#🦈 (gavin); thread

[multiimistakes]

cont. x / @designedparadigm

The two calloused fingers held up transition easily into a singular middle finger; he does not try and help the commander up and lets himself be shooed away.

Stubbornness wasn't uncommon in this line of work. Hell, it practically came as a system default feature in most of them. Gavin had his fair share of it but he liked to think he had enough sense (sometimes) to put ego and pride after practicality and professionalism. Individualism was a hell of an Achilles heel in a team setting and Gavin didn't like having weak spots.

He lets Graves pull himself to his feet, brush himself off. Gavin isn't very subtle about the vague medical check from the distance he's stood at. His hands come to rest idly at the strap of his rifle and he dares to push out an over dramatized yawn.

❝ You done or what? I wasn't hearing orders or anything relevant so I kind of just checked out. ❞ the straight face doesn't last long before his half-smile is spreading slow and creeping. He turns then, spits as if that'll rid his mouth of what seemed to be the endless supply of dirt and grit that worked its way in.

❝ With all due respect, sir, you are the fucking commander of this operation in case that knowledge got shaken out of you with that little air trip of yours. If anyone is going to be babied, it's you. It's Protect Mr. President as far as any of us are concerned. ❞ he tugs free his canteen, offers it out to Graves'; he's not sure of the man's equipment status after that blast knockback.

❝ That also means if you fuck off from this mortal plane because you tried to grit and bear a head injury like the big brave boy you are...it's going to mean soooo much paperwork. Y'don't teach me to baby, but you're good about drilling in survival and that much paperwork would probably kill me. So, thus...❞

He spreads his arms wide and shrugged. ❝ I am enacting a survival technique in order to save my own ass. ❞

[multiimistakes]

He hadn't been joking, not fully. Were his odds better with a friend? Absolutely. It benefited him to, obviously, do his best to contribute to the BOTH of their survival. But would that friend mean jack shit to him and his odds if he had to go out and risk his own ass just to drag her back?

It was a simple case of risk vs. reward and the risk of trying to pull someone out of a blizzard didn't justify the reward of having someone to watch his back.

Luckily, just shy of half an hour later and she'd returned-—and with gifts. He's already ahead of her when she asks about supplies, just in the tail end of having rummaged through his assault pack to drag everything out to take stock.

A new pair of socks and a basic cold weather hat were what he'd immediately taken out and utilized. A few days worth of water and provisions, some ammo, some basic navigation gear and first-aid.

❝ Enough to get one person by for two full days. A day maybe between the two of us. ❞ at least water was covered considering the shit was falling from the sky in plenty. He pushed to his feet, nodding as she dictated they'd be sleeping in shifts.

Gavin reached for the logs and moved them off next to the fire to ideally dry out some before they were needed.

❝ We'll be fine once visuals come back. That's all that's fuckin' us over right now anyway. ❞ and how infuriating it was that they could brave most weather but as soon as it knocked out your ability to navigate, that's when you lost any chance of it being anything BUT life-threatening.

He sat back down and pulled his knees up, arms draped over them as he let his head fall back. His eyes closed, it was a grounding breath he took. One to ease his agitation, his anxiety, and every other unhelpful emotion that had him all bundled up and wound tight inside. ❝ Ain't this a bitch of a situation. If I was going to get trapped out in a blizzard with someone, I'd have hoped we'd go full Hallmark trope and have it be in a nice and comfy cabin or somethin'. ❞

She doesn't seem bothered by the snow, casting him a vaguely amused look as she shrugs off her pack and hunts around in it for a moment. She has some water, which she tosses to him, and a small hatchet, which she tucks into her belt.

"That's alright, baby," she teases, stepping back into the snow. "I'll be tough and strong and industrious, and you can sit right there on your rear and get warm."

Rainer isn't upset at all, she's not too tired and she knows she's not going to lose any extremities to frost bite-- he actually might. It's a good sign that he's capable of complaining.

She pisses off into the blizzard, and returns a little less than a half hour later with a bundle of small pine logs and a few fans of branches she'd dragged along behind her. The logs she tosses next to him, ordering: "Put those next to the fire, they're wet and they'll burn like shit, but they'll keep us warm enough."

It takes a moment to pat the snow off of herself before she steps into their enclave. With the pine boughs, she kind of just arranges them neatly in front of the entrance, not quite enough to keep all of the wind out, but enough to trap most of the snow coming down, and that will trap the heat well.

"We'll have to sleep in shifts if we get snowed in, the fire will kill us if we don't keep a hole at the top here to let the smoke out. What all supplies do you have?"

[multiimistakes]

🦈 OPEN.

❝ Had to go the route of record burying and burnin' because y'know...facial reconstruction wasn't an option. Humans can't really tamper with gifts from the gods, so... ❞ he finishes stirring the drink, taps the overly long spoon on the rim and sets it to the side.

He's smiling when he turns, that Gavin-typical grin that's just unsettling enough it's hard to tell if he was telling the truth in any capacity and, if so, how much was true and how much was just babbled bullshit.

❝ Shit catches up with you eventually. I'm not stupid. I do plan to be dead and unbothered by the time it does though. ❞ he settled with his own drink with a quiet sigh, having passed the other glass off.

[multiimistakes]

@soapfcrce / cont.

❝ Ah, see-—no. It has to be natural laughter. No chemicals or biological warfare shit. That muddies the statistics. ❞ statistics that may or may not have existed in the first place. Honestly, plenty of these sort of off the wall questions and conversations could have been solved by fifteen seconds on Google. Alas...

The man scrunches his face and glances elsewhere, rolling the mint he'd been working on from one cheek to the other. ❝ Don't give me that tone, man. The fuck else am I supposed to talk about? The weather? Work? We can sit here and throw military jargon bullshit back and forth like those Wall Street fucks do with their numbers all day if that's what you want. ❞

[multiimistakes]

cont. x / @astremourante

He watches the display with no shortage of open disdain. The contractor blinks long and slow at her without actually looking at her, looks past her instead. She was going to get them both killed; anyone with half a tactical head on their shoulders could see that.

Contracts were gambles-—for some, that was a plus. That threat of potentially be fucked over by circumstances beyond one's control really was a thrill to some. Gavin? Not so much. Despite what one could assume, he liked things tidy and neat and not revolving around some fellow hired gun stomping her foot like some kid throwing a fit.

He rolls the dwindling mint in his mouth and lets it clack against his teeth as if the motion alone will help him pull his thoughts together enough to work his way through this bitch of a situation he'd found himself in. ❝ Yeah? And I resent the fact we have to go halvies on this. Just a big ole' resentment party between the two of us. ❞

The mint is drawn back to his molars and he crunches down on it. The sudden burst of harsh mint does nothing to quell his frustration. He round the table to reach for the stack of manilla folders that would serve as their intel and begins to spread them out along the surface.

When he glances up, it's to cock a brow at her as he hunches over the workspace. ❝ The day any of us in this business are the trustworthy type is the day pigs start flyin'. ❞ he shakes his head once after a pause. ❝ Nah. You? I know a fuckin' angler fish when I see one. So you can relax with the doe eyes. Save it for someone it might work on. ❞

And he gestures to the splayed piles of files. ❝ Get over here and help with the homework. If I'm going to be stuck with you on this, we need to be on the same page. I either need to be able to rely on you or I need to be sure you're not going to get in my way because you don't know guard schedules or the building layout. ❞

[multiimistakes]

Gavin "Gav" Payne TAG DROP

[multiimistakes]

Gavin, all things considered, had a pretty generous fuse. He'd grouch and complain and be just about the most sour of sour fucks in the room. But, he could be patient. He had to be because impatience typically spelled trouble unless you were lucky enough to have someone there to reel it in for you.

He had a generous fuse and a patient enough demeanor when playing with others but that generosity had its limit, his fuse wasn't endless and there was only so much disrespect and punches he could roll with before he started throwing them back.

The man sniffs once, eyes cast down for the table he braces against. It's a sort of calm before the storm look, a receding into one's own mind to really hash out just how far he was going to take what he was about to say. Seemingly having reached a conclusion with himself, he lifts his head to look at her across the table.

❝ You want to be a brat? A child? You're what? God, can't be less than thirty to manage a contract like this. But, fine...❞ and he lifts his hand in a sort of surrendering gesture briefly before gesturing for the door. ❝ There's the door. ❞ and he rounds the table on her. It's not quick but it's deliberate. His goal isn't to intimidate but it's to very clearly make himself known. He doesn't crowd her completely but it's enough that he can lower his voice and still be heard.

❝ Because let me tell you-— the number of mistakes I allow in my presence out on that field when my ass and my job and my reputation is on the line is still somehow lower than whatever piss poor, pathetic wordcount they'd struggle to slap on your obituary when you don't come back because you wanted to fuck around and waste time. ❞ he holds her gaze for a beat before reaching a hand to pointedly drag a folder to rest in front of her. He draws back and back peddles back to his spot.

❝ Either fall in line with the rest of us and play nice like fuckin' adults or walk out that door. Do we copy, miss seahorse? ❞

Amelia didn't have to look at him to see he was getting frustrated. A blind person could see it. Not that he was hiding it well, or at all. She wasn't looking at him though, gaze fixated on the scary-looking fish on the screen. Amelia could hear it in his voice, feel it in the tension in the air around him. She seemed apathetic to his rising annoyance. Either that, or she was ignorant to being the cause.

Which was most certainly not the case.

If she'd had a choice, Amelia would not be here, wasting a perfectly good afternoon with sour company. She preferred to work alone. It was better that way, safer. The only person she could trust was herself, so why risk letting someone close enough to drive a knife in your back ? However, exceptions sometimes needed to be made. Regardless of how sour the company may be.

It was better to know who you were working with, so before she worked with him, Amelia was getting to know him. She preferred to act, to move, but there was so much you could learn by simply watching. So, she added some friction and then observed.

❝ I couldn't tell ya ! ❞ She answers, pocketing her phone before putting her elbows on the table. ❝ Never been to a biology class ! ❞ Chin rests in her palm and, despite his impatient gesture, she makes no move to touch the folders. It's physically difficult for Amelia to maintain the innocence of her unassuming smile.

❝ You're pretty bossy. Say please. ❞

[multiimistakes]

Gavin had begun to nod, even let his glance veer off to the side as if in guilt. ❝ Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I could be... ❞ and he trailed off and then said nothing more as if acknowledging it was all the 'help' he planned to offer. After a pause, he exhaled.

❝ I'm providing moral support. And, you know...it's not an easy job but someone has to do it. ❞ given a serious enough push and he WOULD help, but he would get away with doing as little work involving any sort of paper as long as he possibly could.

His smile faded and he tossed the other a scrunched expression, a side glance to boot.

❝ Who under sixty thinks fucking joke books are funny? ❞ a beat, a pause, and then both brows lifted briefly in realization and he dipped his head to the side slightly and nodded. ❝ And, you know...actually I 'spose that'd be the demographic for deaths by laughter. ❞

He sniffed, nodded again in consideration of Soap's point in regards to the definition of what would cause these hypothetical deaths in the first place. ❝ I think debating stupid shit is healthy. ❞

Gavin shrugs and there's a serious note to his tone, in the way his brows furrow. ❝ Too many of these serious fucks around here would rather walk around keeping their heads filled with corpses than even consider filling it with nonsensical shit that doesn't matter once in awhile. A damn shame if you ask me. ❞

“Joke book then. Nothing wrong with a good ol’ fashion joke book.” Whatever the guy was saying was going right in ear and out the other thanks to this little brain worm. Mostly, anyways, Soap still had to make a bit of a face at the sharpness. “Oh yeh? Y’ could be helpin’ me run the papers, smart arse, but nooo time t’ debate comedy death.”

He probably would’ve even thrown the file if that didn’t mean having to make sure everything was in order. Again. “Back t’ yer point: also gotta consider humor definitions ‘n’ shite. Cannae expect everyone to endlessly laugh at kids falling over or I unno… dogs.”

[multiimistakes]

It was COMICAL, really. How often did shit like this happen? Two hired contractors of some sort running into each other and NOT trying to put the other down, agreeing to work together, AND after completely different targets that happened to be occupying the same space? The script wrote itself.

Gavin would have cheekily offered two thumbs up from his cover but his weapon only allowed one.

Three men it looked like. As they entered and the stranger threw herself into a tussle with them, Gavin lagged behind should there have been any stragglers. It was an all around odd situation, but he honestly couldn't complain about the second set of eyes to watch their asses.

The first was cut down, the second managed to get a swipe at her, and the third was kicked his way. Stealth was more or less off the table at this point as far as he was concerned. They were in the home stretch enough that, even with warning, their targets wouldn't be able to flight check everything quickly enough to get into the helicopter and off the ground in time. Besides, these bodies would be discovered quickly enough and they'd be in the same boat; it was best to just not waste time.

His sidearm lifted, it's two quick and aimed shots to the third before the poor fuck has enough time to both recover from the shove and to both acknowledge and react to the fact there had been a second assailant waiting for him with a gun. ❝ Scream if you need help, stranger. I'm pushing ahead to clear the next hall. ❞

She doesn't laugh at his verbal fumbling, though she would kind of like to. She just stares for a moment, hopes it conveys her general feeling of 'real smooth, champ,' and then blinks and turns her gaze to the corridor. Then she looks back at him.

"Fine. I'm here for the Brit doing the hosting." Working together seems prudent. "I don't need him alive, I just need his thumbs." Both of them, in case something happened to the other. Fucking biometrics.

Rainer slips into the doorway off to her left, crouching as she waits for the... three? -- guards to wander into her reach. They'll pass her before they spot the body of their fallen comrade, and she's planning to drop them before they can radio for reinforcements. They're grouped too close together. It makes them an easy target.

Rainer launches herself at the first guy knife-first, cutting him down before he knows what's hit him with a slash through his jugular and his windpipe, the second gets a solid swipe across the face as she lifts a foot and kicks the third toward the stranger. Keep them nice and busy or kill them, she doesn't care, she just doesn't want the fucking reinforcements.

[multiimistakes]

There was something intoxicating about winning. Winning anything, really. It was less about the ego stroke for Gavin and more about that brief moment of accomplishment, the praise offered up by the losing party whether they were deliberate with it or not. That unspoken 'you're better than me' moment, as fleeting as it was, was better than any drug or thrill to the contractor.

They'd been at it for awhile now and just about every muscle he had was screaming at him to take a goddamn break. Sweaty and panting, it had been no easy feat to out marathon her and land such a throw. But, he had and now he got to gloat.

Something about the bigger they were, the harder they fell. Something about not letting your guard down. Something, something-—he didn't have time to acknowledge the thoughts beyond how they blipped rapidly across his consciousness as she swept her feet at his legs as he'd just begun to bend to help her up.

It sent him falling backwards into the very position she herself had just been in and he felt the air knocked out of him immediately. Even through his wheezing, it was near instinct alone that had him immediately trying to scramble out of the position before she could pounce...but it was too late and they were left to roll into another flurry of limbs there on the mat again.

He'd managed to out-marathon her initially, but that last bit had been his big burst. Any energy beyond this wouldn't be something he could utilize and still keep that sparring mentality. It took his arm bent in an awkward angle he wasn't quite fond of that he reached to tap with his other.

❝ Fuck, fuck-—I yield. I'm out, I'm out. Christ-—❞

"look at you, standing all covered with god’s good dirt and all the devilishness sweated out you." /gavin

"The devilishness isn't gone from me yet, baby--"

They'd been sparring for a good while. She'd forgotten sometimes that battle isn't always a series of sneaks and then a swift climactic sprint. Sometimes it's a marathon. And that marathon is fucking exhausting, even when you keep up on your cardio.

Her whole body is sore, and tired, and she has to work to keep the giddy smile off her face. Gavin had thrown her over his hip and she'd landed flat on her back with a long, harsh wheeze and she'd laid there for a moment, blinking up at him and him gloating down at her, running his mouth, and they're both filthy and sweaty and tired and he's running his mouth and she just. Well, maybe sweeping his legs and pouncing right as he's thinking about helping her up is a dirty move, but she's a dirty person-- he'd just said so himself. Maybe she'll get a little dirtier before they're through.

@multiimistakes

[multiimistakes]

❝ You're right. Commanders actually do shit. ❞ he takes his canteen back and replaces back to its designated spot. He throws his eyes into a roll and does his best to hold his tongue otherwise.

This wasn't like the before that'd been scrubbed from any record that wasn't locked in some dusty, poorly-lit room in some federal building under lock and key. The collar then had been tighter, but the leash had been arguably longer. There had been a certain level of freedom from the usual bureaucracy. Check-ins here and there, briefings. Otherwise? You were left to simply exist among a team of equals. No leader, no commander that was there and in the thick of it. Gavin had been free to mouth off as he pleased.

Despite how many years he'd put into this life now, he still struggled holding that back. He toed lines, it was what he did and what he'd always done. That'd never change.

So, he WANTS to say something smart in regards to Graves' ego and need to defend his own capabilities. He wants to tell him he's fighting air because Gavin never implied he wasn't as boots on the ground as the rest of them. But, instead his just exhales and complacent sigh and gestures to his earpiece.

❝ Are your comms still functioning? You'll probably want to do a check-in. I called in the blast, but I was too busy clearing the area to relay that you weren't...y'know. KIA. ❞ it was probably best the rest of Shadow heard it from the man's mouth himself anyway. Morale and all that.

❝ We might want to consider detours as well, sir. Consult the map and see if we can take any other routes. Who's to say how many presents our friend has left us. I dunno 'bout you, but I'm not exactly jumping to find out. ❞

   “yeah?  last  i  checked  a  commander  ain't  a  fuckin'  president.”  though  it's  said  with  a  chuckle,  graves  taking  it  in  good  humor,  shaking  out  his  head.  the  canteen  offered  is  welcomed,  taken,  and  a  long  sip  is  drawn  from  it.  wetting  his  mouth  that  seemed  to  have  been  filled  with  nothing  but  dust  moments  ago.  he  caps  it  when  done,  handing  it  back  with  a  small  nod.  it's  an  appreciative  gesture,  the  best  he'll  do  while  still  directly  on  the  clock. 

   “you'd  do  well  to  remember  i'm  still  a  soldier,  son.  would  look  mighty  fuckin'  bad  on  me  if  i  wasn't  boots  on  the  ground  same  as  the  rest  of  you.  i  can't  send  you  anywhere  i  wouldn't  tread  myself.  now  that's  fuckin'  cowardice.”  though  he  rolls  his  eyes.  “paperwork  ain't  gonna  be  the  thing  that  kills  you  anyway.  if  you  all  fall  apart  if  my  light  goes  out  -  that'll  be  your  biggest  problem.  you  lot  better  be  able  to  handle  it  in  the  unlikely  scenario  i'm  not  awake  to  give  fuckin'  orders.  trained  all  of  you  better  than  that.”  a  rolling  shrugh  of  his  shoulders,�� before  he  bothers  to  check  his  gun  for  damage. 

   nothing  too  bad,  it'll  still  function.  might  need  some  seeing  to  after  this  -  that  knock  was  hefty.  definitely  scratched  the  damn  thing  up  bad.  he'd  just  gotten  it  too.  fucking  things  weren't  exactly  cheap.  he  puts  it  to  the  back  of  his  mind  and  moves  forward,  patting  his  soldier  on  the  shoulder,  a  familial  gesture  he  uses  often  on  his  shadows. 

   “c'mon.  pack  your  shit  in,  let's  get  a  move  on.  job's  not  gonna  finish  itself.  that  and  i  now  have  a  bone  to  pick  with  the  motherfucker  who  set  god  damn  explosives  on  the  fuckin'  vault.  coulda  really  hurt  somebody  -  and  that's  just  bad  manners.”  a  smirk  appears,  though  it  isn't  kind.  “someone's  gotta  teach�� 'em.  bullet  through  the  skull  should  do  the  trick,  i  reckon.”

[multiimistakes]

For a brief moment, he considers the consequences of accidentally misfiring out on the op. He just as quick determines the paperwork probably wouldn't be worth it. ❝ Please get your ass over here so you don't get us both killed. ❞ he bites out with no shortage of a blatant lack of enthusiasm.

Even at the table, she has the gall to pull out her phone. He sucks at his teeth. Freelance work and private contractor was the wild west of things. No ranks, hierarchies that varied company to company. Sometimes it drove the man insane considering the formality he'd come from out of the military itself. He had just as much pull to order her around and she him and so there was little he could do but pray he could cover his own ass once it came time to get out there.

❝ It's a fish. So...yeah. It's in the fuckin' ocean. ❞ he draws his hands up to press against his eyes; he feels a headache beginning to bloom behind them.

❝ The point is they have that shiny thing they use to attract-—you know what? Never mind, actually. Sorry, can we get to fucking work? Is this a professional operation or a high school ocean biology class? 'Cuz I'm not sure at this point. ❞ he gestures again for the papers impatiently.

❝ Guard schedules, routes, and watch tower locations. Grab a copy. Read. ❞

His reaction did absolutely nothing to deter her. Amelia did not draw the dramatics back, instead decided to comfortably coast at this speed - maybe even bring it up if she got bored. The way he looked at her, spoke to her, it left her unaffected. She was used to it, her father had looked at her like that for eighteen years. Amelia could find something fun in any terrible situation, so she could get along with everybody. Not everybody, however, could get along with her.

Amelia's gaze is fixed at the hinge of his jaw, watching the aggressive movement with mild amusement, the crunch off his mint practically echoes off the walls. Briefly, she wonders if he might be imagining her head.

He doesn't invite her over, so much as demand. ❝ You're not even gonna say please ? ❞ She'd have dug her heels in if curiosity hadn't beckoned her forward. She skips right over, pulls out a chair, and casually plops down. Amelia wastes no time making herself comfortable, leaning back, then crossing one thigh over the other. But she doesn't grab anything from the table, taking her phone out instead, thumbs quickly tapping across the bottom of the screen.

Amelia would do the homework, she would. But... she didn't know what an angler fish was, or what it looked like. How could she judge his comparison without looking ? It takes a moment as the results load, and she gasps in horror, nose practically pressed to the screen.

❝ What the fuck, this thing is so scary ! This is in the ocean !? ❞ Amelia huffs again, turns to shove her screen toward him, points at it. ❝ How could you call me that !? I'm so pretty ! ❞ She slouches back dramatically in her seat with a heavy exhale, lips pursed. ❝ I'm obviously something majestic - ❞ Her brain was suddenly empty as she tries to recall some pretty, majestic aquatic creature. Her hand waves dismissively. ❝ - like a seahorse or something. ❞

[multiimistakes]

Given the NEED to and he'd grit and bear it like a champ, a soldier. But, considering the luxury of the casual 'all rules are off' dynamic they'd found themselves in thanks to the inclement weather, he felt no shame in bitching about how much he hated the cold. ❝ Put me in the heat any day. This shit is wretched. ❞

It was nice he hadn't had to argue his way into having her agree to bunker down until they could see their hand in front of their faces. They'd found the alcove and Gavin had immediately pinned it at their shelter until the storm blew over. He'd have claimed most of the work on the fire but, truth be told, it had been a group effort.

❝ Yeah, well, don't freeze to death. ❞ his fingers pricked as they slowly came back from the numbness the cold had brought upon them as he worked at his wet laces. ❝ 'cuz once these puppies come off, I'm not moving to come get you. ❞ he'd be sitting his tush right by the fire and that'd be that. ❞

"we wouldn't make it five miles." /gavin

Gavin wouldn't make it five miles.

Rainer peers out at the blizzard currently raining fluffy white hell upon the mountainside and makes a vague grunt of disgust. The cold and the wet wouldn't bother her, but she figures there are all manner of other things that could fuck up her day-- it's not even noon, and the clouds are so dense that the sky is black, and she supposes she could fall to her death in the dark and end up taking weeks of crawling before she can stand again, and she doesn't feel like dealing with that.

Besides, there's a cozy little fire in their alcove, and some pine trees a dozen meters away that she figures they could use to block the worst of the snow and wind from their little crack in the mountains.

"Fine," she half-agrees with him absently. "We will stay here until the storm lets up. Goddamn it. I'm going to go cut some branches from those trees over there, why don't you take your wet boots off before your feet freeze off?"

[multiimistakes]

CHARACTERS in this line if business were commonplace. It wasn't surprising, the banter. In a way, Gavin enjoyed it. ❝ I don't. ❞ he remarked and, after a short pause and after he'd taken the pistol's ammunition and tossed the useless thing back onto the corpse's chest, he thought to clarify: ❝ Want to dance you with, I mean. I bite too. I guess. ❞ so maybe he enjoyed the banter but wasn't necessarily GOOD at it on the fly. He was an ex-military turned contractor. Witty one-liners was a class he hadn't had the time for. He'd taken Overly Dry Sarcasm and How to Be an Asshole 101 instead.

Gavin liked to keep his ducks in order. For all his smug grins and dry remarks, he was the practical sort. ❝ I'm here or the Russian business partner that's being hosted here as a guest. You? Just need him dead so if we're on the same guy, no problems here. ❞ might as well just communicate and get on the same page before the bullets started flying.

He was already seeking out cover in preparation for the oncoming firefight.

@multiimistakes // gavin

Gavin finds several things startling there and they rush him all at once. Firstly, he decides is the most important to address, who the fuck was she and where'd she come from? Secondly, he thinks she's full of shit. How would she know? The body he had just pulled the gun off of was still warm. Why wouldn't the sidearm be any good? He doesn't look away even as he checks it, finds it fucked. He doesn't bother hiding the way his eyes scrunch in confusion as to how she'd have known by just looking at it. His comms are dead by his own hand; he'd been dark for about fifteen minutes now and he was on a considerably strict time schedule to get from where he was now to the assigned target. It wasn't clear if she was a hostile-—he figures if she was, he'd be dead. He wouldn't have bothered to even question the matter if she hadn't gotten such an incredible jump on him and forced him to question now, shoot if he didn't like the answer. ❝ Listen, lady, if we're gonna tango we need to dance now because I've got a man catching a whirlybird in ten minutes that I need to put down. ❞

She'd slipped out of the vent above him as she watched him approach the body, the drop only three feet when she folded out of the hatch and hung from the ceiling by her fingers. Her voice sounds loud in the quiet after the gunfire, and she keeps herself crouched low to the ground to give her some leverage to jump away if he decides to draw on her.

He doesn't. He does look comically startled. She lets herself smile behind her mask.

She'd been watching the dead man clean and service his pistol an hour and a half ago. The fucking moron had put the firing pin in backwards, distracted by some kind of fight he'd been having with his wife or girlfriend over the phone. Money troubles-- she wonders if the life insurance payout is any good.

"You don't want to dance with me, baby," she replies, straightening to her full height and trying not to let her disgust at the term 'whirlybird' show in the slant of her eyebrows. She jerks her chin at the sound of approaching footsteps down the corridor, and then winks. "I bite."