agent1388-blog

[agent1388-blog]

allegradeluca:

Allegra all but brushed off the apology. “No- it’s fine, I like a challenge.” Moments like this kept her on her toes, more so when she was seeing a reoccurring patient. One who had strange injuries that weren’t all that well explained. Too many clues kept on pointing towards something and Allegra was trying to figure out what it was. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall in line when he answered her question. “Oh, yeah that would explain it…” So he was an army veteran? Back in Chicago, the floor had two nurses who worked between Northwestern Memorial and the VA Hospital. With the city being a hub for all walks of life, they’d run through the basics on what veteran care might entail- the type of problems to suspect, dealing with insurance and of course, post-traumatic stress disorder. A lot of their cases were a compounded injury, one usually suffered during an episode. While the idea danced on the tip of her tongue, she kept her eyes steady on the task at hand. Those type of questions could wait until he was patched up. Briefly, she looked back up at him. She’d always prided herself on being good at reading people, it was partially a skill learned on the job, but Roman was a tough nut to crack. “I’ll take your word. Just sit back and relax, I promise this will be done pretty quickly.”

When he asked about her own injury, a small laugh left her lips. “It’s a bit of a long story, but I guess we have time?” She asked, taking the disinfectant on a cotton pad. “This might sting a little.” Allegra bit down on her bottom lip- something she always did when she was focused. Gently, she placed the pad onto the wound. “I uh, I drive a junker of a car that sometimes requires a blood sacrifice to get started…”Junker was an understatement. Her Toyota Camry was from ‘95, and she was certain there was more duct tape than actual car holding it together. It had been passed down through the family: first, her mother, then Apollo had driven it until the accident, and now it fell into her realm of responsibility. On her way to Bend, it’d broken only twice. That was a lucky streak.  “And on that particular day we had a pretty bad blizzard roll through- I’m from Chicago- so the damn thing was refusing to cooperate… I think it was 5am and I had my first ever shadowing shift at the hospital?” She could remember waking up extra early to be on time… and mortified when she noticed the car simply wouldn’t work. First impressions were everything and a late medical student would not fare well at Feinberg.

“Just as I was about to pop the hood, I slipped on some ice and tried to find anything to keep me from falling over- bad call. I ended up face down in the snow with a bleeding hand.” Allegra muttered. With a small movement of her hand, she started to carefully remove the splints of wood from the cut. It became clearer, and the stitches became more and more obvious that they were nerve induced. “Funny thing is when I got back into the car and turned the key, it started working.” She stood back up, taking the now soaked cotton pad and tossing it into the garbage. Looking over her shoulder, she cracked a small smile. “By the time I got to the clinical, I looked like a horror movie... not one of my best moments, I’ll admit.” It’d surely been a hands-on experience, to say it the least. When she finally walked through Northwestern’s doors, her hair was sopping wet from the snow, and her brand new lab jacket all but ruined. “Life’s got an interesting sense of humor and timing, I suppose.”

There was a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth as he got the impression Allegra always rose up to the challenge no matter what, which was strange because that smile felt a little misplaced. Misplaced in the way that it’s never really been there before and Roman had to bite down on the inside of his cheek just to get it to go away. There wasn’t much more he could say or even wanted to say about his status as a veteran so he remained silent and did his best to do what she said with a hum of acknowledgement- sit back and relax. Roman took a deep breath, eyes closed in an attempt to release the tension in his body. He counted each second along with the ticking of the clock on the wall, trying to pretend that he was the only one in the room. It helped some, but not really. Roman would at least pretend it did.

His eyes opened when he felt the sting of disinfectant and couldn’t help himself from twisting his head to watch Allegra work. Her touch was nice and her voice was soothing, better than any of the other doctors he’s seen, and it made it easy to feel comfortable after his episode. So she wasn’t a local either; the agent in him wondered why she moved, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she was just a well sought after doctor and this was where she chose to work. Roman had to remind himself that not everyone had to have a motive. “Ouch, that is some blood sacrifice,” he said, holding back his laughter for her sake, but she could probably tell how amused he was from his eyes alone. Her story made him think of all the times Roman and his mom would ride their bikes everywhere, simply because their car wasn't working. “Coming from California, I don’t have a lot of experience with snow, but my mom’s old jeep overheated every summer at least twice. I was always bustin’ up somethin’ trying to fix it.” 

“You’re kidding, right? It actually worked after all that? That’s a cruel joke if I ever heard one,” he said, grinning, tilting his head to better keep eye contact. When she looked over her shoulder at him, something in Roman’s head told him she always looked so... nice even when she looked like a horror movie. “It sure does. That’s one hell of a first impression, but you strike me as the type of person to make an impression wherever you go, doc.” It felt like it was time for him to tell her a similar story back when he was in basic training, but nothing was as lighthearted as that. Roman rubbed the back of his neck using his good arm and let out a little laugh “Uh, during basic training I uh... accidentally grazed another kid with a bullet. It was purely a flesh wound, but none of the older kids fucked with me after that. I'm a great shot now though, so no one's got to worry about that anymore.”

fragments | roman & allegra

[agent1388-blog]

silvertongue | margaux & roman

dudley’s cafe @margauxastor

The moment she walked through the door, Roman couldn’t look away. It had nothing to do her looks that made him peer over the edge of his laptop. It was who she was and who she was pretending to be that made him drink the rest of his coffee so he would have an excuse to get up from his seat. Margaux Astor. If he was a different man then maybe they’d get along. He respected her, sure. His time in the military made it hard not to respect those who worked to protect the people, but something about her just made his skin crawl, made his instincts ring like a bell. Whoever she was, whatever the hell she was doing, Margaux Astor couldn’t be trusted.

It’s been two years since Roman has moved to Bend and in those two years he’s become something of a local. The bartender at the local dive knows what he likes by heart and he’s even friendly with a few neighbors on his street. Neighbors who include a police officer or two, who are more than happy to swap more than just a few stories with a guy like Roman after a few drinks at the bar.

Roman waited for the right moment, looking like he was trying to work up the nerve to go talk to a pretty girl. He watched Margaux sit at a table, waited a few minutes longer, and then stood up. But instead of walking over to her table, he walked back up to the counter and asked the teenage employee  to give him a refill and something for Margaux as well, something simple, not a lot of sugar, but good all the same.

He hoped he looked nervous as he walked up to her, offering her the novelty ceramic cup in his hand. “Excuse me, miss? I was, uh, hoping I can join you. I’m Roman.”

[agent1388-blog]

rosegloriana :

Walking through Roman’s house took a bit longer than it should have, because Rose’s every step was delayed by two very large, very enthusiastic dogs. She gave them scritches behind their ears and paused every now and then to scratch their bellies. 

“Who’s a good boy? You are! And you are too!” her laughter was almost as loud as the dog’s barking, trying to maneuver around them without being tackled to the floor. Yapper was not going to be happy when she came home smelling like two different dogs, but he could get over it.

By the time she made it to his studio her face was flushed from laughing and she had a drool stain on her skirt. “Thank you for agreeing to show me your work, I––” she paused mid-courtesy as she stepped inside the studio, her feet halting just after she stopped talking. She knew she liked his work; an acquaintance had shown her a picture when she told them she was looking for local artists. But that picture had been taken with a cellphone, slightly blurred and didn’t do justice to the images she saw before her. 

How would she describe them to him? Bold, but that seemed too small a word somehow. Primal. Rough. But then he might think she was calling it unfinished, unsophisticated. Beautiful seemed shallow all of a sudden. Exquisite was pretentious. Rose closed her mouth (it’d been hanging open; very unladylike) and decided to just describe effect the art had on her. 

“It’s stunning,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Roman. “All of them. Oh––look at this one,” she pointed. “Tell me about this one.” 

It always made Roman feel warm and fuzzy inside when he saw someone be as sweet to his dogs as Rose was being. He was like a proud parent, watching them bounce around her and flop on the floor to get her to rub their bellies. Finn and Moose were rescued from the same shelter on the same day. They were completely different dogs now- they’ve helped their owner just as much as he’s helped them.

Roman followed behind Rose to the backyard, apologizing here and there for his dogs shoving their noses into her hand with every step. She was probably just too nice to say anything, but she didn’t seem to mind that much. He appreciated it either way. Inside his studio, Roman kicked his dogs out and closed the multi-colored painted door- their tails wrecked havoc in such a small space.

He turned around quickly as she stopped speaking. It sparked concern and he thought that maybe she was regretting coming to see his art. He wasn’t the only artist in the city and he knew he wasn’t that good, but he thought his stuff wasn’t that bad. Even if it was a lie, telling himself he was good at what he did gave him the confidence to let people like her in.

Roman bit his lip as he came to stand behind Rose, off to the side a little, watching her face nervously. The moment came when she finally spoke and he had to laugh, let out the air he was holding in. “Oh, I- I don’t know about that. Uh, thank you,” he said quietly, fighting off the smile on his face. Roman stood closer to her now that he knew she wasn’t totally put off by his paintings and picked up the one she pointed at. The painting was part of a set he did after his last mission during World War 1, inspired by the crumbling city skyline and the faded green tanks making their own paths.

“This one was just me experimenting with ink and watercolor. All the white you see is ink- suppose to be ash. The tanks are done in ink too. And the smoke is watercolor. Inspired by World War I. Watched a few too many documentaries and dreamed for days about it, you know. Is there somethin’ you were lookin’ for in particular?”

[agent1388-blog]

allegradeluca:

With the wound no longer obstructed by the towel, Allegra was met with a grizzly looking laceration. He played it off, but one look and Allegra could tell that this was a serious injury. It was clear that the impact of the hit was hard, hard enough to require stitches. She leaned in, eyes taking in the cut when she was met with surprise. Sutures criss-crossed through the cut, and curiously enough, in a way that resembled a typical sew up. As he explained the situation, she pursed her lips in thought. The method wasn’t too terrible- it reminded her of the first year medical students, ones who had theoretical knowledge but hadn’t yet applied any of it. Strange… “I see… sometimes those hard to reach places can be difficult to stitch up on your own. Even some pro-staff struggles with it.” She said softly, a gloved hand reaching over to his shoulder.

First, she’d have to take out Roman’s homemade sutures. That would be painful, but it was something that needed to be done if she wanted to clean the wound up. With the slightest touch, she brushed off some of the wooden that’d attached itself to the dried blood. “You don’t happen to have a medical background, do you?” The dead giveaway that he had some sort of experience was the continuous stitch- and no doubt that he had attempted to fix it all on his own. The average person didn’t have the confidence to do that, instead, coming to the ER to see someone like Allegra with an open wound. Catching her tongue, she pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, it’s just- you used a basic technique that I recognized.” 

Allegra stood up, going towards the sink on her left. In the cabinets were all the tools that she needed to make sure he left the ER safe and sound. As she gathered her materials- nylon string, scissors, curved needle, sterile gauze and antiseptic- Allegra briefly looked over at her patient. The first time she’d seen him, he’d claimed he’d been intoxicated and fallen. Although certain things didn’t quite line up- the angle of the hit, no visible vomit and the lack of alcohol. Most importantly, its smell. Still, it wasn’t her place to question it. So as long as he got the scans and diagnosis he needed. A repeated visit, however, did catch her attention. And she wasn’t quite sure if she’d let him go as easily as she did last time.

“I’m going to have to take out the thread you put in there and clean the wound. That’ll probably be the worst part… I can get you a local anesthetic to numb the area if you want, that’ll just require a signature acknowledging that you know the risks associated with that. Of course, all of them would be detailed in one of our pamphlets.” Such was the case in modern medicine: it was vital that the patient gave consent with anything they did. “I… well, I’ve split my hand before and went without it applied… it honestly wasn’t too terrible, but again that’s entirely up to you and your pain tolerance.” She said, before sitting down back in her seat, tools placed next to him. Her eyes looked back up at him, awaiting an answer.

He had to wonder what she was thinking when she realized that he tried to sew it up himself. Roman couldn’t remember the exact moment when he learned how to do it. It wasn’t in a classroom setting, nothing was formal, and he’s never had to suture something outside of a chaotic environment. When there weren’t helicopters only a few steps away and he wasn’t trying to listen to all the yelling around him. What he tried himself wasn’t the prettiest, but considering the situation he didn’t think he could’ve done much better than this.  “Yeah...probably doesn’t make it real easy for ya. Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, watching her gloved hand reach for his shoulder. 

In hindsight, he should have just left his shoulder alone. He would have been out of here and on his way home that much sooner. Roman thought of his dogs- he blocked the broken door with the couch and left the sliding door open so they could go into the backyard as they pleased. Roman hated nothing more than scary them like that. Roman watched her brush the pieces of wood away and chuckled, “No, not a medical background.” Roman wasn’t too bothered by her questions. It was expected; he did try to do her job himself after all. “It’s alright, doc. I, uh, I served a few tours in Iraq. Afghanistan,” he fiddled with loose strings hanging off his jean pockets, “some other places too.”

As Allegra stood up to gather whatever it was she would need, Roman slouched in his seat. Exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. There was never any adrenaline that followed after an episode. He was always left shaking and sweaty, nauseous and foggy. Roman could only hope that he didn’t look as terrible as he felt, but he knew he wasn’t that lucky. And Allegra didn’t look like the kind of doctor he could give his usual excuses too. She seemed the type to really care instead of looking the other away. Some part of him hated that, another part liked it.

Roman waited until she was sitting to answer, glancing up at her with eyes that were trained on his cut. “I don’t need anything for the pain. Whatever you gotta do do it. I’ve had worst, trust me,” he replied, a faint smirk in the corner of his mouth. "How'd you split your hand?" He was curious to know, but he hoped to take the heat off of him. 

fragments | roman & allegra

[agent1388-blog]

circle (2015) sentence meme vol ii.   contains 85 starters from the film circle. trigger warnings for death. a lot of it. but there’s some casual ones too. feel free to fit wording or pronouns to fit your muse!

‘ [name] is my boss, but we’re also… ’ ‘ all right, what the hell just happened? ’ ‘ all that… all that for nothing? ’ ‘ are they real? ’ ‘ are you an actress? you’re so familiar. ’ ‘ do you want to save her or not? ’ ‘ don’t fall for his bullshit. ’ ‘ don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to use you. ’ ‘ dumb fucking luck. ’ ‘ he knows we don’t have a choice. ’ ‘ he wants to protect her? let’s put him to the test. ’ ‘ hey, i don’t think anyone cares around here, you know? ’ ‘ how much did you make last year? ’ ‘ i am married, just not to him. ’ ‘ i did what i had to do. ’ ‘ i have a wife. ’ ‘ i promise i will keep you alive. ’ ‘ i say we get rid of them both now, starting with the kid! ’ ‘ i think she can spell. ’ ‘ i want to live, just like you. ’ ‘ i’ll go. ’ ‘ i’ll make you a deal. ’ ‘ i’m a huge fan. ’ ‘ i’m not asking to be saved. ’ ‘ i’m not the one you wanted. ’ ‘ if you choose their side, you’re sentencing your ____ to death. our way will give her a chance to live. ’ ‘ in here, everything gets you killed. ’ ‘ in here, truth gets you killed. ’ ‘ is [name] your stage name then? ’ ‘ it doesn’t make any difference. ’ ‘ it has to end this way. ’ ‘ it’s some sort of experiment, i guess. ’ ‘ kill him first, the rest will cave. ’ ‘ let’s hope it doesn’t come down to you then. ’ ‘ maybe it’s a good thing you’re here. ’ ‘ no one’s special. ’ ‘ nobody said this was going to be easy, but it has to be done. ’ ‘ nobody wants to make enemies here. ’ ‘ now, i know i’m not the only one here who wants to do that. ’ ‘ of course, it would be the guy in the vest sweater to start this class bullshit. ’ ‘ of course. true love conquers all. ’ ‘ people are starting to see things a little more clearly. ’ ‘ rip the band-aid off. ’ ‘ she’s gone. he should be next. ’ ‘ so, you’re a lesbian. ’ ‘ somebody would have to sacrifice themselves to save the other. ’ ‘ that means the tables have turned, bitch. ’ ‘ that’s too much responsibility for a child. ’ ‘ there’s no way you can protect them now. ’ ‘ there’s no winning here, man. ’ ‘ there’s nothing left to talk about. ’ ‘ there’s only one thing we can do, and that’s go out of here with some dignity. ’ ‘ they just killed her to get the majority back in their favour. ’ ‘ this is a woman who has sinned. doesn’t that mean something? ’ ‘ we all got families. ’ ‘ we all lose, okay? and that’s fine. we’ve had plenty of time to accept that. ’ ‘ we just chose the side that said everyone in here is equal. ’ ‘ we’ll go together, okay? ’ ‘ we’re voting for you. ’ ‘ we’ve all sinned. ’ ‘ well, i’m not on trial, so how about you tell us about your life? ’ ‘ well, there you go. we’re assholes. ’ ‘ what exactly are you asking us to do? ’ ‘ what is your [husband/girlfriend/partner/etc]’s name? ’ ‘ what’s the matter, huh? what, i’m not good enough for you? ’ ‘ what, are you gonna run off with him? ’ ‘ what, you think it’s okay to raise a baby girl in that environment? ’ ‘ what? i’m not a porn star. ’ ‘ why are you crying? ’ ‘ why don’t you ask your wife? ’ ‘ why drag it out? ’ ‘ why the sudden interest in me? ’ ‘ you collect your disability checks? ’ ‘ you decided to make it a game when you chose sides. ’ ‘ you don’t have much time. ’ ‘ you of all people should understand that. ’ ‘ you should have never married that asshole. ’ ‘ you want to live? ’ ‘ you’d kill a kid to save your own life. ’ ‘ you’re fucking pathetic, man. ’ ‘ you’re gonna give that girl a chance to have a normal life. ’ ‘ you’re gonna have a bunch of kids of your own? settle down by the beach? is that what you’re going to do, [name]? ’ ‘ you’re out of options, my friend. ’ ‘ you’re outnumbered, man. ’

[agent1388-blog]

tractatvs :

Luki wasn’t really one to talk about their… their feelings or whatever. They were raised with the kind of thinking that punished any show of weakness and branded overly dramatic shows of emotion as something to be deeply ashamed of, out of place in the elegant, high-class kind of environment they were raised up in. They coped with that kind of thinking for a long while and they even derived a sort-of twisted pride for having survived for so long without having to go to any sort of therapist or whatever.

Except, of course, that wasn’t actually true. Luki broke their self-imposed code of silence twice: once when they thought they were worthless for not making a break in their MA thesis for so long and once again in Oxford when everything was just… too much and they were nothing in the face of everything. They found themselves walking into a counsellor’s office both times, said too little about their condition and still found themselves ashamed for saying too much, and never came back despite the fact that, both times, the counsellors asked them if they wanted to schedule another meeting.

Now Luki found themselves trying for a third time. They didn’t even know what triggered it this time around: their work? Their dreams? Or maybe it was just the curse of the Mayer family? They knew their other brother was talking to someone and that two of their sisters were prescribed medication, so maybe it was just meant to be this way. Maybe the Mayers were the (un?)fortunate winners of some cosmic lottery that made them extremely rich and privileged but also genetically predisposed to depression and thoughts of suicide. (Or maybe, just maybe, it was just because of their  f a t h e r .)

They made it all the way to the elevator before they found themselves looking back at a man. Almost immediately, they lost whatever courage they had, and all they wanted was to turn back now. Panicked as they were, they tried not to show it, keeping still inside the elevator as they tried thinking up of something that would lead him out of this. 

❝ u h h h , ❞ they said (rather intelligently, their brain thought wryly). ❝ no, it’s okay—i mean, i’m not. getting out of the elevator, that is. i think i got the, uhhhhh, wrong floor ? ❞ They raised up their eyebrows, pretending to be genuinely confused. ❝ this isn’t the admin office, is it? ❞

During those firsts few months of therapy and group meetings, it felt as if his stories and trials in life were being ripped out of him. Roman had no desire to open up about his life to a single stranger, much less half a dozen or so. Despite his mother’s teachings, he use to be so ashamed of himself as if seeking help in this way made him less of a man. He remembers looking into his bathroom mirror after he started going to the meetings, trying to figure out who he was in between the scars that marked his body- who he was, who he use to be, and who he will be. 

At some point that shame turned into anger. This was who he was now, a broken solider still looking for something to fight for, and if the american government and their military gave as much of a damn about the men and women who fought for their country as they said then maybe Roman would be a little better off. Not much of that mattered now though. Working with Rouse meant he was able to pay for his therapy, meant he was able to buy his prescribed medication even if he rarely used it. And they gave him something to fight for, something to fight against, which helped him far more than he liked to admit. 

Roman didn’t really do great with awkward encounters. He tended to be a little too abrupt in trying to remedy the awkwardness, though he was able to smile a bit as they finally broke the silence. It helped that he recognized that look on their face almost immediately. They hid it well, but he once wore that same look. The least he can do is make them feel like it wasn’t such a big deal to do whatever it was they were planning and be embarrassed at the same time.

“Oh, alright,” he drawled, shrugging as he stepped in the elevator besides him. “Nah, this has Dr. Tyler’s office and some guy that does physical therapy.” Roman looked at them out of the corner of his eye as he pressed the button for the first floor. “Admin office is on the first floor. I can show you if you’d like?”

look ma, we made it | roman & luki

[agent1388-blog]

And where do you get off? Right here.

[agent1388-blog]

Bend, OR | A Local Art Gallery

Early Morning

@sagexdubois

When Roman first became a Rouse Agent he hated the idea of moving to Oregon. Oregon where it rained all the fucking time. Sure the mountains were gorgeous and snow was quickly finding a crack to sneak into his heart, but nothing could beat home. That was nearly two years ago. Roman hated to admit the city was wearing on him, but it was. It had to be the air. It was cooler than home, softer compared to the salt in the air from the ocean just a few miles away from his old house. Sometimes it even put a smile on his face, like when he stepped out onto his porch first thing in the morning, a cup of coffee in hand and his two dogs stretching their legs, wondering why they all weren’t in bed still.

This particular morning, Roman hopped onto his motorcycle and took the scenic route towards downtown. There was a small local gallery where he paid for a wall to display some of his art, along with a handful of other artists in the community. It was the only place you could buy his art besides his home where most people came by anyways. Roman didn’t advertise much. Not even at the gallery- just his name and a number to call was all that he left next to his paintings. As a Rouse Agent he needed to blend in which was surprisingly easy, but he sort of hated it. He wanted to be left alone, keep a low profile just like he does when he’s on a job. Rouse insisted though and Roman did have to listen; every time he sold a piece there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that told him if it wasn’t for Rouse he wouldn’t even be hanging his art in some gallery.

As he finally reached downtown, Roman swerved in between a few cars to get a prime parking spot in front of the gallery. A few cars honked at him; they received his middle finger in response as he got off, setting his helmet down on the seat as well. Just because he was starting to like it here didn’t mean he had to start playing nice with everyone. The backpack he had on held some of his smaller prints he was sick of looking at and hoped to sell over the weekend.

Inside there were a few people he recognized he gave a short nod to in greeting, breezing past them towards the wall he paid for every month. But as he got closer, someone was already standing there, looking at his artwork. They were by themselves and Roman was pretty sure he’s never seen them around here before. He suddenly got a wicked idea as he got closer and a smirk found its way onto his face.

“Damn, this guy kind of sucks, don’t ya think? I bet he didn’t even go to art school.”

[agent1388-blog]

now or never | cara & roman

Agostini Art - Art Gallery

Early Afternoon

@caraagostini​

It wasn’t often that Roman felt insecure about his art. He knew he wasn’t half-bad or people wouldn’t be buying his stuff, but when compared to other artists he felt like he was hardly good enough at all. He was self-taught for the most part, didn’t have a big following and to top it off he sold his paintings out of the makeshift studio he built in his backyard that was smaller than his garage. Roman didn’t need more or something bigger, but he did wonder what it would be like to own his own art gallery, like the one he stood in front of now- Agostini Art.

Roman stared through the windows a few minutes longer. The gallery looked mostly empty; part of him didn’t want his rejection to have an audience. Well, it’s now or never, he thought, as he reached through his truck window to pull out a canvas bag that held smaller prints of his paintings. He told himself he was doing this for the sake of appearance. Home was Bend now and he needed it to look like he was actually trying to live a life here, as if he wasn’t some undercover agent of some secret organization. It’s all he’s ever been, but at least he got to do something he enjoyed on the side a little. The Army never allowed him that- too many tours, too many sleepless nights.

As he walked in, Roman felt eyes shift towards him and then away. He knew it was just his mind playing tricks  on him, but he looked over his shoulder anyways. Trick or not, Roman didn’t see anyone who looked like the owner so he while he waited for her to appear he acted as if he was admiring all the different artwork when in reality he checked all the dark corners and remembered where each exit was. Just to be safe.

[agent1388-blog]

rosegloriana:

Growing up Rose had been taught that first impressions mattered more than anything, but in Bend she’d decided they were almost functionally useless. Most everyone here was hiding something, and it did little to put stock in a preformed opinion when the man serving your donuts turned out to be Kublai Khan. Or a leading researcher who wants to get a closer look at Dreamers. Or better yet, a spy for some foreign government. She liked to think she was above something as petty as snap judgements, but she realized that the man who opened the door was indeed not the Mr. Valentine she’d expected. Someone skinnier, to start with, with thick rimmed glasses. Maybe skinny jeans and socks with little marijuana leaves on them. 

Someone who didn’t look completely befuddled at her presence too, so Rose figured she better get talking. “Mr. Valentine?” she said. “Hi, I’m Rose. I was told this is where to go to buy your paintings? I mean, I was unable to find an address for a commercial property and this is where I ended up…Do you have your own shop? I’m really sorry to bother you at home. If you could just tell me where it is I’ll go during work hours…Mr. Valentine?” 

Maybe he was sick, or just tired. She got the feeling that the more she spoke the less he was hearing, so she repeated his name with the barest hint of sharpness, just for god measure. Rose met his eyes and gave him a bright smile before her own attention swayed to the two enormous dogs jumping around and barking. 

“Hi!” she said, and laughed when they barked even louder. 

Roman felt the smallest flicker of embarrassment when he realized this girl was here to buy some of his art and wasn’t the threat he originally saw her as. Most of his customers came on the weekend when the flea markets were open and tourists flooded the city. It was then when he’d pop open his gate leading to the backyard and hoped he looked like a nice enough fellow that some people will come and actually buy his art. He honestly hated it at first. Opening his home to strangers spiked his paranoia and there were multiple times where he almost kicked everyone out just so his space would remain untouched. At some point, he got use to it. Part of him even enjoyed seeing the looks on their faces when they found a piece they liked. In another life, maybe he could have done this and only this instead of being a solider for life.

At the sound of his name a second time, he snapped to as if she was his commanding officer. He cracked a smile that wasn’t forced at all for her and opened his door wider- something about this young woman made him want to pick up a paintbrush “Oh! Damn, I’m sorry. I usually only get customers on the weekend. I, uh, don’t advertise a whole lot. People just come and go and, well, word gets around I suppose.” He couldn’t help but laugh a little. Roman had no operating hours posted anywhere. He didn’t even own an OPEN/CLOSE sign.

Moose and Finn quit their barking the moment she paid them attention. They both sat, not still at all, and wagged their tales, hoping for more attention from the stranger. Well, if they seemed to like her Roman might as well invite her in to see his work.

“I don’t own a shop. I sell my stuff out of my studio in the backyard. I can show you, if you’d like? It’s right through the kitchen. The dogs don’t bite. They’ll just drool on you and if they jump on ya just shove them off.”

[agent1388-blog]

Art by Roman: A Concept

Because I can’t call Roman an artist and not give myself and anyone else who cares a visual of what his art looks like.

Roman’s most favored medium is acrylic paint. He loves the bright colors as well as creating his own, but above all else, Roman loves to experiment. While he absolutely has his own style which is what you’d see the most, there are always a few pieces in his collection that are completely different than the other pieces of artwork. It could be watercolor or drawn by only pen, or even spray paint. Roman loves to create, he is inspired by everything and will paint whatever he feels like.

No matter what the medium is one thing is consistent- Roman likes his art rough, unrefined with harsh lines yet with bright colors that pop. His art is always about one of these four topics or a mix of two or three: death, love, war, and spirituality.

He also takes commissions. Ya boy has rent to pay and dogs to feed.

Below the read more are a few links that represent what I think his art style would look like.

ART VISUAL #1

ART VISUAL #2

ART VISUAL #3

ART VISUAL #4

[agent1388-blog]

allegradeluca:

The overnight shift was a blessing and a curse. For a new dreamer and one who was rather anxious about the concept, it meant that she wouldn’t have to fall asleep. Instead, she could distract herself with the needs of her patients. It had become a common thing for her to channel her energy wholeheartedly to anyone that walked through the ER doors. The busier she was, the less she had to confront the strange new realities of her life. And of the past. Memories of Chicago swirled around in her brain when she was alone, but the moment her attention shifted to someone in pain, they’d disappear. Like stars behind storm clouds. On the other hand, sleep was an inevitable thing. The more she delayed it, the more graphic her dreams became. She could hear, see, even smell the past. Allegra was slowly coming to terms with that part of her life… but change was never easy. Especially one so violent.

Closing her eyes momentarily, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Hey there’s a patient refusing my care, he only wants to see a doctor?” That was strange, but it didn’t surprise her. Some people had an irrational fear of hospitals, and in a vulnerable state, it could be hard to trust anyone. Even RNs. She took the file into her hand and looked  it over. She recognized the name, Roman Valentine… he’d been to the emergency room recently. And, had been her patient. One of her firsts in Bend even. A reoccurring visit so soon caused her to bite down on her lip: maybe there was something going on, deeper than cuts and broken bones. “Okay, he’s in three?” The nurse responded with a nod and Allegra stood up.

When she pulled back the curtain, a familiar face sat on the hospital bed. Blood seeped through the fabric like ink on parchment. His file had mentioned a laceration on his shoulder, deep enough to need stitches… although the nurse had made note that he’d tried to do them himself. That was going to be painful to sort out. “Roman, Hi, I don’t know if you remember me- I’m Allegra, Dr. De Luca, I helped last time you were here?” She pulled the chair from the doctor’s desk over, taking a seat next to the man. “Your file says you hit your shoulder pretty badly, do you mind taking the towel away so I can get a better look?” Best thing was to sort out any bodily harm before figuring out the underlying cause of his visit. Allegra valued medicine with a heart- to her, it was so much more than just healing a physical wound.

The relief he felt when the nurse finally left allowed him to breathe like he needed to- in long, deep breaths as he tried to ease his still rapidly beating heat. It allowed him to slouch in his seat and hang his head, no longer needing to pretend like he was fine, like he didn’t just break down a door that he couldn’t remember in his own home. What was wrong with him? Why did it have to be fireworks of all things? Roman didn’t understand why it triggered his PTSD now when last year he was able to go back back home to watch the yearly firework show on the Fourth. They sounded nothing like the bombs he heard being dropped in Iraq. He hadn’t even flinched then and now he was sitting in the goddamn ER again, hoping his dogs were okay.

The first time he was here Roman was suffering from a concussion after passing out and hitting his head on the tile in his kitchen. He could hardly remember the excuse he used. Something about being drunk and slipping in his own vomit, even though he’d barely had one beer with dinner and couldn’t remember the last time he actually threw up from drinking. With luck maybe it would be a different doctor this time and he could just bullshit his way out of here. 

As soon as he heard footsteps getting closer, Roman sat up straight, putting on a face of easy strength. It was only a surface scratch compared to what was really inside of Roman’s mind and he needed to be able to convince the doctor that he was fine. “Right. I remember. It’s nice to see you again, Dr. De Luca,” he said, shifting on the hospital bed as as she sat near him. Pretending that nothing was wrong was harder than he thought; the moment she asked him to remove the towel he froze, tight-lipped as he met her eye.

Roman sighed and removed the towel from his left shoulder. The cut was deep with small abrasions lining it from splintered wood, a single piece of thread hanging from the tissue when he tried to do it himself. “It’s fine- not a big deal. I tried to do it myself, but I’m left handed and I couldn’t stop... I couldn’t stop shaking to do a good enough job.”

fragments | roman & allegra

[agent1388-blog]

Location: Vasquez Technologies

Early Morning

@vasquezlo

Roman inhaled deeply through his nose, a fist at his side as he listened to the receptionist tell him how Miss. Vasquez was in a meeting for the third time, as if he didn’t understand what they were saying. He simply didn’t care. It’s been like this for the past couple months, a back and forth game he absolutely despised  and had grown very tired of. When Lola installed those fancy hidden cameras he was skeptical at first, but was actually quite impressed at the range and capabilities of her company. That only lasted a week.

Now, he swore Lola was purposefully sabotaging his gear just to watch him swear at his phone and maybe throw it at the wall (like he already has, twice). He was able to hit a mark hundreds of yards away yet he somehow couldn’t work her tech on his smartphone. Things were so much simpler in the early 2000s.

Roman raised his hand to silence the incompetent idiot- yes, they were just doing their job, but Roman needed to see Lola now and he was most certainly the exception.

“Just- just get her out here. Now... please,” he said, adding a ‘please’ and forced a smile even though it pained him to do so.

[agent1388-blog]

                                            [ @agent1388, @vasquezlo, @montferrat ]

[agent1388-blog]

earth: where do you feel most at home?

earth: where do you feel most at home?

Roman loves the beach. Back home in California there is the most idyllic cove that most tourists don’t know about. It’s only a few miles from the house he grew up in and he’s spent many nights sleeping by a fire there. He misses it. There is nothing in Bend that can compare. Maybe one day he’ll go back, buy that house and surf there everyday.

[agent1388-blog]

sunset, sweet dreams

sunset: who is someone you thought would be in your life forever, but you no longer talk to?

Roman was just as much of a wild child through his teenager years as you’d expect. He was popular in the sense that he looked old enough to buy hard liquor without getting carded and that meant every night was a party for him and his friends. But for some of his friends a few bottles of cheap vodka and dry weed wasn’t enough. While Roman joined the Army after high school, his best friend Mikey struggled to find purpose and when he returned home on leave a year later, Mikey was sleeping on the streets in San Francisco, a shell of the kid he use to once break into people’s backyards with to swim in their pool. It was hard for Roman to turn his back on him, but his future was ahead of him and he refused to be dragged down.

sweet dreams: are you happy?

On most days, sure. Roman feels his best when he’s at home with his two dogs, the smell of fresh paint in the air and his favorite movie on the tv. Sometimes it feels like it’s not enough, but Roman ignores that and tries to go about his day the best he can.

[agent1388-blog]

look ma, we made it | roman & luki

Location: Bend, OR

Late Afternoon

@tractatvs

One hour never seemed so long. It wasn’t often Roman was making appointments with his therapist. The group meetings with other veterans were usually enough, but opening up was much harder when you had six pairs of eyes on you so every few weeks he’d give the doctor a call, sit in the overstuffed chair and vent until he couldn’t breathe. And damn did it feel good, especially after his last episode. It was only a week ago, if that, and he only felt like coming clean to one person.

Roman’s mother raised him in a way where he didn’t feel embarrassed to seek out help. That didn’t mean it was easy, but Roman liked to believe he knew himself well enough by now that he knew he would do more damage to himself by keeping it bottled up. Like most things in his life, Roman learned this the hard way. Not only did he experience it himself, but he watched men and women he fought next to for years refuse to get help and it never ended well. Even if he didn’t want therapy, he didn’t think he could do that to some of his best friends. They’ve all been to enough funerals for a lifetime.

The session ended; Roman paid in cash and shook the man’s hand in a silent thank you. The office was on the second floor of a building full of different medical practices and though Roman hardly ever took the elevator for some reason he did today.

With a ping, the elevator door opened, revealing the only person who occupied it. Roman, being the polite guy he was, stepped aside to let them exit, but after a few beats of awkward silence the elevator doors started to close and Roman stepped forward to stop them as he finally spoke up, “Hey, man, you, uhh, gettin’ out or what?”