat, you – what, you never seen one before?” Words meant to sting and words meant to scathe. Still, he follows his orders, stripping himself of both coat – which he sets down ever-so gingerly, regardless of its already battered and bruised state – and shirt, which falls to the floor with a tinkle of glass shards with far less care. “If it hurts too much, stop,” she says, but whether it be spite against her or spite against the pain itself, he peals the offending article off with a sting in his eye and grit of his teeth. “Now, this probably sounds cheesy,But I gotta ask, so: on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain right now? And where does it hurt the most?”[break][break]
“Ten,” he says without thinking. Nikki says a lot of things without thinking. Fortunately, he thinks enough afterward to hesitantly correct: “M...maybe an eight? Obviously, it fucking hurts where there's glass pokin' outta me.”
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played by
mae
POSTS
45
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me billicent
she/her
24 YEARS OLD
April
9
aries
seattle, washington
pansexual
medic/spy
TAG WITH @billie
BILLIE MOORE
until we close our eyes for good
[attr="class","revolutionist"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
'i should have gotten the trauma kit from the back first,' billie thinks, watching with a grimace as the injured man before her tugs off his shirt, the fabric ripping some of the glass out, opening his wounds further. crossing her arms, she frowns at him while assessing the damage. "yeah, yeah, a trenchcoat, what do i look like, someone who knows what different types of coats are called?" she grumbles, rolling her eyes. "stay here, yeah? gotta go get the kit."[break][break]
as she power walks away, heading to where she knows they keep an extensive first aid kit and a trauma kit with some extras in case of something like this, her mind checks off the injuries she'd been able to see. 'multiple lacerations, even more smaller cuts, bits of glass still in a lot of them. he said he fell from somewhere so i should ask him from how high... could have broken ribs or worse.'[break][break]
working on autopilot for the moment, billie grabs both of kits and rushes back out, dropping them on the counter and opening up the larger of the two. "first things first, i gotta get all that glass out and disinfect your wounds. might have to stitch a few of them up too. you okay with that, er..." she frowns, pauses in the middle of putting a second glove on. "sorry, i just realized i don't actually know your name. you wanna tell me? i know some people here don't really like people knowing, i get it."[break][break]
she grabs the gauze, the antiseptic wipes, and the tweezers, heading back over to him, nodding at one of the tables. "i'm billie, and i'm gonna need you to sit on that table over there."
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|
|
played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
She grunts out something about looking like the sort of person to know what the different types of coats are – a response only as weak as the insult she had to rebuke – before telling him “Stay here, yeah? Gotta go get the kit,” and taking off like a lightning bolt to back rooms unfamiliar to him. “The kit” means nothing to him, of course, and in its wake, he's left only to wonder. And he does... for about a moment, before realizing it a waste of his frazzled brain's time and deciding that picking at his freshly-exposed wounds would be a better usage of his time. Some are clearly better than others, none fatal, but the worst definitely enough to pose a threat untreated. It's those very ones, the ones that burn and draw tear tracks down the sides of his face that he digs his fingers into. Stupidity at its finest, may have come the thought of any onlooker. In his mind, it's vengeance. Nikki should be above this worldly pain, a force so mighty and dreadful that falls and lacerations can do no more than ricochet useless off the surface of his flesh. The only way to achieve that is to conquer pain, make it his own; the only way to conquer pain is to tear it from his body with his own h–[break][break]
The nameless medic returns with equal sense of urgency, and he's at least smart enough to rip his fingers, freshly coated in his own blood, away. (Not that he doesn't think she's seen – just that he knows better to keep it up while she's watching.)[break][break]
“First thing's first: I gotta get all that glass out and disinfect your wounds. Might have to stitch a few of them up, too. You okay with that, er...?” A pause. “Sorry, I just realized I don't actually know your name. You wanna tell me? I know some people here don't really like people knowing, I get it.”[break][break]
I don't actually know your name.[break][break]
X's finest weapon – the cause's most monomaniacal member – a young man synonymous with death itself – known by all – or not. In the second it takes her to say those words, his illusion, and perhaps a chunk of his ego crumble into dust, and in the blissful seconds that come afterward, he's so shaken by the revelation that he is not nearly so universal of a concept across revolutionaries as he thought he was that he forgets, even, to feel pain. Just as she pulls him into his stupor, however, she pulls him out: “I'm Billie, and I'm gonna need you to sit on that table over there.” In a better state of mind, he'd at least have tried to make his stride over seem befitting of any outrageous title he would have tried to coin for himself. Today, however, bleeding heavily, panicked, and freshly disenchanted, he moved like a dead man, silent and obedient. He doesn't even think to introduce himself to Billie in turn until he's already been sat on the table for an uncomfortably long amount of silence.[break][break]
“Uh... I'm Nikki. J...just Nikki.” After a moment's thought, he adds quietly: “... Is this gonna hurt?”
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played by
mae
POSTS
45
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me billicent
she/her
24 YEARS OLD
April
9
aries
seattle, washington
pansexual
medic/spy
TAG WITH @billie
BILLIE MOORE
until we close our eyes for good
[attr="class","billie"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
For a long second, it seems like she's somehow said something wrong. The young man in front of her, covered in blood and glass and bloody glass, looks shaken. It confuses her, to say the least, but then he seems to snap out of it for the most part and follows her instructions perfectly fine, so Billie puts the thoughts spawned by his strange reaction into the back of her mind, focusing on her task at hand.[break][break]
"Nikki, huh? Nice name," she says, smiling softly at him to try and placate him, like the nurse giving her her vaccine shots as a child had done. It had worked on her then, and she sure hoped it would work here and now. Placing her tools down, Billie gave the damage a closer look than before, face working itself into a frown before she pulled it back up into a smile she hoped continued to be reassuring.[break][break]
"Honestly, Nikki, it probably will hurt; I don't have anything to locally numb your wounds with, sadly. But, trust me, the pain now will prevent a whole lot of pain in the future if you let me do my job." She opens up one of the small packs of antiseptic wipes, wincing a little at the strong smell it releases, before cleaning the tweezers with it.[break][break]
"Okay, I'm gonna be starting now. Try not to move too much while I take the larger pieces of glass out, it might make it harder than it needs to be." And with that, she sets to work, beginning to slide out the easier to see pieces, dropping them onto a napkin once they're free.
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played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
Nice name.[break][break]
What is stranger to his ears? The softness of her tone in such stark contrast to the irritation dotting near every word that had come before, or the meaning behind that simple phrase, spoken as a mother would her inconsolable child? It's not the way she says it that takes some of the worst from his tension, nor has it anything to do with the sentiment behind it. Whether she means it or not, she said that his name – the one he had chosen for himself, used to differentiate himself from the man his parents would have forced him to become – was nice. No one had ever said that to him before.[break][break]
A shame Billie has to ruin it more than a heartbeat later, delivering without scorn the news that, especially without any means of numbing the wounds, it will most certainly hurt, and likely worse than the sting already pulling tear tracks down both sides of his face now. A part of him wants to suggest she let him take a hit before she begins, that at least when he's high, he won't remember the pain of it afterward, but the hitman supposes he already knows what she'll say to it before he's even spoken the words aloud. Any doctor would say the same, after all. Instead, he settles on: “Fuck.” Then, for extra measure: “I'm probably gonna scream like a bitch.”[break][break]
She warns him before she begins, just in case the sharp scent of her disinfectant and that slap it sends to his nostrils isn't enough, but no amount of warning can really prepare him for the inevitable dissection, and no matter how many times she may have told him to not move, he still finds himself struggling in the moment. “Scream like a bitch,” indeed – with the very first shard, he yelps like pup kicked clean in the ribs, and muffles his further exclamations of pain only by biting so hard on his lower lip his mouth fills with the copper taste of blood. A few minutes in (the likes of which all feel like a century in their own right), and his knuckles are eggshell while from gripping the table too hard. The medic isn't even close to being finished.[break][break]
“B-break. I need – I need a break, holy shit.” Nikki's whole body has begun to shake from the effort of keeping as still as he can, meshed with the loss of blood and the removal of tiny shrapnel from his open wounds. Certainly, this can't be ideal for either of them. He's drawing this out, he knows – better to yank the lose tooth out all in one go – but he's always been the sort to let them hang loose until they fall of their own accord. “Please.”
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|
|
played by
mae
POSTS
45
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me billicent
she/her
24 YEARS OLD
April
9
aries
seattle, washington
pansexual
medic/spy
TAG WITH @billie
BILLIE MOORE
until we close our eyes for good
[attr="class","billie"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
She wonders if her patient wears his heart on his sleeve or if she's just adept at reading emotions through another's body language. 'Possibly both,' she thinks, watching as he relaxes with the tone of her voice having changed. A snort rips itself through the air from the amusement Billie finds in his declaration that he's going to 'scream like a bitch'. "Don't be too loud, don't want someone calling the cops cause they think I'm murdering you." The warning, in and of itself, is both a joke and an actual warning - they don't want the blues sniffing around their hideout.[break][break]
With the first piece she picks out with her tweezers, she finds that he wasn't lying nor exaggerating; the noise he lets out draws the blood from her face in shock, before it rushes back in, heated, with embarrassment as she continues past a slight falter in her movements. And then, inevitably, he asks for a break, after a few more of those kicked puppy whimpers. Nodding, Billie relents, placing the tweezers down on the antiseptic wipe she'd used to clean it earlier.[break][break]
While waiting for Nikki to catch his breath and give her the okay again, she notices a bit of blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. "Jesus, you need something to bite on?" she says, quickly grabbing a napkin, and dabbing at it. "Open your mouth, lemme see the damage there. Shit, I should've had you bite on something from the start, sorry Nikki."[break][break]
The medic rushes back behind the counter, grabbing a towel to fold up to avoid further damage to his mouth, but she pauses looking at the coffee machines, and realizes she should give him some juice or something to try and combat the blood loss - it's what they did at blood drives, so it should work here, right?[break][break]
After grabbing a bottle of orange juice, she heads back over and holds it out to him. "Drink this, it should help with... the shock." Yeah, that sounded like she knew a lot more about what she was doing. "Lemme know when you're ready to keep going."
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played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
“Don't be too loud. Don't want someone calling the cops 'cause they think I'm murdering you.”[break][break]
It strikes him, as she says this, that she very well could in this moment, and with very little effort, do just that – a missed incision here, glass shoved in just right there, or even just leaving him to slowly bleed out and infect on the table where no one would be the wiser all the while. His life in her hands. Billie, separated from a completely stranger only in the knowledge of her name and her occupation as one of the revolution's few hired and trained medics. It's a sobering thought, really, but in the metaphorical high of her compliment and the knowledge that she is a revolutionist, it doesn't live to see the light of day for very long. Revolutionists by nature, after all, are heroes, or must desire to be in some capacity. At the very least, X trusts her in a position of healing. Nikki will extend her the same right if only for that. “You don't have to tell me twice.”[break][break]
And she doesn't... although being told once, or twice, or even a dozen times doesn't stop the whimpering of a beaten animal from slipping past freshly bleeding lips. She doesn't even seem to notice until he's opened his mouth to beg for even just a moment's worth of mercy, scarlet falling quickly down a thin line over the edge of his lip and down his chin as he speaks. “Jesus, you need something to bite on?” At least she's kind enough not to belittle him, mocking him for his inability to handle minuscule pieces of shrapnel embedded into skin and flesh as most anyone else he can think of would. She even goes so far as to apologize for not anticipating this and providing him something to bite down on earlier – not that there was any reason for her to expect another violent member of the Operation to bite through his own lip over glass shards.[break][break]
“There's... ha... a r-reason X didn't make me an enforcer,” he jokes, laughing weakly but every syllable of the sentence stained with bitterness. In truth, there had been no question of whether or not Nikki would be a hitman. The Doctor had taken not one look at his qualifications or background before deciding, for whatever reason, that he was to be one of the movement's ultimate living triggers. Any attempt to branch out, however, to fill in roles beyond that of playing at a human weapon had been shrugged off ever so carefully, in such a way that they could only be seen as shrugged of at all in hindsight. It's... frustrating in an unfrustrating way. An oxymoron that leaves him simultaneously upset at his own uselessness and content with his skill in his only area of expertise.[break][break]
Orange juice, despite perhaps being the worst juice of them all, is what she offers to him to deal with the shock, and not knowing any better, he believes her claim wholeheartedly. The orange liquid a substitute for shock-reduction medicine? Strange, but he's heard of stranger. Ignoring the taste and the sting of it rushing over his split lip, the hitman downs the entire cup's contents in a single go and manages to stifle the look of disgust as he takes his final swallows, all while Billie instructs from the background, “Lemme know when you're ready to keep going.”[break][break]
It would be so easy to draw it out further, he knows, but she doesn't have to tell him for him to know that the short-term pain now will be preferable to having glass poking out of him for the long forseeable future. Miraculously, the juice itself does manage to spare him a bit of trouble, if only because it serves as a distraction from what is to come and what has already been. By the time his cup is empty, he's as ready to go again as he'll ever be. “N-now. Go for it.”[break][break]
The juice is gone. He needs something else to take his mind off the pain, and his mouth has already suffered enough playing scapegoat. There's nothing much of value in the room around them, shy of barren walls and sparse, bland furniture, and with nothing better to attract his attention, brown hues fall toward the hands of the woman before him: batter, bruised, and broken. Another scapegoat.[break][break]
“Someone d-do that to you?” Nikki manages to ask, nodding toward her knuckles. It's a vague approximation, but as the owner of them he's got little doubt she won't pick up on it quick.
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played by
mae
POSTS
45
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me billicent
she/her
24 YEARS OLD
April
9
aries
seattle, washington
pansexual
medic/spy
TAG WITH @billie
BILLIE MOORE
until we close our eyes for good
[nospaces][googlefont=Roboto:400,400i,700|Montserrat:800] [newclass=.snakeEyesPost] --snakeEyesAccent:#b26d8c; [/newclass] [attr="class","se-LIGHTVER"] [attr="class","snakeEyesPost"] [attr="class","snakeEyesHeader"]
took a market
of filth
[attr="class","snakeEyesBody"]
As she waits for him to cool down, get relaxed from the break and the juice, she folds the towel neatly, hands working to crease and press it down. Too thick, and it wouldn't fit in his mouth, but too thin and it wouldn't help the problem. "Here," she says, handing it to him after she's satisfied, "To bite on." Her voice is level as she confirms what the towel is for, not betraying any of her inner turmoil.[break][break]
The thing is that this - Nikki sitting on a table, bleeding from multiple parts of his body - it was possibly the worst injury she'd had to deal with so far. Oh, broken bones and sprains were fine; even without some of the fancier equipment at her disposal, she'd dealt with her own injuries of the same kind for years. But open wounds had been rarer in her case. Fists and elbows and knees were blunt and, sure, there'd been the occasional knife but that was still one single cut to deal with. This was just kind of more in general.[break][break]
Bilie hums in response to something her patient had said, something about why X hadn't made him an enforcer, but she's too lost in her own mind to give a real response. She's only broken out of her thoughts when he gives her the go ahead to continue, and she snaps back to the situation at hand, automatically picking up the tweezers once more. "You sure?" she questions, voice soft, eyes already scanning the myriad of still-bleeding wounds for the remaining easy pieces of glass to pick out of his flesh.[break][break]
Before he gives another go ahead, she starts anyways, reaching forward and easily sliding out one of the larger, jagged edges, doing her best to keep it from catching and tearing. Nikki says something and her brain takes a moment to catch that too, focused on the mess in front of her. "Huh- Hey, I told you to bite on the towel, dumbass!" she hisses, brows furrowing as she grabs hold of the towel and holds it up in front of Nikki's face. "And my hands? Well, if you count me as 'someone', then sure, someone did it to me." Billie pauses in her movements for a second, letting the towel drop into the other's lap, the careful creases from before coming undone.[break][break]
The brunette gets back to work, and lets her mouth move in time with her hands as she gets into a groove. "Before I joined, I was, well, kind of a street rat. Ran away from home kind of early, and no, you don't get to know why. Fought in an underground ring for the money. Broke my hands too many times with sloppy punches, mostly, but sometimes the bigger guys would break them on purpose so I couldn't get back in the ring sooner." Her voice is casual, her face relaxed, and if this were a different time, a different place, it'd be as if she was reminiscing about regular things people her age should be reminiscing about. Prom, high school sports, etc. But this was the universe where life as she knew it was broken into pieces, and, like her hands, she'd had to put it back together in a crooked and painful way that didn't heal quite right - that would never look the same again.
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|
|
played by
Leap
POSTS
214
awards
|
one-man death machine
call me nikki
he / him
20 YEARS OLD
May
8
Taurus
Seattle, Washington
demisexual
hitman
TAG WITH @nikki
NICKLAUS STRAUSS
six days ago, my life had taken a tumble: the orders came from high above, they say.
[nospaces] [attr="class","revolutionist"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img1"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2img"] [attr="class","rcpostingg2top"]
TAKE NO PRISONERS
[attr="class","rcpostingg2mid"]
He takes the proffered towel in a complete absence of thought where only the pantomime of recognition and the mechanical hinging of elbow and knuckles take it without registering exactly what it is he's taking or why it is he's taking it. Force of habit, maybe, or the instinctive urge to grab at anything dangled within arm's reach that doesn't immediately scream out “suspicious”. It's no wonder he “forgets” about it seconds latter, considering he barely acknowledged it enough to be “remembered” from the moment it came into his possession. There's too much otherwise to think about here than folded up clothe and its potential uses in this mess of a situation. However valid these excuses may have been in his own dizzied mind, though, he doesn't suppose they'd mean all that much to Billie in the wake of her exclamation: “Hey, I told you to bite on the towel, dumbass!”[break][break]
She holds it in front of his face once again with an emphatic and no-nonsense flair that couldn't lose his attention if it tried – which it most certainly did the very opposite of, simply in nature. The hitman's smart enough to not glower when he takes it from her again, petulant like a child, but acutely aware of the phrase 'don't bite the hand that feeds you'. Just for show, he stuffs it between his teeth before her eyes have the chance to wander elsewhere and punctuates the action with a muffled sound amounting to something along the lines of “Here! Here! Look at this!”[break][break]
And then she begins her story.[break][break]
If he had known that his question would have opened the flood gates for a look into her past, however abbreviated it may be, Nikki isn't entirely sure he would had bothered to ask it in the first place. Billie, he supposes, is far from the only revolutionist, even just the ones he has already met with some manner of tragedy in their past (he winces as much at the feeling of glass slipping from flesh as he does at the image of a grown man snapping a young girl's fingers into pieces, an image accurate to life or no), but she is certainly to first to speak of it without prying or the slow burn of a forming friendship. It's... not intimate, but it feels unbalanced. Unfair. He knows he hadn't asked, but he feels like he holds something of her in his hands – certainly, now, in his head – that she does not own an analogy for.[break][break]
“Ashholesh,” he tries to say around the towel, then frowns at the ridiculous sound of his own vocal attempt at empathy. It's enough to have him snatch it from between his lips and try again: “Asshol– ow!” Okay, okay, his mistake. Full credit for that one taken.[break][break]
There is no clear connection between a life in the pit, though, and picking shards from the ravaged skin of a hitman-for-justice. Nikki tries to make heads or tails of what it may be for only a moment before curiosity (and the fact that he'll never figure it out just by thinking about it) gets the better of him. “How'd you end up here, huh? With the revolution, I mean.” He watches her carefully, despite the fact that the medic has barely made eye contact since her latest scolding... then remembers the towel in his hand and dutifully places back where it belongs. He doesn't need to talk to listen; the question only remains, then, whether or not she wants to bother giving him something to listen to.
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