mad-agent-phoenix

[mad-agent-phoenix]

Well, well.

A sickness, hm? Even a virus? My, how adorable. Everyone can write their melodramatic death speeches right before they die of a cough, I hope.

After all, Freelancers really do excel at keeling the fuck over.

[mad-agent-phoenix]

The Prestigious Fuck-Up Club // Cheyenne and Phoenix

 Phoenix grimaced as he unconsciously tugged at the restrictive collar of the plaid shirt he'd donned beneath his customary bedraggled sweatshirt. The confines of that damned shirt - the one article of clothing he'd kept from that ritzy shithole vacation planet - grated on his nerves like no other, and he really just longed to tear it off, because having a sweatshirt on over a nice piece of clothing just wasn't the same. But he couldn't take off the starchy, preppy-assed, tight-necked, button-cuffed piece of shit since he had to show in some way that he was still mentally on Meridian and that he still wasn't a soldier and no amount of shore leave could change that. It didn't make sense, even to him, but oh, well, what the fucking hell, at least it kind of got the point across that he wasn't a depressed mopy sad-sack bitchface.

 Despite what he was loathe to admit, Meridian had actually been a rather refreshing experience - no shoddy military-grade alcohol there, no fucking sir - in that he'd at long last gotten away from it all. He'd gotten off the Flying Hellhole of Abject Fucking Misery and remembered that life wasn't entirely killing, and then people dying, and for a nice pleasant interlude, oh goddamn joy, more people dying. And that wasn't even to mention that two miraculous things had occurred while on Solace: he'd firstly attended a Beta meeting without any physical or even verbal altercation, and, secondly, and much more amusingly, he'd also got it on with Providence.

 He had yet to see her after that night, actually. Strange.

 If it didn't sound like some slap-happy, dumbass thing to say, to be honest, he might even go so far as to venture that maybe things were looking up, or more accurately, not quite so fucking shitty all the time. Either way, of course, he'd found himself wandering through the echoing corridors of the Equinox with that self-contented smirk on his face that pissed people off so hilariously much, instead of his I'll-fucking-kill-you-and-your-family scowl he'd been using particularly much as of late. He supposed it was a nice change of pace to not be in a state a) constant irritation, and b) on the verge of killing everyone on the damn ship.

 God, he must've been such a pussy the last few months.

 Hands stuck deep in the pockets of his usual sweatpants, Phoenix made his deliberate way to the rec room, hoping slightly to find Asstin Fuckface there, because God only knows they had their fair share of shit to straighten out. The spacious, carpeted area, however, was empty, save a smallish figure near the couch that had to be one of the ladies. Crossing over to the pool table, his eyebrows quirked slightly as he realized just who it was. "Well, well," he said, violently snatching a cue from the rack, inspecting the tip with an irrepressible smirk, "hell if I'm not graced with the miraculous presence of Fellow Fuck-up Agent Cheyenne." The diminutive, stocky Freelancer leaned against the table edge in thought, still smiling smugly at the other soldier. He supposed he probably shouldn't act like such an ass to someone who just killed two AI, but, then again, she'd seemed to make a point in the past to be a goddamn dipshit as much as possible. "I hope you're really enjoying the top spot on the Equinox's Most Fucking Hated list. It's really a fantastic place to be."

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 When he pulled away, had he expected her to stay away? Well, of fucking course he had. This was Providence of all people - Providence the two-pound Freelancer who excelled in kicking alien ass and could easily double as an evil librarian with an icy glare - and God knew she was anything but easy. Hell, he expected to get the shit beat out of him more than anything else, though he couldn't exactly say it wouldn't have been worth it, because that would be a goddamn lie. Kissing Providence and not getting irrevocably mauled would be like getting in a two-by-four cage with an Elite and escaping with your life.

 Well, the Elite would have to be highly attractive and possessing of an exquisite figure, of course, but that was beside the point. Because he was here and this was now, and now happened to be when suddenly Providence's lips touched against his for the second time, but this was different. It wasn't a hesitant brush, like the first, but one that was intent and warm as they pushed the door open into the privacy of Providence's room. Fingers tangled in her mass of red hair, Phoenix nudged the door closed with his foot, wondering briefly if this was real. It wasn't as if it hadn't happened in dreams before, after all. 

 It was certainly a surprise; it wasn't as if he'd not always found the other Freelancer attractive, because that sure as hell wasn't true, but rather they'd always hated each other. No, hate wasn't the right way to describe it. That made it sound like they had some hot, hate-filled sexy relationship, and God knew that wasn't right either, despite what amount of entertainment it might bring to consider that. Yet it was undeniable that there had always been a sort of inexplicable tension between them, most likely from the constant and mutual loathing. Such as when he'd put her in that lock while she was training, just go get a reaction - and then a few seconds later he'd ended up with arms twisted high behind him and her bent over him, knee planted firmly in the center of his back.

 That had been a shitty lock, and - to himself, he'd admit it, he supposed - he'd wanted to see what would happen. He'd wanted to be close to someone, and at that point was on friendly speaking terms with no one on the ship. He'd still been on Gamma for kicking Austin's ass, and he and Juneau were having their usual... disagreements. Pissing fights. Frustrated shouting matches. With both of his friends gone, he and Prov had still been on that same level. They were still enemies. He could always count on her for that.

 Wincing at the thought of June, he quickly drove himself back into his half-drunken, foggy haze, pulling away from Providence slightly to smirk and mumble, "Well, dear, it seems like hell is finally freezing over." His hands slid under her shirt, slipping along her hips and trailing upwards. Actually, he wasn't sure what exactly was even fucking happening, which was unusual, seeing as he usually put himself in positions with people where he made them look like idiots. This, of course, was a bit more than a little different.

 Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Are You A Brutal Heart? || Phoenix and Providence

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Phoenix tilted his head slightly to allow himself a better view of Juneau's broad grin. If it were anyone else, the utter naivety and sweetness which was laid on so thick would repel him - and with bloody good reason - but this was June. The naivety and the sweetness and the innocence was genuine, just like everything else about her was. Goddammit, he couldn't be repelled by her no matter how hard he tried. She was, after all, the one person he knew who had the strange ability to bypass all of his assholery and have the willpower to drag him out of a bar and take him... wherever she was taking him now. While holding his hand. 

 He glanced down at their entwined fingers, still in a sort of surprised disbelief that they were holding hands. Couples held hands. Normal people who were dating held hands. They weren't normal, and they certainly weren't dating. Freelancers didn't date. 

 Yet then why were they doing this?

 A very fucking valid question.

 "Imagine that we’re not here on vacation, we live here and work too. Just normal civvies with a dog perhaps and a large house that overlooks the ocean. The only war we ever hear of is on the telly and right now we’re going on a long walk and discussing mundane things but it’s okay because I like hearing the sound of your voice."

 The petite, dark-haired Freelancer's voice was crystalline as she said this, and matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing some legitimate reality. Even odder was that when she spoke of the civilian lifestyle, of just settling down, with little action and even lesser danger to ever excite them, it appealed to him for the first time. He unconsciously found himself imagining their spacious home, furnished richly with Juneau's fine taste and a nice large television and an even more pleasant sunroom, where they could lounge in each others' embrace and talk about life and little things that didn't matter -

 Goddammit, Phoenix. Shut the fuck up and stop being such a pussy, for God's sake.

 Unable to resist a smile as June swung their hands, Phoenix raised his brows dubiously despite his wide grin. "My, my, we've put some thought into it, have we?" After a moment's consideration he opened his mouth to let her pop the pineapple into it, savoring the exotic flavor. Was this actual fun? Just walking around, not really doing anything in particular? He didn't know and wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

 But he was still thinking of that idyllic picture she'd painted, and after a few more seconds of silence finally responded. "No, we wouldn't hear about the war at all. I'd make damn sure of that. If we were going to live here, it would just be us and no one else and their stupid fucking war to ruin it." Extricating is grasp from hers, he settled a brawny arm about her shoulders, pulling her close into him without a thought. "The dog would be named Mo," he added. "We'd adopt it from somewhere and he'd be an ugly-ass mutt, but a good one."

 They stopped at the edge of a sprawling field, the beach laid out to the sides. The wind tore past them, tugging at their clothes and blowing Juneau's long silky hair across her face in a way that made him wanted to reach out and brush it out of her brilliant blue eyes. Despite himself, he laughed as she twirled. "Come on." He rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her waist and spinning her around once more with dizzying swiftness. "You didn't import any kangaroos then, hm? Well, I'm disappointed, dear."

 Setting her down, he backed away, grinning. "I expected more."

Before It Breaks // Juneau and Phoenix

[mad-agent-phoenix]

[Left outside of his hotel room was a box, evidently recycled, with a strip of tape ran across the top. Within are two large boxes of cigarettes--better quality than the rations, totaling a count of fifty cartons. Attached is the following handwritten note, scribbled on Prima Astra stationary, folded in half and labeled 'Phoenix' on top, it contents reading:]

While I expect you still hate me, I think you'd appreciate these more than I would.

Hope Solace has been treating you well, Agent.

- H

 Phoenix stared down at the plethora of expensive cigarettes in his hands, stowed away in natty little packages - pretty fucking ritzy when compared to their usual Freelancer loser-ass measly rations, really - and topped with Helena's elegant scrawl. The medic was really trying her best to cram some lung cancer down his throat, apparently, which he actually didn't mind in the least. He'd take most any free smokes he was given.

 After a few more moments spent shrewdly considering the sparse note, the diminutive man shouldered open his door, tossing the scrap paper into the pile of rubbish which had been accumulating in the corner of his room. If he was on vacation, why would he waste time trying to make other peoples' jobs easier? Hell if he was ever in a mood to be selfless. 

 He chucked the cigarette packages onto his desktop, crossing the room to draw aside the curtain and blink out at the sprawling array of Meridian's skyline. Why did Helena insist on being so goddamn nice to him? Sure, the psychotic little bitch had tried to kill him after a slew of insults, but that really didn't mean anything. They were all fucking nuts anyway, so having another person calling him self-pitying and all that shit really didn't make much of a difference. But the medic seemed to feel almost sorry for what she did. Was that why she kept on sending him all the cigs with the pleasant little notes attached?

 Either that or, like he'd speculated before, she was just trying to hurry his death. Which he really wouldn't put past anyone, even someone as apparently angelic and nauseatingly good-willed like Helena.

 Shaking his head slightly, he retrieved a lighter and one of the cigarettes, lighting up while studying the Meridian buildings stretching out before him. Bloody hell if he was going to let himself be in debt to someone kept sending him gifts, because that was bullshit. He'd have to do something.

 Goddammit. He hated doing things.

[mad-agent-phoenix]

What's the UNSC motto?

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Well, well. At long last, he'd finally been returned to Beta, it seemed.

 Shit.

 Fucking Beta and their fucking incessant urge to have team counselling sessions every other day or so. Not that they didn't need counselling, of course, because they sure as hell did, but they were without a doubt the most generally dysfunctional and downright weird out of all the Freelancer teams. More forced interactions wouldn't fucking help, but would anyone listen to Phoenix? No, because just since he'd killed a handful of people and happened to be an asshole meant that his opinion was completely void. Well, it made sense, but that didn't mean it didn't fucking piss him off nonetheless.

 As was the case with most things he dealt with.

 At least when he was leader, he'd gotten to act like a dipshit without anyone chewing him out too harshly - now Asstin Fuckface had replaced him, and he himself was once again just another lowly cog in the idiot machine. The upside, though, was that now he didn't even need to try to pretend that he gave a damn about the others and their welfare. It was really quite a relief. Pretending had been a difficult feat, albeit one he was bloody terrible at anyway.

 Phoenix left his bar of choice ten minutes or so after the set meeting time had came and gone; he didn't want it to look like he actually cared, of course, and he was only a minuscule walk away from the hotel anyway. The hotel with that fancy-ass name - what was it even fucking called, anyway? Ad Space? Aspirin? It started with an a, he knew that.

 Coincidentally, he'd also happened to retain his grasp on his whiskey-filled glass when he left the establishment. Nobody on this dumbass planet enforced anything anyway, and if this meeting went as fantastically as the Beta debriefs usually did, then he would sure need the alcohol soon enough. Perhaps he'd even share some with Tara. Or Austin. Or June.

 His step faltered slightly as he came to that realization. Juneau would be there, wouldn't she? They'd gone down to the beach the day previous, and he couldn't help but allow the small, pleased smile onto his face as he swaggered into the designated area. Austin's array of dark curls was already within view, and Phoenix subconsciously straightened his long-sleeved plaid shirt as he came within most of Beta's sight; it was admittedly strange to see them all in civilian's clothes, and he had no doubt they would feel the same about him. June had handpicked this shirt for him, after all, and he supposed he hadn't actually realized he'd be wearing it to the meeting. Damn, he didn't want to look so neat. Maybe he should go back and change into a hoodie or something.

 Glass still in hand, Phoenix slid into the booth beside Juneau, smiling slightly. "You better be happy, darling. I'm wearing the shirt." Taking a deep sip of his whiskey, he then nodded at the rest of Beta, offering them a wide grin. "My, my, don't you all look lovely. As shit, that is. I'd hate to give you any compliments, hm?" Winking at Tara, he then shifted his gaze to the German Beta. "Denver love, it appears that your AI is miss-"

 Acadia.

 He'd just fucked up, hadn't he? Because, right, she was dead. Along with Gem. Goddammit.

 After a brief moment of silence - which he used to take another swallow of his drink - he started again, placing his thick arm about June's shoulders. "So, another Beta meeting. What're we going to argue about today, Austin sir?"

3 Rounds and a Sound || Beta

There was a certain exhilaration that came from running from the law, and a little irony, seeing as she was a government official herself. But then again, there was no facet in Madison’s personality that said she was the type to follow society’s norms. Or - in fact - be normal at all. Always the type to surprise, to defy odds. She supposed it was a good thing, never leaving people disappointed. But it was by no means easy, being seen as average and then having to push that image away. 

However, in this particular instance, Madison was quite literally running from the law - precious cargo in the backpack bouncing and bobbing on her back as she skirted around the back alleys and rooftops of the rather more distasteful side of Meridian. 

With a pained exhale she landed awkwardly on her stomach on the building edge and scrambled ungainly to push herself up from her current hanging position to standing on the roof. She’d lost her pursuers a few streets back and was a little worse for wear - covered in dust and gunk, and sweating like a junkie going through withdrawals. She reminded herself inwardly to work on her endurance. 

“Alright, I’ve got a good haul here. Don’t eat it all at once.” At her words a motley crew of street urchins and orphans alike bounced out of the shadows. Somehow they persuaded her to share an apple and a fruitcake with them as they told her the few and far between happy stories of their times together. They called themselves the Lost Boys (she bit her tongue on the fact there was a 2:1 girl:boy ratio going on). 

It took Madison the journey back to the hotel, the quick shower and the mosey over to the Beta meeting to figure out that Lost Boys was not a reference to Peter Pan - Madison was willing to bet none of them could read, let alone obtain the novel - but a literal reference to their shared tragedies. And though they weren’t on the streets or in Neverland, Madison couldn’t help but see Beta as their own special version of the Lost Boys.

A good load of them had experienced loss, and the rest had just straight up lost their minds. They were a bunch of fucking losers and they had to finally accept that they were in this together. Oh jeez, she sounded like a cheerleader. In few minutes she was going to do a round off into the splits, shaking her pom-poms. 

“We’re finally going to sort our shit out, fantastic, good.” Her voice was brash and loud in the quiet room as she pulls out the chair next to her A.I and puts her feet up on Serpens knee. “Fuck if this isn’t long overdue. Props tall, dark and brooding. You’ve finally stepped up to the mark.”

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Phoenix was slightly surprised when the petite-figured Freelancer followed him out the door of the dingy, cacophonous establishment. He hadn't completely disregarded the possibility of escorting her back to the hotel, he supposed, yet it seemed as though such a strangely harmonious conversation - without too much yelling or or very many exclamations of sheer hate, as was their joyous custom - had to be followed by reverting back to their usual behavior. It only seemed right. After all, it was a twisted miracle they'd been mutually civil for even this long.

 No, civil wasn't the word. What they had just done was beyond merely civil; to have been civil would have been to slide into a seat a few away from hers, to nod in acknowledgement and exchange a few false pleasantries then retreat into their separate spheres of thought. Yet that was hardly an accurate summary of their interaction, seeing as at one point he'd even been so fucking stupid as to give away his goddamn surname. Secrecy didn't appeal to him, of course, but to tell Providence? Providence, his eternal enemy until one of them got shot to hell. He'd just delegate the blame to the whiskey.

“Do you know how it feels to be liked? It’s pretty fucking nice, isn’t it?”

 Her expression had been blank and accepting, paired with a simple shrug that conveyed more than any words might. “I wouldn’t know.”

 For God's sakes, he didn't want to sympathize, or understand, or feel any sort of connection to anyone, because that shit was complicated and he usually just fucked it all up anyway. Yet, hell, he could nearly feel some sort of grisly tether that linked himself to the woman beside him; one that was made of deep hatred and a kind of loneliness and a whole bunch of depressing bullshit that was pretty damn mundane to consider.

 The silence between them was palpable as they made their muted way down the sidewalk, barely any words exchanged. He wondered vaguely what this reflected; would she choose to ignore the strangely deep conversation and they could slide smoothly back to their wonderful relationship of hate and sarcasm, or was she - just as he was - considering what had just been said? This shit had always been to complicated - that's why he preferred to be a self-centered, egotistical bastard. You didn't waste time trying to map out what everyone else was thinking and feeling and what they might be trying to say but not really, or what was said inadvertently and wasn't really meant. Hell, now he couldn't even determine whether the silence was comfortable or not. Damn Providence and her thought-provoking ways. He'd done just fine being a thoughtless asshole.

 As a matter of fact, their conversation had been so somber, Phoenix really didn't feel that drunk. He'd had plenty of drinks, and, sure, felt that familiar buzz, but for some fucking reason, the Curse of Gamma apparently kept him from even getting plastered. It didn't seem possible, yet here he was, able to walk within the confines of a - debatably - narrow margin. If he hadn't cared, he would have been pretty damn pissed.

 The ebullient neon cast onto the sidewalk from the buildings towering above them gave to the air a sort of electricity, a current that made him feel strangely alive - but not the kind of alive that he felt whenever he blew the shit out of a large structure. This was something different, and he wasn't entirely sure what he thought of it.

 His eyes wandered up the impossibly tall structure that they were approaching. What was the thing even called? Some weird name that just made it sound all the more fucking ritzy and high-class and all that dumbass idiot stuff that he detested. But now his hate for the world was slightly dulled, most likely by the alcohol, or perhaps by something else, but, really, who the fuck even knew? He felt slightly dazed as they walked into the astonishing lobby, remaining wordless as they swiftly crossed it, even going so far as to board the elevator together. Goddamn, how could an elevator be elegant? Elevators weren't supposed to be elegant. Elevators were elevators were elevators, for the love of God, not some piece of priceless artwork.

 Phoenix crossed his arms and leaned against the cool glass as Providence punched the button of what apparently was her floor. One below his, hm?

 Interesting.

 His eyes flicked deftly to her fine-featured face as she stepped back, also folding her arms against her chest; he was slightly surprised as she stepped a bit closer to his person than need be. So she hadn't gone back to hating him already. That shouldn't make me happy. Why the hell does that make me happy? Go back to being a hateful prick already.

 Was her hair always that shockingly bright? Her skin seemed to be lit with some sort of pale glow, almost sheet-white under the stark cast of the fluorescent light above. But her hair was rough and half-curly and inexplicably silky and why the fuck was he even thinking about her goddamn hair - 

 Ding.

 Providence was out of the small space within what seemed to be a half-second, with the doors whooshing shut behind her with even further rapidity. She was almost completely gone from view when suddenly her shoe appeared between the two doors - Phoenix almost expected to see a spurt of blood paint the corridor as the foot got chopped in half - and they retracted, allowing the redheaded Freelancer to step back into the elevator, once again settling close to him. He frowned slightly, wondering just what she might have to say at this point. They'd already gone completely silent, the thread of their conversation dissipating into the windy atmosphere of Meridian.

 "You sell yourself too short. You’re so sure that I’m a good person, but I’m not convinced that you’re a bad one."

Phoenix blinked for a moment, for the first time in recent memory being rendered entirely speechless. Providence, his nemesis and biggest antagonist - though, to be fair, he was undoubtedly her biggest antagonist, as well - was telling him he wasn't a bad person. Was she implying that he was a good one? He thought back to Helena's apologetic note.

 Both Helena and Providence were mistaken. He wasn't a good person. He'd tried to kill himself and countless other people before, and just one quasi-drunken heart-to-heart couldn't change that. But she sounded convicted, and genuine. A person who saw any good in him was rare. A person who didn't just see him as some bombastic, destructive moron who senselessly exploded stuff meant something to him, no matter what he may consciously deny.

 Especially when it was Agent Providence.

 He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge that statement. Phoenix didn't want to take the time to explain that her statement was wrong and while yes, she was a good person, she might have to rethink her opinion of certain people's character. "You have too much faith, dear," he responded finally, exiting the lift with her. After all, she at least deserved getting walked back to her room, after being forced to listen to all of his boring, depressing personal shit in some dingy bar. It wasn't usually how his conversations with girls went at places like that. Of course, she wasn't just any girl - she was a tightass bad motherfucker who could probably beat the shit out of him - but that was beside the point.

 He watched as she started to slow down near her doorway, and they eventually came to a stop outside of it. Sticking his hands into the depths of his pockets, he wondered vaguely what he should say. Perhaps he would just nod then walk off down the hall. That would certainly be the easiest method, after all. He didn't want to be too friendly, or, God forbid, friends with her, since that would just be... unnatural. He didn't have friends, or anything beyond than that.

 But, oh, God, what he'd said to her, and told her about his dad and his brothers and his fucking name and she had her own pair of dipshit brothers and she punished herself for mistakes just like him and dear Jesus they were so similar yet entire worlds apart and the way her green eyes glinted with something that wasn't hate, and how they'd just sat and confided like he hadn't in years, and how his head was spinning because that goddamn alcohol was apparently starting to kick in and was it because she was leaving him, because he didn't want her to leave him but what could he say, they weren't friends, they were just two lonely people but shit couldn't he use a friend, didn't he want one, and fuck it what the hell am I doing-

 Phoenix seized her shoulders suddenly, stepping close to her warm figure and pulling her close to him. His his lips ardently met hers with the intensity of something a long, long time in the making.

Are You A Brutal Heart? || Phoenix and Providence

[mad-agent-phoenix]

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Phoenix landed his chin heavily on the palm of his hand, brows raised in an expression mirroring the redheaded Freelancer's wry, slightly surprised countenance; apparently she'd thought it unlikely that he'd been the one getting the shit beat out of him. . But, really, was it all that shocking? He had been comparatively small, and wiry - the ability to actually build bulky muscle mass had taken God knows how long - and, of course, a jackass. Altogether not the most wholly flattering of combination.

 But suddenly her face seemed to be given some sort of unnatural pause, contracted into a visage of deep concentration. Drink somewhat having gone forgotten in his grasp, he wondered absently just what it was that was the source of such hurt and contemplation behind those solemn green eyes. She'd gone quiet when he made some idle threat concerning her brothers, but he wasn't entirely sure. He'd said a great deal of things, and was at that point not entirely concerned as to what they might be. This was strange enough; he and Providence were getting on well, exceedingly so, and speaking as if they'd been close for years. Which resulted in his doubts, of course, that this was a real and lucid experience, which was really a reasonable concern.

 “Of course, Phoenix, just as you know what a tightass control freak I am by now. We know all there is to know.”

 Holy hell - she was smiling. Fucking smiling, of all the most impossible things. How could her face even bend that way after apparent years of disuse? And look so appealing while doing it, yet that was a snippet of a thought which he preferred to keep vague and unrealized. Some goals were unattainable and might as well not be sought after, with redemption and Providence being two of the more prominent ones. But who gave a shit? It was a strange occurrence, and, despite himself, a small, genuine smile of his own escaped onto Phoenix's features. "Well, naturally. It's already been established that we're the two geniuses of the Equinox, hasn't it?" His eyes were riveted to hers as he raised his glass, taking a deep sip. "Maybe a bit too generous on your part, but oh, well. I suppose I'm just a generous person." The Freelancer shrugged, unable to restrain a slight laugh. 

 Goddammit. Why was he laughing? He shouldn't be laughing. This was Providence, for the love of God. Providence, who'd told him to die and harped on him endlessly, a person whom his hatred for was unfathomable. Yet this conversation - this strange, quasi-drunken conversation - made her seem, oddly enough, human. She'd been hated by her squad, just like him, and spent her life trying to prove the world wrong. It was weird.

 “Truth be told, I don’t think I want to see them again- my family. I mean, they already think I’m dead by now. No communication for years kind of implies that. So they’ve had plenty of time to cope, and showing up on their doorstep or calling them up, and giving them any hope like that before I- well, before whatever happens, inevitably, it’d just be cruel. Making them go through the whole process again.”

 The honest amusement died on his lips, and he glanced with a decided frown down into the depths of his drink. She seemed to be slightly embittered towards her brothers, perhaps, but she still cared for her family. Loved them, it seemed like. Providence wanted the best for them and thought of their happiness before her own and avoided being cruel. She was a good person, damn it to hell - a bloody good person, and he couldn't deny it, no matter what lengths he could go to. She might be a bossy dickhead, or an obsessive bitch, but she was good.

 Which was rather upsetting.

 Phoenix pursed his lips tightly, raising his eyebrows sardonically and allowing a mockingly wry smirk to come to his mouth. "I didn't used to be a selfish son of a bitch, though. Hell, I was a good person like you. One of those funny dipshits that the other recruits liked, right? I was one of those for the first half-year as a cadet.. Then this jackass who took point during a sim gave me an absolute bullshit order - but I followed it. Because that's what I was taught." He shook his head. "It got my entire squad shot down in thirty seconds. Everyone was pissed, you know, I was pissed, then next time I disregarded orders and everyone just got more pissed, and I wanted to prove that I could fucking do it. But I couldn't." Still with a nonchalant, bitter smile, he shrugged and took another drink. "Do you know how it feels to be liked? It's pretty fucking nice, isn't it?"

 There was so much more to it than just that; the life spent following orders from his father, and his brothers, and all that shit with getting beat up, but he didn't want to go into that. This was enough. She'd shared her depressing cadet tale, and so had he. Yet he had to admit that it was nice to at long last get it off his chest, to let someone understand why he was such a bad person.

 "Yeah. And from the perspective of the person on the other side of the bullet, let me just tell you: it sucks. Nothing’s worse. Nothing’s more shitty than getting hurt by someone you’re supposed to trust with your life."

 Maybe he shouldn't have asked, after all. Maybe he didn't want to have some drunken heart-to-heart with Providence, because a lot of her personal shit was either depressingly similar to his, or just set a pleasant backdrop against what an ass he was. For instance: in this case, he would be the one who betrayed that trust and forever broke the redheaded Freelancer's sense of faith in teammates. Oh, he wasn't the one that shot her in the back, but he was the one who blew up her mission and Topeka to boot. "Yeah, well," he said, "it can be pretty shitty to be the person doing the hurting, too." Because you have to know that you just caused the shittiest event to ever happen in the other person's life. "But getting shot in the back?" But almost killing your team members and blowing up civilians? "That's pretty fucking low." I'm sorry.

 But he couldn't apologize out loud to her. He just - he hadn't had that many drinks.

 “I probably could’ve. I mean- I was going to go to school, and then maybe join one of UNSC’s research divisions. That was the plan but- I was tired of the backseat. I was sick of not being involved, and I just wanted to do something actually worthwhile. And fighting off aliens seemed to be that route. It was exciting, and my brothers were doing it, so I saw no reason why I shouldn’t be able to as well. I’m sure you know what I mean. I mean - if you had those ‘shitty’ brothers to live up to, and that tactician father, I’m sure you know what it’s like to just want to get out of that shadow.”

 Phoenix rubbed his forehead amusedly, scraping his stool across the floor through his haze and standing to his feet, leaning against the counter slightly. "Exciting," he repeated with a vague smile. "A bit of a huge fucking understatement, but oh, well, what the hell. We're here. And who gives a shit about fighting off aliens here? After all, we're all dead in the end. Even you, pretty little Providence, the hero. The good person." He slid his wallet from his back pocket, squinting down at it; there were several rolls of very hefty-priced bills, due to the fact that he really hadn't done much besides drink at this point. Quickly he snatched a handful of the larger bills and set them heavily on the counter, sliding them towards the bar tender. He didn't bother to count - what else would he spent money on? "I've got yours, dear. But just because I don't feel like counting, not like this is a..." he searched for the right word, "... a date or anything. God no."

 He tried to imagine an actual date with her and shivered.

 "I'm going," he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder, "feel free to drink yourself into a fucking coma or come with me. Just don't die either way." And with that he started towards the exit, slightly off-kilter.

Are You A Brutal Heart? || Phoenix and Providence

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Phoenix merely looked on in vague amusement as the delicate, dark-haired Freelancer snatched away his drink. not giving the amber liquid so much as a glance before tipping it back. He couldn't resist a smile as she responded instantaneously with a spluttering cough, It was something some showy child would do, which only served to make it all the more entertaining, seeing as anyone in their occupation was the farthest thing from a child. Yet she had so many tendencies of one, which wasn't really a negative trait. Innocence, he ruminated grudgingly, was necessary in lives like theirs.

 "No more. Come on, we’re leaving."

 His eyebrows rose as abruptly his hand was seized in a soft, firm grasp, Juneau's hand clasped about his with determined intent. Caught slightly off-guard, he allowed himself to be pulled from his stool and dragged  across the floor of the smoky establishment and out the door, squinting slightly at the sunlight. Why did she even give a shit about him? They hadn't exactly been on friendly terms following their few past encounters, which was hellish enough - one of the two people who could stand his presence, who got him, he'd single-handedly driven away in an amazing feat - but was this another of her tricks? A kiss and rebuke?

 On the sidewalk, her grip on his hand loosened slightly; his gaze lingered on the contact with a sense of consternation. Phoenix's eyes trailed up her face to the gentle, genuine smile creasing her fair face. Her eyes were so crystalline, so honest, he'd never - goddammit. Shut the fuck up, Phoenix. Since when had become such an enamored pussy?

 “Let’s do something fun. We are on vacation after all who knows the next time we’ll be in a place like this. We can be normal, at least for a few hours."

 For the first time since Juneau had serenely reached her hand out to clasp Phoenix's, the explosives expert spoke, darting gaze flickering across her face studiously. "Normal," he repeated mirthfully, raising his eyebrows. "You and I, normal? Just if we're on some fancy-ass vacation planet, dear, we're still Freelancers. We're still soldiers. We're still going to die." He paused there, considering with a long stop the statement, only realizing its legitimacy until after it'd left his mouth.

 It made sense, he supposed, treating this as their time to lead average lives as average people on an average vacation. Giving her warm, small hand a swift squeeze in return, he smirked. "Actually, I do believe I see your point, darling. Lead on."

Before It Breaks // Juneau and Phoenix

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 She'd seemed to be surprised that he'd actually gone and shared actual personal information, the kind of personal information that everyone in the Project kept under lock and key as some sort of unspoken agreement. Breaking it was some kind of awkwardly intimate taboo, he supposed, but then he'd always had a certain kind of fetish for breaking any taboo he knew of. And it wasn't as if he gave a shit at this point; he hated her and she hated him, so it didn't matter anyway. They weren't in each other's personal lives, or even anywhere near the vague realm of friends, acquaintances, or anything that didn't involve loathing.

 Yet here he was, sitting side-by-side with Agent Tightass Bitchface Providence, drinking large amounts of whiskey in a very small amount of time. Not that the latter was anything different than what he'd spent most of his time in Meridian doing - it wasn't the what, or the where, but the who. Phoenix wondered briefly if this was rock-bottom, then smiled elusively at the thought. He'd either already hit rock bottom, he supposed, or it lay somewhere within the near future. As if the current situation wasn't an accurate enough sketch of the idea, his life was pretty goddamn fucked-up. And that was putting it lightly.

 In the ensuing silence, he stared at Providence's wavering expression for a moment before glancing down to the perspiring glass in his hand. He brought it to his mouth and took a deep sip after a minute moment of consideration - he was well on his way to being plastered pretty bloody good, and there was no reason for him to have any qualms concerning it now. 

 "How amazingly perceptive of you, Phoenix, you’re spot on. Except there’s also the part that you left out, where the little perfectionist bitch got shot with live rounds on the training floor, becuase how funny is that? You say I know nothing about you? You know shit-all about me, too.”

 Phoenix's intent gaze froze for a lagging second, unsure of how to react to this development; then his eyes narrowed, flicking up to find Providence's green ones as he deliberately moved his head towards her. Disregarding the tone of total disgust and visage of sheer abhorrence - two mutual attributes which had become twin staples of their customary interactions - as she spoke, the burly Freelancer couldn't help but feel mildly impressed. Her voice had been filled with her dislike of him, yes, but there was also something there out of the ordinary, something that took him a moment to pinpoint. Providence was revealing a part of herself, one that meant something. One that was genuine.

 How strange.

 Shot with live rounds. That was low, even for his own despondently low morals, especially on the training floor. Yet he could see the sense, in some twisted way - the chance to take out the kissass kickass know-it-all-bitch with the highest scores in the entire facility? Why wouldn't you take a shot? Hell, he was lucky that hadn't happened to him, though it wouldn't have necessarily been for performing above average.

 He knew she hadn't been well liked, he supposed... it was just odd to think of her as anything even vaguely subhuman. That was his natural view of people, since then it was just too easy to single them out for incessant torture. Yet this showed that she was real, that she was a person. Being disliked by team members was a feeling he knew. He wasn't sure how he felt about the sudden ability to sympathize.

 He mulled over this momentarily, then raised and dropped his shoulders in a noncommital shrug, the movement tainted with fine strains of apology. Apology. Goddamn, the alcohol was really starting to set in, wasn't it? Assholes are assholes are assholes, and they act like assholes, and if they feel bad about being an asshole, then they just go and be more of an asshole to make themselves feel better. That was how it was supposed to work. "You're right. You're just Providence and you hate fuck-ups with a burning, murderous passion. That's all I know about you, really. But -" he raised his drink to jab an index finger at her, "- there's one more thing that I know, and that's that your squad fucking hated you. And I don't want to make you feel better, since you probably deserved it, but everyone on my squad fucking hated me too. Got the shit kicked out of me weekly." The older cadets had taken a particular abhorrence to him, since they were the best ones to mouth off to. Ah, the good old days, full of pissing off peers and actually respecting commanding superiors.

  “A tactician for a father. I guess that goes a long way to explain why you have such a particular distaste for them. My parents weren’t military. My brothers were though. I was… I was never really soldier material, in their opinion. So I had to make sure I could rub it in their faces later on.”

 Phoenix begrudged the smirk which came to his face at this. What the hell would Providence be other than a soldier? Some type of homicidal librarian who broke kids' spines when they came in to pay late fees? Imagining the redhead as anything other than military was ludicrous. "Not soldier material?" He scoffed. "Your brothers sound like dipshits. Kick their asses for me next time you see them." He paused slightly then, picking up his drink once again and swirling the amber liquid around in contemplation. "If you see them again. If we'll be allowed to see our -" he lifted his hands to form sardonic airquotes, "loved ones sometime before we die. God, I hope not. For my sake, not yours, I mean. Because I'm a selfish son of a bitch. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

 Suddenly his lips pursed, and he rubbed his chin. Something finally made sense, and his whiskey-addled brain was finally piecing it together. "You were shot in training. An equivalent of death in the field, so basically would've been killed by someone on your own side. That's why you were such a fucking jackass when I shot the Tevenaum mission to hell, or when I killed Topeka. It's happened to you." Phoenix looked away briefly, shaking his head, before looking back. "Why be in the field? You're smart. You could've designed weapons, or been hired for tactical advice, or do planetary research and do shit like that. Shit like my shitty brothers do. Why not do that to prove yourself? And don't say I wouldn't understand, because I know all about proving myself, believe it or not."

Are You A Brutal Heart? || Phoenix and Providence

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Well. That had gone to shit a little quicker than expected, even by his own incredibly-low standards. Which really was saying a lot, seeing as his standards for mostly everything were exactly zero percent existent. Providence was pissy enough on the Equinox, in real life. But pissy while drinking? That was just sick. 

 Phoenix watched her closely, eyes locked onto her fine features with a sort of absent intensity as he tilted his head back to finish off his own drink. The redhead was going through hers with surprising rapidity, and hell if he were going to be showed up by some Gamma dipshit who could identify more with a piece of fucking paper than a human being. Yet, then again, he wasn't exactly one for humans either. Or anything in general. 

 Such a charmed life he lead.

 Signaling the bartender swiftly for another, he flicked his gaze back to Providence, fingers tapping against the counter in an erratic beat. She really was thinking hard about something, wasn't she? Little goddamn freak. You don't think about things in bars, you don't ponder  or consider or remember, because isn't that the whole point you're there? To do the exact opposite of all those things? No, because she had to be the incessantly solemn, unhappy killjoy who was just too fucking smart to do anything different. He snapped back to the dusky, pulsing atmosphere of reality as she finally turned to look at him, eyes narrowed with a familiar vehemence.

 Bloody fantastic.

 "Then I’ll tell you what, Phoenix. Why don’t you actually handle some of that shit you’ve got, for once? You’re right. Everyone has their own damn personal issues. You’re not the special case here, but you flatter yourself with enough self-pity to think so. But instead of dealing with your own problems, you do this, this constant need to make sure I feel worse.”

 Phoenix looked at her flatly for a moment, struggling to contain the rising urge to break his stool over the counter and beat the hell out of somebody. With a clenched jaw he heard the distinctive clink as his glass was set down near his now-still hand. He forced himself to look away long enough to reach down and grasp it, face taut.

 He owed her, as much as he abhorred to admit it. He'd fucked up her mission and screwed up two of her team. Just this once, he wouldn't try to argue.

 “I know you think I’m some tight-assed bitch that’s fun to mess with, and I know you enjoy playing this game to see how far you can “push the robot’s buttons” until it self-combusts and finally shows some emotional response or weakness that you can get a good laugh out of. I’m not a stranger to that game, you’re not the first and you’re not the last to find it so entertaining. So- you win, congratulations, you know how to short-circuit the robot. But can you just spare me the whole ordeal tonight? ”

 He couldn't do it.

 His stare bored into the wooden counter a few more seconds before he jerked his head up to curl his lip in disdain at the Gamma agent. "You think I'm not handling my personal shit? Really? Because you're always fucking right? Well, let's see. Have I killed myself yet, or anyone else, purposefully?" Phoenix narrowed his eyes, drink practically strangled in his forgotten grip. "No. And I'm pretty goddamn pleased with that. Because, believe it or not, Prov, you don't know anything about me besides that I'm an asshole that killed my leader. Did you know I have six older brothers? Or that my dad's an asshat prestigious military tactician?"

 Shit, you moron! What the fuck are you saying? 

 The Freelancer took a long drink of his whiskey. "Of course I'm not special. I never have been. You? Fucking you and your fucking competence. I know who you'd be. You'd be the little bitch always taking point, always at the top of your goddamn class and of course all the instructors fucking love you because all you do is kiss their asses. And of course then you're a fucking tactician, of all things. Because that's the one thing I'd sell my goddamn soul to be, because then at least I'd fucking prove I'm not the Tartacki shitstain."

 Feeling as if someone was staring at him, Phoenix glanced up slightly to notice the concerned gaze of the bartender and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, darling. My ex-wife and I haven't talked in quite a while."

 Looking back to Providence, he sighed and leaned back, rubbing his forehead with a frown. "Hell, I don't even care. Just drink in fucking peace."

Are You A Brutal Heart? || Phoenix and Providence

[mad-agent-phoenix]

[ cloud overview ] [ get your own cloud ] This is a Tumblr Cloud I generated from my blog posts between Jun 2013 and Sep 2013 containing my top 20 used words. Top 1 blogs I reblogged the most:

[mad-agent-phoenix]

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Phoenix's customarily smug features only creased into a smirk of even further sardonic amusement at Providence's irritation - not that the aggravation was any expression dissimilar to their usual interactions. It was usually the base of them, actually, which was more entertaining than anything else. He didn't give a fuck if she hated him to hell and back, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. They were both solitary, unlikable assholes, after all, except that she had an an ongoing affair with her paperwork and was brainwashed by the Director. Neither of which applied to him, he was relatively convinced, seeing as he'd never filled out a form in his life that couldn't be done by some freak starved for work. Someone like Providence. She'd done all the bureaucratic shit for his killing the gym door, hadn't she?

 Then again, that was before he also killed three civilians while wounding two of her team. Their relationship of sheer and utter hate had progressed with wonderful rapidity since then - save for that Sarcophagus incident. They'd actually worked together reasonably well then, though mostly due to the fact that she was half-batshit from the poisoned air or whatever the hell had gone wrong there. He didn't care to remember much of it beside the fucking medic threatening to kill him, in response him trying to discern whether or not he should blow up the Pelican, then instead getting to explode the entire fucked-up cave system. The air really hadn't effected his usual levels of homicidal and suicidal tendencies. It had Prov's, though, seeing as she apparently shot Olympia in the leg.

 Too bad it wasn't the head.

 He grasped his squat glass of whiskey, swirling it contemplatively before taking a deep, stinging gulp. Setting his elbow on the polished counter, Phoenix then turned towards the red-haired woman, raising his eyebrows mockingly. "Well, I'm glad you haven't forgotten my name, darling. I always did see such a marvelous future for the two of us." Still gazing at her, he took a polite sip of his drink. "Though it is such a pity I'm not on your fantastic team of slightly lesser fuck-ups any more. I was greatly looking forward to more debriefings so boring I'm tempted to blow my own brains out." He paused, pressing a finger to his pursed lips and looking upward in faux rumination. "But then that would please you, wouldn't it? In that case, I'll refrain from any direct suicide in the future. Proving you right would just be unacceptable, don't you think?" The run-in he was referring vivid in his mind: "I’d be hoping that the next time there’s a body bag in the morgue, it would have your own name on it, not just your conscience.” Words of wisdom from their very own charming Agent Providence.

 The man looked up at her high-pitched noise of exasperation, eyebrows lowering in disingenuous concern. "You don't sound well, Providence love. Perhaps you should consider going to the doctor, hm? I'm sure a few people would be disappointed to lose another leader."

 Taking another drought, he smiled into the amber liquid at her sudden violent outburst. 

 “Look, I just want to drink another couple of these- on my own, without anyone trying to talk to me or bother me or keep me company. Including you. Especially you. You have the whole space of a city to be irritating in, so go do it somewhere else. I’m sure there’s some cheap brothel where you could find company that actually wouldn’t mind having you around.”

 Phoenix didn't attempt to conceal his obvious smile. How could she be so easy to wind up? "Oh, I'm not trying to keep you company," he replied matter-of-factly. "I just happen to be keeping to myself right beside where you also happen to be keeping to yourself. I also enjoy my own company very much, thank you. And I've already been to all the cheap brothels, so I'm afraid you're already a bit late on that one, Prov." Finally looking away, he shook his head slightly. "Beside, if you think I give a damn about your personal issues, you've gone fucking batshit again. I don't give a damn about anybody's personal issues, actually. I've enough shit of my own to handle. After all, anyone who joined Freelancer is one screwed-up fucker anyway."

Are You A Brutal Heart? || Phoenix and Providence

[mad-agent-phoenix]

 Phoenix grimaced slightly as the fiery drink stung his throat, downing the entire glass swiftly. The place was relatively quiet, only a few other individuals populating the quiet bar; this was a vacation planet, for God's sakes. People don't go out drinking at eight in the morning unless they're some pussy idiot who's totally mindfucked about something, but, then again, that grouped him in as one of the pussy idiots. Which he wasn't, yet that made him sound as if he pitied himself. Hell if he did, because he didn't. But after being chained onto the same fucking ship for years with the same goddamn group of dipshits, he figured it was allowed for him to want to be without the dipshits for a little while. And whoever thought differently could kindly fuck themselves. Or perhaps he could just beat the living hell out of them.

 After all, it wasn't as if anybody actually knew him on the Equinox. He had an inner circle of one, just as he bloody well liked it. Yet there were two people, he ruminated, gazing thoughtfully at his glass, that had gotten somewhat closer to him than the other losers. Sir Fuckface Bigass Agent Austin, of course, then Juneau. But Phoenix wasn't sure exactly where he and Austin stood now that he'd broken his nose and the other had stolen his position as Beta leader; a sort of swap in which he'd gotten sorely fucked over in. Especially when Austin had come in to dump all that sad depressing mopey shit on him about dying and his AI and his sister and his family. Phoenix wasn't sure if he necessarily wanted any more of those sappy conversations, unless Austin would be willing to lend him a flamethrower.

 And then Juneau. Who the fuck even knew what was happening there, because he sure as hell didn't. He'd kissed her, she told him not to, he broke Asstin's nose, gave June a concussion or some shit like that, he got demoted and transferred to Gamma, she locked him in the training room, she kissed him, he kissed her back then walked out. Phoenix had considered briefly maybe trying to seek her out and... then what? That's where his interest had ended. It was just too damn weird and he didn't want any part of it. And now they were back on the same team, he was pretty somewhat sure, so that just screwed everything up just to even higher fantastic levels of bullshit. Maybe if he killed someone else he could get transferred to Alpha. That's where everyone went to blow the fuck up to death, after all. 

 "Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?"

 Goddamit.

 Swiftly ordering another drink, he turned in his chair to face Juneau, absorbing her attire. What was she even wearing, an elongated cover-all diaper? She looked good in it, he had to admit, with her petite frame and long, thick dark hair and bright eyes and kind lips - fuck. Phoenix raises his eyes to hers, offering a mocking smile. "My, my, what a surprise this is. Juneau, is it? Nice to see you, dear. And-" he glanced toward the clock before looking back to her, "-no, not really. If anything it seems a bit late."

 He took a sip of his whiskey, blinking with disingenuous sincerity up at her.

Before It Breaks // Juneau and Phoenix