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bestwishes86 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1 - The Extra Room

There is a common misconception about Hit Men. To be one you had to fit some almost mythical criteria. Anyone can be one, Suzie homemaker with two babies can pick up a ringing phone. Get a name and an address. Get a gun from the local supermarket and drive in that minivan to a location. Wait patiently for so and so to step out and shoot him in a place that causes enough blood loss to end his life. Then back to that modest two-story, bleach her hands so the gunpowder residue is gone. Check on her two babies that were sleeping safely, then get that notification. Her bank account received a deposit of more than zero.

There, little Suzie down the lane is a Hit Man. There isn’t an actual requirement to be one: unfortunately.

Kevin

Two men sit in a white Kia Hybrid a few meters away from a simple Greek revival home on Wisteria Lane in the town of Bakersfield, TX. It’s a little past ten at night and nothing is happening. They have been sitting for two hours in what Kevin Barton wished was silence. The sounds of skin slapping skin of a porno playing on the oversized smartphone of his partner in crime Fish was driving him out of his fucking mind. He a twenty-two-year-old man with pale skin, short spikey dark hair and baby fat rounded face was doing his best to ignore it. But his forty-two-year-old mentor was determined to break his concentration. So he just focused his attention on the lights in the home coming on one by one as a person moved from room to room.

The two had met years ago when Fish had been dating his mother, Glenda. Kevin had been a small, unruly teenager back then. Smoking cigarettes, staying out late, mad at the world with little faith in humanity. Fish had noticed one day that he was reading a book by Keats and stared at him. It had gone on until Kevin could not ignore the blue eyes on him and looked up. Fish, a tall lean man with wild salt and pepper curls that frames his sun-kissed golden skin with its wrinkles around his eyes watched him. Fish always wore a button down and slacks though for the life of him, Kevin had no idea what Fish did for a living.

“Do you need something, my mom is in another room?” Kevin asked before turning the page.

“Why did you do that?” Fish asked, looking thoughtful. His long eyebrows raised in confusion.

“You turned the page before you finished it, ” Fish said to the silence that Kevin responded with.

“An international sign for ”Fuck Off”, ” Kevin had stated in response. Fish chuckled but walked out of the brightly lit living room.

Glenda, a short dark-haired woman with a swimmer's body worked as a nurse at the local hospital and loved her son. But they had reached Kevin’s teenage years so their relationship was strained. She couldn’t understand him and he didn’t want her to. But Fish was their bridge it seemed. Everything he did. Fish knew and reported back to his mother. It became annoying to Kevin as conversations happened against his will. A box of condoms appeared in his sock drawer when he started staying over at friends’ homes. Little things that showed someone was paying attention to him.

Fish rarely spoke to him directly but he never missed anything important to Kevin. High school permission slips for field trips had his mother’s signatures on them. They sat in the key bowl on the Deacon Bench by the front door when needed. Or when there was a parent teacher conference and Glenda had work, he would go. He listened to tired adults explain how they thought Kevin worked. It was frustrating hearing their condemnation. But Fish listened and then responded, explaining Kevin’s motivations and more than once pointing out when he felt a teacher was overstepping their role in Kevin’s life.

Kevin like most people his age, accepted this in a way someone accepts a new brother or sister. He had never met his father, so Fish’s presence in his life just was. As he leveled out at 17 years old, he accepted Fish’s invites to movies he felt Kevin would enjoy. They took trips with Glenda to local places in their small Texas town and even drove up to Dallas. At some point, Kevin realized from his place in the back seat that his family was whole.

Glenda had been working late when a beautiful woman in a nurses outfit she had never seen pulled a small handgun from beneath her cupboard. The silencer made the gun seem larger as a bullet tore through skin and bone and burst through Glenda’s heart. The woman walked on as if she had not just shot someone in the chest. She slipped the gun into a trash can as she moved to the elevator.

Kevin and Fish had been in the small cluttered kitchen making lasagna when the wall phone rang. Kevin had been talking about a girl who was a friend and not his girlfriend while Fish had been laying the home made strips of pasta. The ringing had cut through the uproarous conversation like a hot knife through butter. Kevin had rushed to answer it in case it was Tiffany. He had stolen her Geometry book when they had been together an hour ago. It was his plan for her to call and he would walk it over. He would get a kiss at least or die trying.

The call had not been from Tiffany, but from the police informing them of the shooting. The pair of men had grabbed their coats and were out the door in no time. The winter chill had come to Texas harsher than most years that year. Kevin had mumbled about mistakes, that someone else could have been shot from where he sat in the passenger seat. While Fish had been silent, his eyes forward but his mind somewhere else. Somewhere dark and cold, he had retired from his former line of work because Glenda had asked him to. But as they came to the hospital with it’s brightly lit entry way colored in reds and blues of flashing police lights, Fish felt that coldness creep into his soul. He told Kevin to go on inside and he was going to park the car. Which wasn’t a lie, he just had a call to make first.

Kristine Chapman was and is a handler. Her job is a finder of jobs and for people to perform them. When Fish had been discharged from the Army she had appeared on his doorstep. Dressed in a white skirt that showed her long shapely legs in a set of ruby red pumps. Fish had followed the pearl white legs to the form fitting white skirt and up to the large black leather belt there only for appearance and then higher to the magenta blouse of silk. She wore no jewelry but none was needed as he looked at her half halo face and the simple blonde curls, styled to fall over one eye from beneath a round black hat. Her red lips smiled at him and he knew nothing good would come from her presence in his life. A decade later he wasn’t wrong.

“Why?” he asked as he sat in the car with his eyes on the police cars.

“Why what?” Kristine answered, her strong voice making his blood boil.

“Nothing happens in Texas unless you sanction it. So let's not pretend either of us are dumb.” he barked into the phone.

“I still have no idea what you're talking about or why after nearly a decade you’re calling me.” Kristine said as she paused the episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” and looked at the image of Patrick Dempsey on her large television.

“So if I go in there and see my girlfriend’s body there won’t be any sign of a hit.” he said it as a statement.

“A multimillion dollar company choosing to expend numerous resources to track you down and kill...not you, but a homemaker? That doesn't sound like something I would do.” Kristine said though it was in fact what she had done. She hung up and pressed play and Meridth stepped into the elevator with Derek. Kristine smiled to herself and waited, for a second call.

Kevin had been crestfallen with the news it had not been a mistake and his mother was in fact gone. Fish had held him as the boy cried against his flannel shirt. In his mind he ran through so many possibilities. Ditching Kevin and going on a one man revenge quest seems entirely impossible. The boy was like a son to him, there was no way to just leave him. So he had let him grieve, watched Kevin invite his bestfriend Eben Barzuk to their home. Tiffany had come as well and the trio stayed close to one another as the two strangers to him had tried to help ease Kevin through the process of grief.

It wasn’t until the body of Glenda Barton was buried and he stood beside the young man that Fish explained who he was and what he used to do. Kevin had been shocked as Fish explained how hits worked and his plan for revenge. It had taken one year for Kevin to learn to shoot a gun, the location of pressure points and which could stop blood flow. He had watched the teenager recede into himself as this happened. There was no teenage wants left by the time he had broke Kevin of any of that shit. Eben had been like shit on a shoe with how much effort it had taken to get the young man out of Kevin’s thoughts. But finally it had been done.

Together they took a plane to Arizona where it seemed to always be sunny and went out into the desert in a rental car and saw Kristine together. She had answered the door of a square White House out in the middle of nowhere with a pearl handled gun and invited them in. Kevin had been a bundle of nerves at the sight of the beautiful woman who guardly let them in. Fish did the talking and soon both were employed by Kristine. Four years later and here they sat waiting for Marvin Gutierrez to finally settle on a place to die in his home.

The guttural moaning of men rutting snapped Kevin’s focus like a thin tree branch. He glanced at Fish who was looking at him. Fish silently studied Kevin as the gay porn continued to illuminate their features. Kevin’s storm cloud gray eyes looked at the video of two buff men slamming into one another like they were wrestling but the movement was repeated over and over and over.

“You need some more attention training Kev, also do we need to have a talk about boys?” Fish asked, a smile on those thin lips framed by stubble. Kevin felt his face grow heated as he turned back to the house.

“No and hell the fuck no. Now let's go, ” Kevin said getting out of the car. He closed the door quietly, his psyche stilling as he focused on the layout of the home. Before every job they both looked at the blue prints of where the kill would happen. It wasn’t until they could draw them from memory that they reached the next stage of planning. Which was the most effective ways to kill their target. Kevin had been naive in the beginning and believed guns were best. Soon he knew better, a bullet doesn't always put someone down. Sometimes adrenaline running through a body can give them more time on their feet to get at him. Or raise alarms and things got more messy very quickly.

He opens the trunk and looks around the different containers of their weapons cache. Fish came round and instead of grabbing things just watched him pick. Kevin chose a modified Browning handgun, a silencer, two knives and a flash bomb.

“Interesting.” Fish said offhandedly and Kevin groaned. After year's of doing this he had come to learn many of Fish’s idiosyncrasies. This was his disappointment ‘Interesting’.

“What would you pick, ” Kevin asked with an annoyed tone.

“A gun, a knife.” Fish said. Kevin put everything back and grabbed the gun, silencer, and a switchblade and closed the trunk. They had the cover of night around them, dressed in black shirts and slacks the pair make their way down the street to the home. Days of survelilance had taught them Marvin’s schedule so they knew he was starting dinner. Scaling the wooden fence thanks to their leather gloves and tread safe shoes, they drop soundlessly into his backyard. Kevin breaks away from Fish and slips into a side window left open for a breeze to pass through the home.

Fish had taken Kevin on a tour of the home while Marvin was at work. So he knew that though the floor was wooden it still made noises in certain places. Fish came through the living room through his own window on the other side of the home. Using sign language the two communicated doing a sweep of the bottom floor before going for Marvin. Fish went back the way he came and Kevin creeped left down the hallway. As he moved he checked the two rooms on his side. A library and a guest room were both empty. He used to think the two should wear masks, but Fish explained that so many options could occur in the space of 30 seconds based off what the victim interpreted.

The psychology of a intended target went back to association. Many saw a person in a mask and instantly think robber. Which gives them the illusion of having a fighting chance. If they see a person bold enough not to wear a mask, there mind would try and place the face in their memories. During that time of uncertainty, he was instructed to strike. Walking along the halls he saw the authentic Spanish paintings on the walls in ornate polished wooden frames behind glass. Kevin used their reflections from the glass of the frame to see if anyone was in rooms as he checked each. He came to the kitchen and looked around but didn’t see Fish. Confused but confident, he pushed open the door silently.

A bullet whizzed past his cheek, Kevin dived to the right as a second struck the doorframe where he had been seconds before. Taking cover behind the island he scrambled to his right as Marvin came around the island. Kevin dived forward rolling under the metal dining table and rising lifted it off the ground and slammed it down so it was vertical as plates of food crashed to the ground. Another bullet slammed into the metal and Kevin gritted his teeth against the force of it shaking the metal table.

“Where the hell is Fish!?”Kevin thought as he unholstered his own gun and waited. He thumbed off the safety and breathed. But there was a silence in the kitchen, he raised his head a bit and saw the room was empty save for him.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he rose to his feet and with his gun raised walked the length of the kitchen. A feeling of unease settled between his shoulders as he inched out into the hallway. In the space of two minutes Marvin could be anywhere in the home. He hadn’t heard a door open or close so he guessed Marvin had taken cover in the living room and was on a phone to the police but there was no sound of sirens in the distance. A crash of breaking glass came from further back in the home and he thundered towards it. His feet pounding the ground as he moved into the lit living room. Marvin had smashed the glass of a window and was attempting to get out that way but Kevin squeezes the trigger.

With a loud pop a bullet tore into the flesh of Marvin’s left leg. The large man in a brown suit shook half out of the window. With a cry Marvin fell to the wooden floor and rolled on his back and fired a shot at Kevin who had already taken cover behind the couch. He lay on the ground and shot again using the view of Marvin through the space between the floor and couch bottom. The bullet caught Marvin in the side. Standing, Kevin rounded the couch and shot Marvin in chest and the shaking body went still.

“Way to fuck this up royally,” Fish’s stern voice said from behind him and Kevin felt bile touch his tongue as he turned to look at his mentor leaning against the wall.

“Where the hell were you?!” Kevin’s demanded to know. This wasn’t how they worked, they were a team. Neither went lone Wolf on a job. It was Fish’s rule.

“I found a room not on the blueprints and thought it was a panic room. At the sound of gunshots I figured you would have missed and was waiting for him there.” Fish explained folding his arms over his chest indignantly.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Kevin said confused as he looked at Marvin who lay in his blood, eyes closed.

“What do you mean?” Fish asked stepping up next to him.

“If he had a panic room why try for a window to escape from?” Kevin murmured looking at the broken glass. He walked up to it and tried to lift the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

“C’mere I’ll show you the room.” Fish said, together they walked to the hall and down to what the blueprints had shown to be a closet. But when Kevin opened the door it led a few feet back to another door that had been obscured by hanging jackets. Kevin opened the second door and his eyes widened. There on shelves were pink plastic wrapped bags of marijuana and cocaine illuminated by an uncovered light. Each a foot by a foot in size. The two walked on back to a simple black safe with a spinning dial lock.

“Think you can crack it open?” Fish asked, out of the two of them Kevin was the lock pick.

“We should go.” Kevin said shaking his head.

“Why?” Fish replied flatly.

“The intel was wrong, Marvin was waiting for me in the kitchen, the millions here in drugs? Its obvious this is not a simple bookie. This is a drug dealer,” Kevin stammered that sense of unease turning to dread and his stomach twisted as anxiety set in.

“More reason to open the safe and take what’s inside,” Fish said patting Kevin on the shoulder. Kevin had to admit he didn’t dislike that logic, if the drugs weren’t in lock and key but the safe was then that meant there was something better in it.

Crouching in front of it, Kevin pressed his ear to the cool metal and tried different combinations. He listened for the pins to align. He worked hastily, his mind on how long it would take for a neighbor to report the gunshots. His forehead beaded with sweat as he continued to focus only on the lock. Fish waited, listening out for anything that could halt the process. Finally with a click the lock opened and the door swung open revealing stacks of cash.

“Holy…” Kevin whispered as he looked. There among the stacks were two photos and a stack of passports. He picked up the photos and stepped back. Fish busied himself grabbing the cash and putting it in a plastic garbage bag and Kevin knew he should wonder where the bag had come from but instead he was more interested in the photos. One was of his mother smiling at someone. The photo was curling at the edges with age and seeing it made Kevin’s heart hurt, the other was a Polaroid of a smiling bearded man in a white t-shirt. The man had olive skin with large brown eyes, his dark hair was straight and curly at the same time. He grinned broadly while gesturing at a shinny new car.

“Hey space cadet, we gotta go, grab a bag.” Fish shouted snapping Kevin back to reality as the sound of sirens in the distance finally reached his awareness. Kevin shoved the photos in his pocket and grabbed one of two heavy garbage bags. Together they moved away from the room, Kevin closed the door to the sad end then the room’s door as they moved. As they swiftly moved through the house the feeling of dread opened up in him as if a cavern he was falling into.

#bloodmoneynovela #novel writing #gay fic #gay romance #gay author #hitman #gayhitman #crime #crime fiction #dark comedy #shootout #gaymurdermystery #gay murder mystery #suspense #mmromance

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valorpg · 7 years ago

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>>file number: 559<<

Name: Annabelle Genovese Codename: Mother Dearest Aliases: Lenore Clemm, Virginia Allen Gender: Female Pronouns: She/Her Faceclaim: Bryce Dallas Howard Alternate Faceclaims: Christina Hendricks, Jessica Chastain, Isla Fisher

history:

Date of Birth: March 2, 1934 (34) Place of Birth: St. Louis, Missouri Nationality: American Occupation: Housewife, married to Lucca Genovese

early life:

Annabelle Genovese, née DuBois was born on March 2nd, 1934 with a silver spoon in her mouth. Born into a wealthy and influential St. Louis family, the daughter of a department store magnate/aspiring politician and a well-bred former debutante, she was never left wanting for anything during her childhood. In fact, it wouldn’t be too far off the mark to say that she and her younger sister Caroline were positively spoiled. Growing up, both at home and among her peers, Annabelle was never content to play second fiddle to anyone. She strove to be the most popular, and by extension, envied girl in her school, the object of any and every worthy suitor’s affections, the most graceful and well-behaved debutante, and with the most stylish and expensive wardrobe to boot. It came as no great surprise to anyone, what with her family’s great influence, when she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the 1954 Veiled Prophet Ball.

However, Annabelle’s charmed, rose-tinted life was not meant to last. While her father remained a respected figure in St. Louis society as Annabelle grew older, said respect didn’t change or remedy the fact that the family business was losing money, leaving no way to fund Mr. DuBois’ budding political career. In a move that would soon come to define the rest of Annabelle’s life, her father reached out to soon-to-be-infamous young underboss Lucca Genovese who, at the time, was handling the day-to-day operations of the Chicago branch of his father’s far-reaching crime syndicate, for an untraceable loan and the backing of Genovese family. However, said alliance came with a caveat: at the age of 21, Annabelle was to become Lucca’s wife.

At first Annabelle was absolutely thrilled. The brooding, blue-eyed Italian with a jawline for days and a fortune and influence that was even further unsurpassable was certainly no Southern-bred momma’s boy, but little did Annabelle know that Lucca would soon grow to become the bane of her existence. Aggressive, high-strung, and obsessed with protecting his legacy as future boss of the Genovese crime family, Lucca rarely had the time or patience for his young and rather naive wife. Of course, he spoiled her just as lavishly as her father had when she was a child, but in the way of companionship he had very little to offer - and after Annabelle gave birth to their only a child, a daughter, Lisabetta, Lucca drifted even further, now without a suitable heir to reinforce his future claim.

Years of living brushed aside has made Annabelle hard - a beautiful shell of the vibrant debutante she once was - but for a mob wife, a touch of cynicism has its advantages. While she puts on a charming air to do Lucca’s social bidding - playing the role of the glittering and enigmatic socialite as well as she always has - she lives comforted by the fact that, as an innocent insider she has all the information she could possibly need to bring down Lucca’s entire operation should a straw ever break the proverbial camel’s back. And with straw after straw fluttering down everyday, who knows when that may be?

skill set:

Can navigate socialite circles with ease. Annabelle Genovese frequently acts as the family’s representative at high class events.

Excellent at manipulating conversations for information.

Trained to shoot most handguns and always carries a 1965 Smith & Wesson Model 36 on her person.

current movements:

Last Seen: New York City, New York Report: Annabelle Genovese was spotted entering Tiffany’s and Co. where she remained for 45 minutes before exiting with a small package.That evening she attended a fundraising event held at the Plaza and was seen consoling Senator Clive Campbell and wife about the enormous sum of money that had been stolen from them. Later that evening she donated $25,000 to the cause, stating her family had recently come into a large amount of unexpected money.

known affiliates:

Lucca Genovese: Annabelle can’t remember the time she was over the moon in love with Lucca Genovese, and often regrets falling prey to the handsome man. While she wishes she could give him the son he so desperately wants, just to attempt to even see the light in his eyes again, the thought that he might not love their daughter as equally angers her.

Lisabetta Genovese: She couldn’t imagine a more perfect young girl, and hates that Lucca is slowly immersing her into the family. While she wouldn’t let anything dangerous happen, she is constantly trying to divert her young daughter’s attention aware from the mafia life.

Ralphio Kowalski: There have often been times where Annabelle wanted to march into his office and give up everything about the Genovese family, but all the same she almost wouldn’t trust Ralphio enough to do anything with the information, and she knows what ratting on the family would cost her.

>>THIS OPERATIVE IS OPEN.<<

#bryce dallas howard #bryce dallas howard fc #mafia #annabelle genovese #c #cf

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kaoruyogi · 8 years ago

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Trial by Fire (Ch. 17)

Now with art by the amazing @merwild!!!

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3.

Masterpost

Newly posted to the Ferelden Central Branch Court Office, known to those in the industry as Skyhold, Deputy District Attorney Halise Lavellan, her 98% conviction rate, and her investigator, Sera, join with the most successful group in the entire District Attorney’s Office, affectionately nicknamed “The Inquisition.” Transferred to join the Skyhold Gang Taskforce, she meets back up with an old flame, and her new colleague, Cullen Rutherford. In light of his 97.8% conviction rate, the other DDAs and defense attorneys working out of Skyhold call him “The Lion.” When a major gang homicide lands on their desks, Cullen and Halise, or “Torch” to anyone familiar with her prosecution style, must do everything in their power to lock up a notorious shotcaller, and stay alive while doing it. The old flame also threatens to reignite and consume both of them…and they just might let it.

(Halise’s name is pronounced “Hah-Lee-Say”)

Warning: Depiction of torture below.

Chapter 17:

“No. This is ridiculous.” Cullen looked himself up and down in the mirror on the wall above the sinks in the men’s room of the office. Thank the Maker everyone had already gone home. The idea of stepping out of the restroom, let alone the office, with anyone around to see him dressed so…unlike himself was deeply embarrassing.

He eyed himself disdainfully. Halise had outfitted him to a precise set of specifications—obnoxious ones. He wore an oversized—“slouchy,” she’d called it—black beanie she’d crocheted years before, paired with matching thick-rimmed fake glasses. Under an open red, white, and gray flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black and yellow tee shirt with the logo for the long defunct Andrastian hair metal band, Stryper, sat uncomfortably over his chest. At least he got to wear his own jeans and shoes.

“Oh, come on. I bet you look great! Well, acceptable,” Halise pleaded through the door. “Passable?” How unconvincing she was.

“Stuff it, General Uptight, I’m with Halise. You have to look like the type of prat who listens to Mumford & Sons and Bon Iver and that other shite.” Sera’s voice was muffled. She’d obviously pressed her face against the door.

“I do listen to Mumford & Sons,” he spat back, his eyes refusing to release him from the torment of his own reflection. The impish elf’s signature scoff and chortle were all the reply he needed to know what she thought of that.

“If you’re not coming out, I’m gonna come in there and drag you out,” Halise warned. “We’re going to be late if we have to wait much longer for you to come to terms with your douchier side.”

A heavy sigh pushed its way out of Cullen’s chest as he squared his shoulders. If he was going out there like that, he would damn sure own it. He turned and opened the bathroom door. Sera narrowly avoided tumbling through when it swung inward, but she caught herself before hitting the floor. Pity, that. Another raucous chortle rose up from her when she looked him up and down as he passed her by, but his eyes were locked on Halise.

He was almost instantly transported back to the day they first met. She wore the very same blue beanie over her loose red curls, accented by similar glasses to the ones he wore. They reminded him of the oversized sunglasses that had blocked his view of her stunning eyes. A loose sky blue shirt with a picture of Audrey Hepburn from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” billowed around her, the wide, scooped neck giving him the slightest peak at her pale cleavage. Skinny jeans and black and white Converse rounded out her trousseau. No bare feet. He actually felt a strange kind of longing to see her duo-chromatic toes. They’d been a constant presence in their tumultuous history. But they were caged away from his view behind cloth, rubber, and shoelaces. In an odd way, it made him feel as though her personality had been hidden away from view alongside them.

That was, until he looked back up to see her lips pressed together and nostrils flared, her shoulders rising and falling heavily as she tried desperately to suppress the grin working away at the corners of her mouth. There she was. Her bright eyes passed over him, a nod of approval bobbing her head as she chewed on the inside of her lip. “I hate to say you look good because I know you’ll never wear this stuff again and I quite frankly hope you don’t, but you look very good,” she purred.

Her tone and the look in her eye shot heat through his body like a lightning bolt. Despite feeling foolish in his state of dress, had Sera not been there and had they not had a meeting to go to, he might have taken her right there. He would have swept her off of her feet, ripped those jeans off, and rutted her into the Maker forsaken wall. Another heavy sigh rattled out of him. This was not the time to be thinking about such things. They did have a meeting to go to, and Sera was there. His hand crept up the back of his neck, feeling a flush rise up his cheeks at the inappropriateness of his thoughts. “T-Thank you, I suppose,” he replied.

Halise arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling under it as though they were both being pulled up by the same string. Cullen smiled back a bit self-consciously, causing her to cock her head at him. The moment between them was shattered by Sera’s brash voice. “Yeah, yeah, everyone looks good, now can we please go?” She passed by him, very intentionally bumping into him with her yellow plaid covered shoulder before casting a wide smile back at him and sticking her tongue out. He chuckled, following her and Halise, and unabashedly watching his girlfriend’s backside as they left the building.

He drove them to the Three Trout Bar, watching his rearview mirror to an almost obsessive degree. They would not be ambushed or attacked again. He knew Sera was still armed, but he’d also stowed a 9 mm handgun in his glove compartment that he planned to slip into his waistband before they went inside. He had a concealed carry permit—easier to get after being a Templar—but he’d never felt he needed it until then. For years he’d really just worried that he might use the gun in a fit of anxiety or one of his withdrawal-induced hallucinations. But in that moment, there were very real dangers that they may have been walking right into.

Halise braided her hair over her shoulder on the ride to the bar. She said it would make her less recognizable, but Cullen thought the outfit and fake glasses would have done that well enough. Still, the long braid cascading down her arm did have a certain charm about it, though she was right, it was very unlike her. She was wild and unbound. Even when her hair was gathered into a ponytail, her curls flowed about freely, their riotous brilliance undeterred by the single tiny binding. The string of knots forming the braid locked all that away from the world. Another piece of her obscured.

When they arrived at the Three Trout, Cullen sought out a parking spot in full view of the entire interior. He rounded the block several times before a woman moved her gargantuan minivan out of the parking space directly in front of the bar. Once parked, he leaned over Halise a bit, opening the glove compartment and stuffing the black handgun into his waistband behind his back. She cast him a worried glance while Sera barked something about being glad she wasn’t going to be the only one armed. He did his best to reassure her with his eyes and a soft touch on her forearm, though it clearly did little to accomplish his goal. They exited the vehicle in near silence, entering the bar as warily as they could without attracting attention.

From the moment they walked in, all he wanted to do was walk right back out. The obvious sense of pseudo-individualism and entitlement was overwhelming. It made itself plain in the aggressively mismatched bar stools, the haphazardly repurposed Maker-knew-what the owner intended to pass off as tables and chairs, and the sloppily written chalkboard drink menu behind the bar. As a group, he, Halise, and Sera made their way to the bar—dirty, unfinished wood, of course—with Sera elbowing some oaf with a man bun out of their way just enough to order from the selection of pompously named drinks. Who’s impractical mind thought of the names for them, anyway? “Get Hissing Wasted,” “Blades of Hess-Ale-Rian,” “The Ferelden Frostback.” Insipid and feckless.

“These drink names are fucking stupid,” Halise whispered as she turned away from the bar to face him. Mind reader.

Cullen smiled down at her, gratified to be on the receiving end of the little turn of her lips. Her eyes left his, scanning the room behind him while he watched his SUV out window. Every time someone walked by, which was all too frequently in this neighborhood filled with phony environmentalists who refused to drive, he held his breath. His body was ready to spring into action at any moment, taking down anyone who meant to do them harm by whatever means necessary.

“Do you think that’s him?” Halise murmured to Sera, who pivoted then to look at whoever the redhead was referring to.

“Fantastic fucking mustache, that!” the blonde elf quietly exclaimed. “He’s lookin’ at you. And at me. And at Cullen. And at the door. Bet you’re right. I’ll go see.”

Cullen turned—his hand in his back pocket, close to the gun—to watch Sera approach a sturdy looking gentleman in his mid-thirties with what was indeed a rather impressive horseshoe mustache. She leaned over with her hand on the waistband of her jeans, speaking quietly to the man before flicking a finger at Halise and Cullen to join them.

Trepidation welled up in his gut with every step toward the mustachioed man. Mercifully, the seat that faced the door was left unoccupied, allowing Cullen to slip in and watch his car whilst maintaining his ability to see their mysterious informant. Halise sat beside him, across from the man, with Sera on her other side.

“Ms. Lavellan, I presume?” the man asked. His accent sounded somewhat Orlesian but had a slight unidentifiable tinge to it.

Halise nodded. “Stroud?”

He nodded in return. “So this must be Mr. Rutherford and Sera…I’m sorry I couldn’t find your last name anyw—”

“Just Sera,” she clipped. Her blue eyes bored into the man next to her.

“Alright,” he said, his tone placating and passive. “I must apologize for the rather…clandestine nature of this meeting, and for my vagueness on our call, Ms. Lavellan. I’m afraid I’ve been targeted in an internal investigation by the FBI Wardens. An investigation which could only have sprung from false accusations made by one Warden in particular.”

Cullen’s eyes shot to his still undisturbed SUV, then to Halise, then back to Stroud. “If you’re under investigation,” she began, “why should we trust whatever it is you have to tell us?”

“I understand your hesitation, but this one Warden to whom I am referring…Well, to put it plainly, I believe he has ties to the Magisterium, and that he targeted me when he found out I was looking into him.” Stroud sighed through his nose, sparing a glance toward Cullen, who just leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Was the man name dropping the notorious Tevinter cartel to cast off suspicion, or was he telling the truth?

He watched Halise’s methodical gaze slice right through Stroud, feeling a little overly satisfied at the way it so clearly unnerved him. “Okay, say I believe you, and there’s a Magister plant in the Wardens who’s trying to frame you for Mythal-knows-what, what does that have to do with the Corypheus case?” Her fingers laced together under her chin, her intelligent eyes never leaving the Warden.

Cullen was proud of her. He felt it so powerfully in that moment, it was undeniable. He knew she was exhausted, that fear likely sat very close to the forefront of her mind, but there she was, staring down a man she knew would be armed and suspected might harm her. Her face was the picture of perceptive serenity, body language unafraid and imposing. She was unstoppable.

“This Warden is pretending to run Archdemon as a confidential informant.”

It was as if all the air vanished from the bar in that instant. Every sound was silence, every breath a struggle in a vacuum. “There is a Warden…” Halise paused in her disbelief, “who knows who Archdemon is. And he’s pretending to run him as a CI?” Stroud nodded somberly. “And he didn’t bother to stop his C-fucking-I from blowing me to the Void?!” She leaned halfway across the table, and might have sprung the whole length if Sera’s arm hadn’t shot out to stop her momentum.

“You can see, Ms. Lavellan, why I had to speak to you about this in person, and why it couldn’t be at your office.” It wasn’t a question.

Cullen heard the long, shaky breath shudder out of Halise, and saw the thick swallow roll down her throat. He knew firsthand that composure and rational thought could be difficult things to regain when shocked and incensed. But he watched her expression shift, watched her lips come together once more, watched her eyes regain their focused determination.

“Is it safe to assume you have proof of all these accusations?” Stroud nodded again. “Then why haven’t you given it to your boss?”

“The Warden in charge of our office, Assistant Director Clarel, insists she’s following protocol in the investigation against me by not accepting any ‘retaliatory’ accusations or evidence. But I suspect the Magister, Warden Livius Erimond, has something over on her. I’ve checked our policy manual, and there’s nothing in it about retaliatory evidence. I’ve also tried to go over her head, but I either hear nothing for weeks or get a voicemail left on my machine after hours about following the chain of command. I’m getting nowhere.”

“And what about taking your evidence to the Ferelden Attorney General’s Office?” Cullen finally chimed in. There had to be some reason he was seeking out their help.

“Honestly,” Stroud started as he placed a large folder on the table, “I thought, given what happened, you might want to talk to Erimond first. See if he’s willing to give up Archdemon for your case against Corypheus once he sees this mountain of evidence. Maybe he’ll drop his allegations and I can get back to work in the field.” His hand sat atop the file, and he slid it back toward himself by the smallest margin, nearly making the three of them jump to grab it. “If you prefer, however, I can take it to the AG’s Office. But if I do that, I can’t guarantee Archdemon’s identity won’t remain sealed as a CI, or that you’ll have any access to him once the AGs get their hands on him.”

“Trap,” Sera almost shouted, drawing stern glares from Halise and Cullen. “Something stinks. This sounds like a trap. How do we know you’re not playing us, and we meet this Eri-mouth or whatever, and he kills us? Up close and personal-like.”

Everyone turned to Stroud once more. “You should come to our headquarters at Adamant when he’s there—”

“Stupid name for a headquarters,” Sera interrupted.

“Confront him in his office while there are a hundred other Wardens around, myself included,” he concluded, unperturbed.

Halise turned to Cullen, and they shared another communicative look. Her viridescent eyes asked if he thought it was a good idea. Without a word, he told her the he worried it might be dangerous, but she should go with her gut. A tiny tilt of her head said there would be other Wardens there, and they might not get another opportunity to discover Archdemon’s identity. A slow blink and nod was Cullen’s answer.

Halise’s nimble fingers lifted the file from the table and found space for it in her too-large gray leather tote bag. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll come by next week, after we’ve dealt with the Mayor’s diplomatic event this weekend.” Maker’s breath. Cullen had almost forgotten about that. “I’ll call you to arrange a time.”

Without another word or gesture exchanged, Cullen, Halise, and Sera stood and left the table. Cullen experimentally pressed the button on his key to unlock his car, doing his best not to flinch when the headlights gave their chipper blink. Nothing happened. Nothing and no one exploded. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They were safe. At least for the rest of the day.

*****

Halise sat alone on her sectional the night of the meeting, her exhausted eyes wandering over the contents of the file Stroud had given her—photocopies, phone records, and photographs. She’d practically begged Cullen to come home with her, but he rebuffed her. He had other urgent business to deal with before he went home. What urgent business could someone possibly have at almost eight o’clock on a weeknight? Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull were likewise occupied, as was everyone else in her office, it seemed. Were they all out having fun without her?

No. The odds were just that everyone was genuinely busy. They all had lives to lead outside the office, after all.

It was probably for the best, though. She only managed to focus on the evidence for about half an hour before sleep weighed her eyelids down to an untenable degree. As she ambled off to bed, she prayed to the Creators and whoever else might be listening not to have a nightmare like the one she’d had the night before.

But no one was listening.

Screams rang out through the empty cell blocks of Denerim Central Jail. Halise ran barefoot through every floor, searching every locked cell and alcove for the source of the blood curdling screaming. The echoing emptiness of the cells bounced the screams into her ears a thousand times over, each one dissipating just in time for the next to begin, making it that much harder to follow them to their point of origin.

Finally, amidst the wails and roars, she managed to find a single unlocked door. She flung it open with a rusty squeak and darted inside only to find herself in an observation room. A single stool, a light switch, and a nearly wall-sized piece of thick glass were the room’s only occupants, their eerie silence almost as deafening as the bawls and bellows emanating from the other side of the glass. Halise’s eyes followed her ears, turning to see what she already knew would be there.

A thick pool of blood, both coagulated and fresh, spread across the floor of the interrogation room. Strong, bare feet and the metallic legs of a chair bore a stark contrast to the smooth, almost placid blood. Halise’s eyes traced up bare legs, noting the soft blonde hair that wisped over their surfaces. Next, she saw the man’s torso and arms, smattered in a myriad of scars, both healed and open, some gushing blood to feed the ever expanding pool below. His face—Cullen’s face—was bruised and broken. The scar she’d always seen as such an attractive feature sat open again, jagged and bloody, exposing his wounded gums and teeth below. His autumnal eyes were blackened, nearly swollen shut by the severity of his injuries. Blood matted down his golden blonde curls, leaving a grotesque texture she could almost smell and feel through the thick glass.

Around Cullen’s writhing, screaming, tortured body strode his captors. His torturers. His tormentors. Corypheus and Archdemon, their bodies hideously deformed and larger than life, swirled around Cullen. Haunting crystalline formations jutted out of their bodies at ghastly angles, rending their sallow flesh in tattered pieces. Corypheus’s body looked as if it had been stretched skyward, his midsection terrifyingly slim and bony. Archdemon’s sharpened smile gleamed beneath skin that had gone almost scaly, his frayed, ratty hoodie stretched and hanging from his arms like wings.

With claws and instruments they cut and tore at Cullen’s body, wresting horrifying, nauseating cries from him with every touch. Tears poured from Halise’s eyes, blurring her vision of the atrocities being committed against the man she’d loved for most of her adult life. Instinctively, she flicked the light switch upward, lighting up the space in a way she knew would let those in the interrogation room see her. All eyes watched her, wry smiles twisting the faces of those evil men. Their grins grew when Halise slammed the side of her fist into the glass and screamed. They continued their victimization and tyranny even as she lifted the steel stool and smashed it into the window. It bounced off, leaving nary a scratch in its wake. She kicked at the clear surface until she felt the bones in her feet break and splinter, though there was no pain for her. No pain for her, but pain immeasurable for the man she loved.

Halise ran with a limping gait to the door of the observation room only to find that it, too, had been locked. She was trapped. Forced to watch as pure evil and malice stole the joy she’d only found again so recently. In a final act of what may have been malevolence or mercy, Corypheus hauled Cullen’s chin up, exposing his neck, and slit his throat from ear to ear, splashing hot blood across the glass. The ichor obscured his death from her view, but she could hear his choked gurgling and final rattled breath even through her own deafening screams.

Her eyes flew open with a sharp gasp. The inky darkness of her bedroom and the thick, sweat-dampened blankets on her bed enveloped her. Tears streaked down her cheeks while choked sobs pulsed through her chest. Suffocating, she kicked the blankets away from her body, exposing her sweat-slicked skin to the cool, climate-controlled air. She rolled onto her side, curling into herself as guilt-grated whimpers eked out of her dry lips.

She thought about calling Cullen—confirming to her mind that he was alive and well halfway across town—but she couldn’t do that to him two nights in a row. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her shins, huddled her chin against her knees, and wallowed in the misery of her visions until dawn brightened the sky on the other side of her curtains.

Her morning routine was an exercise in weary determination. She would get through the day, no matter how sleep-deprived or shaken she was. She would get through her Fen-damned day.

The obviousness of her exhaustion was made plain once more on her arrival at the office. Everyone she passed remarked about how “tired” or “awful” she looked, which by no means helped her self-esteem. Still, they were right. She felt awful, and had very little doubt that she looked it.

Cullen wore his worry in the furrow of his brow, the downcast corners of his lips, and the consternation of his tone. “Maker’s breath, Halise, are you alright?” he asked, letting his hand rest on her shoulder.

“I’m…Um…I’m just tired. I’m fine,” she muttered, walking past him to get to her desk. His gentle touch slipped from her shoulder down her arm, and she caught his fingers with hers for a moment before letting go.

He followed after her, his three or four footsteps audibly hesitant. When Halise took a seat at her desk and tapped her voicemail button, her messages played over the speakerphone as she scrubbed her hands down her face. Thank Mythal I don’t have court today, she thought. A couple of people on her witness list left her messages agreeing to testify against Corypheus. Apparently, standing up to the dick-biscuit after he tried to blow her up had garnered her some street cred.

Cullen hadn’t moved. He looked down at her, helpless apprehensiveness obvious in his eyes. Halise sighed, feeling worse as she returned his gaze. “I had the stupid nightmare again,” she finally murmured in answer to the question he hadn’t needed to ask. Her tone betrayed the shame she felt in her admission. He’d been dealing with nightmares for so long, and she couldn’t even manage for two nights. What a weak person she was.

He rounded her desk, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his arms so quickly her vision blurred. “Why didn’t you call me?” his muffled voice said into her neck.

“I didn’t want to bother you with it two nights in a row,” she answered, the sting of imminent tears making her feel even weaker. She hated crying at work.

“You could never bother me, my love.” His arms tightened, his powerful fingers holding fast onto her biceps. “I want you to call me when you have a nightmare. I want you to lean on me. I’m here to support you, both as your second chair and as your boyfriend. You have to trust that I mean that in every way.”

Halise let her hand come to rest on the back of his neck. “I do,” she replied softly, a few small tears slipping free of her resolve. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. But will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course I will. I’m sorry I didn’t last night,” he said, pulling back just enough to see her face. He swiped a thumb across her cheek to wipe away the moisture there while he continued. “I had to buy a tux for the Mayor’s event. It’s been quite some time since I last wore one.”

A tired grin swept up her lips and squinted her eyes. “Why didn’t you have me come with you? I’m sure I could have helped.”

“I—uh—asked Dorian and some of the other men from the office to join me,” he answered, looking a bit sheepish. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Plus, as it turns out, almost everyone needed something to wear. We saw Sera with Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine while we were at the mall.”

A single grunt of a laugh pushed its way out of Halise’s nose. “So you guys really were all having fun without me.”

Cullen scoffed, “Hardly. I hate shopping, especially for clothes. Dorian and Solas, much to my surprise, seemed to have the greatest fondness for the exercise. Bull, Varric, Cole, and I sort of sat back and let them do the choosing. I went with one of Dorian’s choices.”

“I am very curious to see what he picked out for you. Though I’m sure it’s ‘of the highest quality’ and ‘painfully handsome,’” she smirked, mimicking Dorian’s voice and cadence.

“It’s as if you were there,” Cullen chuckled. He brushed a light kiss over her lips, but when her eyes closed, they chose to remain that way even after he moved away. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home? I know Cassandra would understand if you did.”

Before she could answer, a whisper of a knock tapped at their office door. Through sheer force of will, Halise managed to open her eyes enough to see Cole and Solas standing in their doorway. Cole’s face was almost expressionless, though his eyes looked just a bit concerned. Solas, on the other hand, let his brows knit together and a little frown curve his lips. Cole had a pillow in his hand. Where had he gotten that?

“I brought you this,” the ethereal young man said, holding up the very comfortable looking pillow. “We keep it for children to hold. It helps them feel better when they talk. But you should use it to take a nap. You’re very tired, and it will help you feel better.” He was disarmingly sweet and hopeful for someone who had to deal with those who, in Halise’s opinion, were the worst of the worst—the dregs of society. He was also a little blunt.

“I’d like to offer you my office for a couple of hours,” Solas added. “I can work at your desk, and you can sleep in the quiet seclusion for a time, if that is agreeable to you.” Always so proper. Somehow even more so than Cullen, if such a thing was possible.

Halise smiled wanly but warmly at the men in the doorway. Cullen gave her one little nod of approval, and another as a gesture for her to go. Reluctantly, she stood, crossed the room, and accepted the pillow from Cole. He smiled at her, a sight she so rarely saw from him. She murmured a quiet thank you to Solas and reminded all three of the men that they should come get her if anyone needed her. She had every intention of being back in an hour and a half. One good REM cycle was all she needed.

When she awoke three hours later, however, she cursed herself quietly. She felt better, to be sure, but knowing she’d missed hours of work dropped a pang of guilt onto her like a cinderblock. She stood from Solas’s too-comfortable chair—no wonder he was in his office all day—and wobbled back toward her office.

She stopped just outside her door when she heard Solas’s voice. “—that you and Ms. Lavellan have grown very close. I can see you care for her a great deal.” What an odd time for him to bring that up. Have they been sitting in total silence for the past three hours? she wondered.

The sound of Cullen clearing his throat almost made Halise laugh. She could practically see his hand at the back of his neck. “I do,” he finally replied.

“That is good to hear. Though, an admonishment, if I may—take care that your relationship does not affect the work either of you do. You are both true assets to Skyhold, and I would hate to see that negatively impacted should anything go awry.” He sounded so sincere, but there was a definite tinge of warning in his tone.

Halise didn’t know how to feel about him saying that. Part of her was flattered that he felt so strongly about their work, while another part was irritated that he would insert himself into their affairs in such a way. Cullen’s voice interrupted her thoughts before they could spiral any further. “Rest assured, Solas, nothing will go awry.” He sounded so certain, and that certainty grounded her as she stepped through the door into their office.

“Solas,” she grinned sincerely, “thank you so much for letting me use your office. I had an awesome nap, and I think I’m ready to get back at it. I really, really appreciate it.”

The elf smiled smoothly back at her, closing his laptop and rising from her desk. “I am very glad to hear it,” he said, darting his eyes to Cullen for just a split second. He took the pillow from her hand as he passed her, leaving their office as quietly as he’d come in.

Halise turned on her heel to face Cullen, putting her hands on his desk and leaning forward to kiss him. When their lips parted, he smirked at her, quirking up his scar—the scar that made him more attractive not because of its alluring appearance, but because of how strong he must have been to endure the pain of receiving it. “What was that for?”

“I just agree with you,” she said. “‘Nothing will go awry.’”

Mild embarrassment flushed his cheeks as she watched him. Silently, she prayed to the same entities that hadn’t listened in the night. She prayed that they would listen, and she prayed that she and Cullen were right.

Please let us be right.

*****

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #cullavellan #lavellan #halise #halise lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #fanfic #fic #modern au #trial by fire

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wolfswritings · 6 years ago

Text

Daniela Ziegler

Sex:female

sexuality:bisexual

Age: 30

Race/ethnicity: latino/german

Height: 5’5

Appearance: Dani has long wavy hair, upturned eyes, a slightly crooked nose with a drooping tip and full lips. She has an oval shaped face with high cheekbones and an olive skin tone.

Her eyes use to be greyish-blue and her hair used to be dark brown but her eyes to turned an amber color and her hair turned the color of a wolf's pelt( a mixture of white, grey, tan, and black) and grew thicker and her teeth fell out and grew back sharp and pointed because of the experiments done to her by Dr.Strange. She now dyes her hair black, wears gloves and veneers, and wears blue contacts.

She has a thin scar across her right cheek bone, and 3 bullet scars, one below her collar bone, one on her chest and one on her stomach. She has a tattoo of a forget-me-not flower on her left arm with a two years above it and two years below it.

Childhood: Daniela was born and raised in a middle class community. Her family weren't rich but they made enough money for a house that had a small yard and they didn't go without much. When she was around the age of 5 Dani develop the ability to easily find lost items.

Teens:Her father,Dieter Ziegler, died in a workplace accident when she was 12 and her mother,Emilia, fell into a deep depression. Thanks to her grandmothers, María Herrero and Edith Zeigler few friends the family were able to keep the house and Dani was able to take care of her mother.

Once her mother began treatment for her depression she was able to find work again but the single mother and daughter still struggled to make ends meet, even with the help of others.

Dani soon decided to use her strange talent to make some money, but even with the extra money life was difficult for the the mother and daughter.

When a classmate introduced her to the leader of gang, who promised her that she would make more than enough money to take care of both herself and her mother. So at the age of 14 Dani joined Marcus’ gang,which mainly operated in the narrows.

A few years later there was a disagreement between Dani and Marcus causing Dani to leave the gang along with several others.

Adulthood: At the age of 18 Dani was able to go to the university of Gotham, thanks to numerous scholarships and loans. There Dani took classes for criminal justice in order to become a Private Investigator.

A few months later she was framed for the murder of the father of a prominent family and sent to Blackgate Penitentiary and put on death row. Soon after being on death row she was offered a chance at freedom, join the experiments at the Pinewood farms and if she survived she was free to go.

But things did not work that way. Dr.Strange experimented with manipulating human DNA by adding animal DNA into it causing the once human DNA to mutate.

In order to cover up Dr.Strange's writing doing Dani (and the others) were proclaimed to be deceased.

One year later Pinewood farms was shut down by Thomas Wayne and the victims of the experiments were given safe houses to stay in, until Dr.strange and the other scientists were brought to justice.

After a year Dani could no longer take being trapped in that one place and decided to take matters into her own hands and she hunted down a few scientists herself. But she was unable to find Dr.Strange or the other scientists.

A year later she was saved by Carmine falcone because he thought she would be a valuable ally and she joined the falcone crime family. Carmine encouraged her to go back to college and Victor Zsasz taught her how to protect herself and sometimes they would work together. Eventually they began a relationship and 3 years later Dani became pregnant, surprising them both. This led to them arguing about whether or not they would have the baby, after a bad argument Dani decided that it would be best to leave. She wrote a note to Victor and she left Gotham and went to Louisiana where her grandmothers lived.

4 years later she returns to Gotham for a cure to her mutating DNA.

Family/friends: Dani lost both of her parents, her father died in a work accident and her mother committed suicide when she thought her daughter was dead. Both of her paternal and maternal grandmothers are still alive and she has her own 4 year old daughter Emilia. Her friends consists of Stacey Welsh, a runaway she met in Louisiana and who lived with her, Cadence Young and Tiffany Byrne, both ex-members of Marcus’ gang.

Skills:She was taught how to use a handgun and how to do parkour by Cadence. Victor taught her how to use other weapons including a machine gun and taught her how to fight hand to hand better. Though her schooling and her boss she learned how to use surveillance equipment on computers and how to track and watch people.

Occupation/Schooling: Growing up she attended public school and then she went on to college eventually getting a bachelor's degree in criminal justice and becoming a PI

Hobbies: Her hobbies include solving puzzles, hiking,cooking and reading.

Personality:She’s a quiet and reserved person. Usually enjoying do things by herself and she finds herself feeling drained being around too many people for too long

Strengths: She is both mentally, emotionally and physically strong, compassionate, and creative.

Weaknesses: She has a distrust of other people, and usually questions their motives. She bottles up her emotions to not make other worry about her. At times she becomes too independent, refusing help from others even if it means people away or she gets hurt.

Goals/dreams: she wants to find Dr.Strange and have a cure made.She wants to have her own PI business.

Beliefs:Dani isn't involved with any religion. But she was taught to always value friends and family and stay loyal, as well as fight for those unable to fight.

Fears: She's afraid that she would never be cured and that she would become a danger to her family and friends. She is afraid that she would cause the death of people close to her.

What would she die for?: She would die for her family and close friends.

#wip #my writing #daniela #Ziegler #dani #bisexual character #biracial #biracial character #gotham #fanfic #gotham fanfiction #city of darkness

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