She needs to know more before she agrees to anything, including who’s asking.
A gloved hand moves away from her weapon, as she scans the letters on the page. She asks, whilst signing;
“It seems you had quite a change of heart. What happened?”
Eyes narrowed under the obsidian helmet of her own, a hand threatening to reach back for a katana. She never forgot a face (or a mask), especially one in a team with Solider Boy;
“I remember you. Payback, yes? What do you want?”
“He thought he killed me, but here I am.” She signs.
“He’s reckless with the harm he causes, despite his experience. That is his weakness.”
She removes her helmet, then shaking long brunette locks out of her face. The head is one of the most vulnerable parts of the body, and she’s sending him a message; if he doesn’t bite, she won’t.
That’s exactly what I told myself on the Eastern Front back in ‘41. I suppose I still live by this idea to this day, although death isn’t exactly inevitable for me.
Where are your parents?
I find it oddly therapeutic. Perhaps it’s that I want control over what’s around me, but knowing I did my job, and I did it well, satisfies me.
Or perhaps I’m a maniac. Anyway, where did you serve?
At least I don’t feign an ‘exotic’ speech pattern to sound cool.
Did you just learn to say ‘fuck’?
You get it. It feels even better when it was called for.
ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
slowly, one of his hands reaches for a small, black leatherbound notebook at his hip, pulling it loose alongside a small pen and flipping it open to scrawl his response.
‘ kill Soldier Boy. '
he then flips the notebook outward for her to read it.
ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
he's been shadowing @nevermisses.bsky.social for awhile now, ever since he's been back on his feet, really.
its now that he allows himself to get caught, palms open to show that he holds no weapon and has no intention of reaching for one. he doesn't expect to be trusted, though.
