[ Though she rarely would get seasick, Jill still isn't particularly fond of long treks on open waters. It's not exactly unpleasant, but she can't name a single time she's managed to avoid stormy skies and violent tides, rocking boat or jet ski until she feels nauseated. The tugboat was larger than expected, but by the time they had hit their destination via a rocky alcove, her legs still felt like they were being moved of their own accord and vibrating despite the solid land beneath her. Her pack is attached firmly both to hip and back and she's in the middle of fixing her AR to a comfortable space on the bag before heading out a little further.
Jill starts by scanning the immediate area, she waits for her newly assigned partner to catch up. They'll have to find another way off this island to the nearest one, but it shouldn't be an issue after they carry on with information gathering. Hopefully it would be more along the lines of giving a disgruntled guard a week's pay instead of having to fight their way off, but she's prepared for either obstacle and then some. After a moment, she drags herself toward the mouth of the cave, overlooking the expanse of thick foliage below; it's scattered with small outposts, some larger than the others. Intel suggests they're factories and the fact that they aren't on the main island means they're not immediately important, perhaps even extraneous to the work being done elsewhere.
She readjusts here pack, rolling a shoulder as she tries to make out anything more in the distance. It's all shrouded by tree canopy or the lay of the land. Though where they are has a small vantage point, it's not nearly high enough to hit the other edges of the island and see to the others nearby. There's bound to be more guards, if not BOWs spread throughout but she's itching to get rid of the sea legs already. ]
You about ready to head off? [ She throws her voice low so there's no echoing off the cavern walls. In some vague attempt to be more friendly, she commits to it with a crooked smile, eyebrows raised. ] Know I was introduced with full name and we haven't done much chatting, but just Jill's fine.
[Adam would agree: water sucks. That just makes two of them.
The Vltava had been one thing – and even if it hadn't, it's not as if he could've afforded to feel squeamish about the Prague river he had to cross every day – but the open sea's something else entirely. Of the vague, fragmented recollections he has of the events three years ago, it's the memories of his icy, second brush with death that come through the clearest, and he can't look at the roiling surface of the water now without hearing his heartbeat thundering in his ears like it had before – as if trying to convince its owner that, this time, it's not going to leave him.
All in all that's a load of shit he doesn't feel like dealing with at the moment, and so instead he steals away below deck for most of the trip, busying himself with his usual pre-mission ritual: an almost obsessive inspection of his augs, methodically activating and deactivating mechanisms, searching for even the slightest hint of a catch in the moving parts. It's a little quirk of his that'd earned him nothing but scorn from his previous CO, but his new partner seems content leaving him to do what he needs to do. Waiting to see how he performs in the field before she draws her conclusions, perhaps. More discreet than he's used to dealing with, this one – or maybe she's just less of an asshole. Sometimes the simplest explanations are the best ones.
Eventually – mercifully – they make landfall, and the two of them practically leap off the boat, but a couple minutes pass before he catches up to Jill's position. By now he's ditched his long coat, leaving the BSAA standard issue tac gear – and his arm prostheses, black, sleek and smooth – on full display. He meets her glance, the green-gold metal of his artificial eyes catching what little light there is in the dim of the cave in a way that organic tissue simply doesn't, slight raised brow indicating surprise at the sudden familiarity. But surprise aside, the carved-stone face of his seemingly isn't made for much more than that; her smile isn't returned.]
More than ready to be off that tin can.
[No smiles, maybe, but he can certainly commiserate with her over putting up with a shitty boat (and there's the faintest hint of humor there in his tone if she really searches for it.) His reply's low, quiet – more like a rasp than a whisper – but somehow it's still the most emphatic he's sounded in all of the few hours they've known each other.
(There's already enough he has to fabricate about his reasons for being here – no point in lying about everything.)]
Jill, then. [He indicates her with a nod.] But if I'd known this was a social call, I might've worn something nicer.
[That, and maybe picked a less hostile choice of scenery. But if there's one thing that can really get people on a first name basis, it's probably shared risk of death.]
[ Jill knows the barest basics of how his augments work, so part of her is holding back asking if he'll rust like the Tin Man if he's soaked for too long right about now. That's Quint's fault for talking a mile a minute and exhausting her on the subject before she even got a word in.
Though she's left him alone for the trip due to her own antisocial behavior, she figures he was just as welcome to have come bug her the entire way. For her, it's staring at maps and mission objectives. Though she'd managed to go through her mental checklists for her weapons a hundred times and took her trusty handgun apart more than once and reloaded it, when it comes down to the wire all she needs is her knife and if that's taken from her, then she'll make due with her surroundings. Over the past few years she's dramatically changed herself; the sparse three spent taking down hundreds of facilities had been enough to kick start it all. Staying still too long seemed to mean bad things and settling in was still associated with STARS and all the loss that accompanied that ill-fated city.
More importantly, it would be apt to say he maybe possibly sort of (kind of) makes her uncomfortable. In many ways he was the sort of person that bio-organic weaponry was used to create. It's a stretch, but she was built up with viruses the way he was with robotics (which she suspects she'd be laughed at for comparing augs to).
She gets to stretching while ignoring his tone, her joints stiff from the trip. Waist and hips, mostly legs; crouching and extending with an exaggerated sound as she stands and holds her hands to her hips. ]
Nah, if it's a social call with me you're going to be wearing something like this. [ Just without the heavier gear. Weapons optional, but she rarely is without them. ] Bit of a drop, hope you're ready for some climbing.
[ She's still foggy and not sharp enough to tease about his voice, but it's better than a partner who doesn't know how to keep his voice low. She's tired of coaching the rookies.
Starting toward the edge, she talks as she moves, though a flip might be easier to maneuver out of this, it'll do her some good to move more normally. It's a quick drop, no psyching herself up before legs are over the edge and she's pushing her hand off, boots tight against the walls of the rocky crevice so the speed is bearable. There's not much of a path that can be seen onward, but the trees will do well for cover. ]
Look, if we're going to be partners you could at least try to sugarcoat it some. Wouldn't feel quite right putting my ass on the line for someone my chief description of would be gruff at this moment.
[ Her tone suggests she means the first part, at least. Though maybe not finding his curtness disagreeable, it cuts the silence and discomfort while she walks as far as she can. The drop is still too far to manage directly, at least not without busting either herself or her gear. ]
[Nights out on the town in full combat gear. Honestly– same.
He offers his silent acknowledgement by flicking his shades on – doing pretty much nothing at all to help the whole gruffness thing – and watches Jill's descent from behind the reflective lenses, waiting for her momentum to slow before hopping down after her, limb enhancements absorbing the shock of the landing. Still more to go, but he trails after her towards the next drop, letting her set the pace. Time's not yet a factor here– but precision is.
A quiet snort.] Is it really because of how I act, or is it just that I'm the new guy?
[The question's pointedly wry – at least he's self-aware (if still unwilling to crack a smile about it or anything.) Little of column A and a little of column B, he has to imagine. No one gets into this line of work and lasts without being able to put aside differences for the sake of the mission– but he's done this song and dance before. It's the second time he's been inserted onto a team he's got no business being on and, while the Collective's hackers were able to spoof enough on his records to ensure him the position, some truths are plain: somehow the BSAA's ended up with an Aug with a long history of loner tendencies, authority issues, and a knack for always being present where shit's about to go down.
It'd been the same story with TF29, and at his first meeting with his new squad, he'd recognized the tense atmosphere in the room, felt the familiar furtive glances stolen his way. Sensed the unspoken questions. All things considered, he can't blame them for being spooked by– well, the spook. First time anybody's said as much straight to his face, though. He'd been content to ignore his team's obvious misgivings about him – knowing they'd be mostly dispelled once he proved himself on the first op – but hadn't expected it to be brought up in the first five minutes of this mission here.
(It's gonna have to be team building excercises now, isn't it?)
He shakes his head.] I'm not really great at icebreakers.
[Comes off less as an excuse and more like... Well. Honesty. Not that it's a stretch to believe that Mr. Dark Trenchcoat and Sunglasses-At-Night sucks at positive first impressions.
Seeing where Jill's looking – down at that long drop to the rocky base of the treeline – he taps her shoulder to grab her attention, signalling his pack with his other hand. The standard field equipment's mostly fluff as far as he's concerned (and he would've been glad to have left it behind entirely) but he can think of a decent use for a length of rope right about now.]
Don't want you thinking you can't rely on me, though.
[And if nothing else, a guy with mil-spec cybernetic arms can be relied on to not let his partner's rope slip from his grasp. Just sayin'.]
[ She is, perhaps, a tiny bit envious of that skill. Meanwhile, she has to brace for the impact and play it off and push it down if it leaves any throbbing aches up her legs and lower back. She's been doing it long enough that she knows the way her body works and how to lessen it, but the small amount of time not shaking it off can really make or break an unpleasant surprise or ambush.
Instead of voicing that, she flicks the rim of her baseball cap and smiles further. Almost playful, but still restrained. ]
Dunno, didn't think I gave off the sort of John McClane vibe. [ But she should be knocked down a peg or ten for talking about Die Hard. At least it's not Speed. ] Occasionally train rookies in my free time and I'm not someone to knock another organization so long as they're willing to work with us. Wouldn't be very good for the image of the BSAA when one of the founding members treats someone like that.
[ She is clearly not out to impress with that little revelation, almost shy about bringing it up, looking away from his admittedly quite cool gear (is that what you call built-in sunglasses?), uncomfortable with how she's treated based on who she is within the organization. If it was up to her, she'd just be doing SOA without any credit. Nothing she's ever done has been for credit, after all. ]
Makes two of us. I'm good at teasing, which gets mistaken for being good at conversing with people at least. [ She turns toward him, not even thinking about the fact he probably could do a lot of damage if not work better than any hook might on the terrain. Lucrative perks, she guesses. ] Hnn, that. If you let me fall on my ass, I'm going to drag you down with me, just so you know.
[ There's that Valentine charm in full-swing, quick to stare him down even though it's borderline laughable considering their difference in height and the fact she can't actually see into his eyes right now.
It's a snap judgement, but she doesn't like it. It reminds her of Wesker.
The unspoken is still picked up on and she's careful to unloop a rope from her bag and hand it to him; normally, she would've just walked some ways and slid the rest, but this seems preferable especially when he can just gracefully drop beside her without a worry. Maybe that's an assumption on her part, but it's hard to say. She tightens her gloves and exaggerates a look of worry. Like she said, teasing. ]
I am one hundred percent serious about dragging your ass if you're thinking about being cute, though. I'll armbar and sharpshooter you until you're crying.
[ But her smile softens as she wastes no time in carrying onward. It's not like with Parker or Chris. You can't trust someone you've just met to throw you across a gap, but if this goes well he might just be lucky number three. ]
there is enough brobocop for all the sad hungry british orphans
[Until he hears a "yippie-ki-yay" out of her, he can't be sure she gives off that vibe either. But there's still lots of island– and lots of opportunity left for that.
The subtle title drop is a little bit of a surprise– but not as much of a surprise as the sudden reticence. Maybe she's no Bruce Willis, but he hadn't exactly taken her for a shrinking violet either. Uncomfortable with the insinuation of glory or prestige. So if she's not in this to put a feather in her cap, then perhaps it's for the cause. Just someone trying to do right in the world, as is the cliché (but who is he to talk?)
Trust is a commodity – and these days, he has very little of it to throw around – but maybe he'd be able to find some to spare for someone like her.]
I'll tone down the cuteness, but only because you asked. [He says, with a solemnity that – coming from anyone else – would be practically comical.
(As it is, Adam's a bit of a harder read– but something that could almost be mistaken for a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth...)
He briefly considers making another comment (something suitably charming, like "we'll be fine as long as you don't weigh more than a dumpster") but something tells him she absolutely would make good on her threats – you know, all four of them that he's received in the last ten seconds – if he gives her an excuse to. And no one needs to see a grown man cry today. So he doesn't hesitate taking the proffered rope, unlooping it and folding it in half, wrapping his portion around one arm, and grasping it tightly before tossing the two ends over the precipice. His particular model of cyberlimb might not be as obviously built for heavy lifting as some Augs' were – more like a performance machine and less like a piece of demolition equipment – but Sarif's work was known for form without sacrificing function. In the absence of any trees or solid anchors on this barren cliffside, he'll do just as well as any boulder.
Hunkering down on one knee a few feet away from the edge of the cliff, he nods at her.]
After action reports are enough of a pain to write without having to explain why I dropped a founding member of the BSAA off the edge of a cliff. So consider yourself safe.
[Ha ha! Of course that's a joke! He never writes his after action reports.]
i thought that said bopit and i'm like i bet there is
[ There's always time for him to join in the chorus with the last few infamous syllables, too. She takes herself for more of a high-fiver, but that just gives him opportunities to leave her hanging and relish in the discomfort.
First, it was a thrill or a purpose. Fresh out of Delta Force, being dragged by a friend into what seemed like a lucrative and active position where she genuinely could make a difference. Then, it was vengeance and rage spurred on by the loss of not just her friends, but the entirety of the life she'd come to know. It was easier to be angry than charitable for a good, long while. It's when she realized how deeply that not just Umbrella but anyone looking for the same were involved in so many atrocities that it became something like a calling. Too cliché, too pointedly deep a phrase for her taste. It wasn't just something to do, but she was good at it and it felt right. That's reason enough.
She seems to be content with his answer, almost awkwardly giving him a thumbs up even though she looks to be ready to talk. It seems like there's going to be a lot of excess gestures on this wonderful trip. ]
Much appreciated, partner. Here I was expecting something like "I can't change who I am," but guess you're full of surprises.
[ Needless to say the surprise is more like you get two sides instead of one with the meal deal and not gaping, wide-eyed shock. It's fine, he can be the soup and the salad.
So far he seems alright at the very least and she'll take this over too talkative. Once you've partnered up with a guy who jumps every time you enter the room and makes a two decade long ongoing joke at your expense or someone who repeats what you say in a different way with a joking tone like it's something entirely different... well, there's worse partners to have. As long as he isn't blowing up their escape route and trying to drown her, she can give him at least a B- on his performance.
(She's got her fingers crossed on him not trying to drown her, but it's still up in the air.)
It's difficult to not watch him with too much curiosity, never having seen this sort of skill in action. She makes an effort to shoot an apologetic glance between eye drags that might easily be confused for being extra into high quality arms or something like that. Honestly, it's something she might call cool but she's not in the mood to embarrass herself quite yet. ]
I'd like to think I'm worth a report that's twice as long as average, but hard to say. [ It's her kind of joke at least. It's nerve-wracking in that this is a long way to go with someone she's spent a long boat ride occasionally glancing at and once asking if he wants some coffee, but at least this way she can prepare for momentum. It might involve having to climb to the best of her ability or spearing herself so she doesn't hit the ground too hard, but sometimes the quickest route is better than the safest. Plus, this could be the safest. Maybe. ] Sorry to have to use you as a human anchor, feels kinda shitty.
[ That's a weird thing to leave him with, but it does feel awkward. It feels like it strips him of being a human, more than having someone as a look-out or a tether in a different way. She starts down with enough ease, her gloves picking up any slack and her legs making sure she doesn't sway much. It always feels like going down is easier than coming up, but it's easier to look up than look down.
There's barely a pause in her movement, only occasionally to check her surroundings and make sure there's no patrol. Conceit seems to be a frequent factor in easy starts on missions like this. They never seem to consider that anyone will bother, or they crop it all around the more important areas. For the most part, this seemed abandoned. A rejected facility or maybe one associated with a grave misstep that hung over head enough that they just kept to the main island. In the end, all that mattered was they got information here or somewhere else.
Perhaps a bit of a show-off, around the fifteen foot mark she uses her feet to push off, swinging outward while using the momentum to kick upward and flip to the ground off, landing in a way that it seems natural. Shock absorbed as she crouches and gets to her feet, it got her blood flowing and definitely saved them some time. Jill makes an effort to peer into the wooded area just to make sure there's not anyone he can't see, but somehow she gets the feeling he can see better from up there than she can down here.
Moving nearer where she'd come from, she waves him down. Though it's unlikely she can do anything to support him on his way to where she is, she still waits where she is, looking outward. At least if he hurts himself she will be right here to lend a hand -- or a first aid spray. ]
I'M ALIVE also wrong icon but too lazy to resub rn
[On the heels of that almost-smile is a quiet snort – just about the closest thing to laughter Jill's probably going to get out of him.]
Nice to feel needed.
[The dry retort is all the reassurance Jill gets before he shifts his weight, digging his heels in the dirt and bracing himself for the sudden burden as she drops over the edge. There are worse ways to be used– to be useful. Helping a teammate of his own accord isn't not one of them.
Keeping a tight grip on the rope – and trying to think heavy thoughts – he takes the time to glance out past the overlook, towards the distant edge of the treeline where clusters of run-down old buildings can be seen. Evidence that this part of the archipelago had once been occupied– but no sign of any occupants just yet. Nothing showing up on Smart Vision either, he notes, artificial eyes registering only cool blues and greens on the thermograph. He blinks once, twice, three times before his view shifts back into a more comfortable wavelength – back to grey skies and rolling fog. Not that heat readings mean much here. If he's to believe everything he'd been told at his first briefing, not everything they might be dealing with would necessarily be alive– or even robotic. Undead, like something out of one of those B-rated midnight movies Pritchard was always pestering him to watch. At first he'd thought they'd been joking – some sort of elaborate hazing ritual for the new guy – but quickly, disturbingly, he'd realized that wasn't the case.
Things are never simple these days. If it's not the actual, literal Illuminati, it's zombified bioweapons. He's not yet convinced it isn't both on this island, but– well, that's why he's really here, isn't it?
A sudden tug on the end of the rope grabs his attention, and he peers downwards curiously, the top of his head and a pair of sunglasses poking just far over the edge of the cliffside to be seen from down below. Barely in time to catch the tail end of what must've been a sweet-ass flip. Stuck the landing too.
Nice.
Adam acknowledges her wave with a quick nod, drawing up the rope and putting it away before getting up and moving to the edge of the cliff. He glances downwards – making sure Jill isn't right underfoot – before stepping off unhesitatingly. He drops like a stone, arms spread at his sides, before coming to a strangely silent landing on his feet and dropping to one knee – silent save for a involuntary, pained grunt that he isn't able to bite back quite in time. It was a long fall, certainly – long enough to rattle every tooth in his skull, but not quite long enough for his landing system aug to feel like it needed to kick in. The wonders of technology. Still, the shock absorbers in his cyberlimbs do their job, and a moment later he's back on his feet without too much discomfort.]
We can swap next time if you still feel shitty about it.
[It's a joke, but for all he knows, she'd match his fall– and throw in a backwards somersault and a reverse twist. At this point, nothing would surprise him.
Joining her once more, rolling his shoulder, he follows her gaze over to the treeline. No chance of sighting the old buildings from down here now. Not through the dense foilage on the forest floor, and not through the encroaching fog just starting to roll onto land from the sea – a product of the earlier storms. Adam frowns.]
Didn't catch sight of anything while I was up there. [A pause. Neither of them need to say it to know what he means: doesn't mean there's nothing out there.] How do we want to approach this?
you think you can just come waltzing back on into my life like this
[ Something more genuine comes of his reply from her, at least. A little puff of a laugh, not restrained in any sense of the word but still short and clipped. ]
Tell me about it.
[ Which contrary to the actual meaning of the sentence, it's not encouragement for him to open up on the subject. If he'd care to fill the silence with real and perhaps legitimate personal woes, she'd lend him an ear, but he doesn't seem like the type to do that sort of thing. At least not until post-mission victory celebrations and a twelve pack are drowning him.
She rubs at her wrists, thumb rolling over the joint and over her gloved knuckles. Maybe at some point it'll be down to lack of humanity in general -- not just tricked out humans or those robbed of their own lives. Give or take a decade and she might be last year's model, replaced with a cyborg or a completely obedient supped-up viral freak, easy to dispose of when you remove the element of empathy. She's not sure it's a change she'd welcome, but she'd fought for nothing other than the safety of others; to make monsters fictional again, that's a goal to strive for.
His slide down is watched with some curiosity, unsure exactly how it might feel and if the pressure might put strain on him. Must be convenient. ]
Impressive dismount. [ It's hard not to think of it like he just did a gymnastics routine. Jill raises her arms slightly at the elbow, waving her hands a little. ] I get the feeling you'd drag me down head first even if I put all my weight into it. Don't know about you, but I think I'm just fine not being a pancake.
[ There's only so many food-related jokes she can handle.
But he's not incorrect -- although she'd just do a modified moonsault. She's become much lighter on her feet and more capable of using the way she moves to be more accurate, swift, or avoid injury. It's experience and knowing her own body, the specialties she's cultivated have all been to accommodate the skills she already had and her small stature (in addition to riffing off her typically much more bulky partners). Where they're power, she's speed and compromise. Jill isn't entirely sure if it'll pan out that way with this guy. ]
Figure slow and steady is well enough. Trees are pretty thick, so we should stick together. [ What makes for good cover and good hiding doesn't just apply to them, after all. ] Probably don't have to tell you to aim for the head, but be wary of Plagas. Some grow to maturation quickly and can detach from the original host body. Anything that regenerates you'll want to unload quickly on. [ She probably didn't need to mention that, but it's something to be reminded of. She almost seems apologetic, like she's the one who brought all of this down on them, her expression drained to emptiness as she holds her trusty Beretta tight. ] I'll take point.
[ She'd started back in STARS in the rear, clean-up duty and taking great care of her comrades. She'd become more of a leader since, though perhaps not the best with inspiring cowboy speeches.
Raising her weapon to eye level she gives it a swirl. Tight, upturned like a question: ] Yippie-ki-yay?
[ The motherfucker is implied.
It's the best kind of pep talk she can muster as she takes a more serious stance, gun held pointing forward and down with both hands. It's a comforting feeling, even if only the tips of her fingers are able to recognize it. The first goal is the small cropping of buildings, but some distance has to be crossed before then. The sound of the forest floor is crisp and the smell thick and green, which means that the plants hopefully weren't a casualty. The trunks of trees hold no signs of rot and the branches are just as thick and robust, extending high and darkening their passage through them. Between this and the fog, it's likely she'll have to flip the light on her headpiece on for a little added clarity.
Even if he probably has something to take care of it all for him. Maybe having him work as the compass would've been a better call. ]
[A well-dressed Aug is still a damned Aug, and unwelcome at anything but the seediest of dive bars – just one of the many charms of this city Adam knew so well (but Isha, still the recent INTERPOL transplant, had yet to fully realize.) But after getting turned away from two restaurants, what'd appeared to have been a failed evening out had turned into a spur of the moment decision, and several things had made themselves very clear.
One: crashing a wedding is, in fact, as easy as the movies make it seem. Almost annoyingly so.
Two: top-of-the-line leg replacements – no matter how advanced the design – are not and never will be a substitute for actual dancing ability.
And three: Isha's capacity for smooth-talking and bullshittery is practically boundless and, if he didn't know any better, he'd swear she has a CASIE mod she isn't telling him about. Not even because she'd talked him into the party in the first place – the fact that Adam's a soft touch when it comes to her had (unfortunately) stopped being a secret long ago – but witnessing her successfully convince several guests sober enough to be suspicious that a pair of wayward Augs belonged at a reception like that had been like watching an artist at work.
(Honestly– he could stand to take a few pointers.)
But as the evening had died to give way for the early hours of the morning, so too had the music and the laughter and their cover along with it, and eventually it became time for the two of them to slip back out into the cold – a little warmer, if only for all the complimentary wine – and find their way back to her place. The snowfall, though little more than a flurry when they'd ducked into the wedding hours ago, had quickly accumulated and blanketed everything in a layer of white. Prague winter nights at their most picturesque... At least if you can ignore the state police at every corner and the openly hostile looks from the non-augmented. Mercifully, however, the weather and the biting wind seem to have driven most people back into their homes, leaving the darkened streets empty and quiet save for the crunch of his and her footsteps on the fresh snow.]
Told you I couldn't dance.
[It's not like him to wear a fault like a badge of honor, but it might be enough to distract her from the fact that maybe – just maybe – Adam "No Fun Allowed" Jensen might've enjoyed himself a little tonight.
It also might be enough to distract her from the top hat – hot pink, sequined, and very not his style – that seems to have escaped on his head, a souvenir liberated from the wedding's photo booth.
Come to think of it, that may have accounted for some of the looks.]
She didn't know just how bad the Augs had it in the city, how hated they were, and how much trouble they were simply by existing in a space.
Clearly it didn't stop her, not now, not ever. What she knows are people. That's really all it took. When you get down to the basics, it's really easy to read any kind of person from anywhere. What was it about universal truths?
Isha had actually never been to Prague. For someone with as much money to burn as her, there was something about keeping to usual haunts. Prague really was something special in the winter. The state police didn't bother her too much, really. She grew up around police, dodging them, then working for them. She did what she did best: throw her head up high, pretend they're nothing.
And they are nothing, especially now, as she's latched her arm onto Adam's and they make their way through a late winter night.]
And I told you I'm not dating you for your dance moves.
[The distraction is not enough, unfortunately. The sequined top hat has now become One Property of Isha. Not without a kiss to his cheek, though.
She arranges the hat just so, making it lopsided, covering one eye like a real gangster. She looks So Tough. Almost as tough as No Fun Adam? Maybe.]
[–1 stupid hat, +1 kiss. Not a bad trade. He takes the opportunity, while she's let go of his arm, to slip his hand around her waist.
He snorts lightly.] Answer carefully now, Adam...
[A quiet aside that's neither quiet nor to the side enough for it to sound like anything but his usual Jensen brand of sarcasm. If she's not dating him for his dance moves, it's got to be for his sense of humor, right?
But luckily, he's just kind of fallen into things with the one woman he's ever known to happily take even shameless flattery at face value. So, joking aside, this probably is the one time "how do I look" doesn't have to be a risky question to try and answer– or however the cliché goes.]
You make anything look good.
[Basically true. But there's got to be a "but..."]
But– [he adds with an exagerratedly appraising eye, tipping the brim of the hat back up with one finger in an attempt to un-gangster it] –I'm not sure even you can make this look catch on.
[Which sounds like as much of a challenge as she'd like it to sound, honestly.
The hat, unfortunately, still looks exactly as gangster as it did a second ago. Which is to say: not a goddamn bit. Adam might have the whole "fixer of problems" thing going on, but there are limits to what even he can do.]
It's the sequins isn't it? [She sighs oh so dramatically as she removes the hat. For all of its pink glittery glory, there are simply some things Isha can't make look good.
Isha hadn't expected any kind of real answer from him, but he knows her well enough. A good compliment would get him a long way. Dating her is deceptively easy, once you can figure out just exactly how she thinks.
Which is real challenge. Adam seems to have figured it out some of the way. She'd never admit how pleased she is by that.]
I knew it would end this way.
[Their slight height difference made for nearly everything being easier. In this moment, it's the minimal effort it takes to press her lips against his. The hat, once an accessory, serves to hide their faces ass he holds it up. Because who knows what soul is going to catch them, right?
The all of no one outside in the streets, of course.]
We should do this more often.
[Random wedding crashing and all.]
So I can tell you how much I like you when you're not being so serious. You do know you're actually fun, right?
Do what? This? [And with that feigned air of ignorance, he returns the kiss with one of his own while they've still got the privacy of that stupid hat– his just the slightest bit more insistent than her last.
But only because it was her suggestion. Really.
He draws away, a considerable silence following her question as if he were seriously mulling it over – does he know he's actually fun? – before finally leveling her with a look far too solemn for anyone to take seriously.]
Just don't go telling everyone. Ruins the surprise.
[In a city already full of conspiracies, the fact that Adam Jensen knows the meaning of the word "fun" is probably the best-kept secret in all of Prague– and he'd very much like to keep it that way. Crazy as it might seem, this reputation he's got for being a quiet, unapproachable loner suits him just fine. Keeps people from asking questions. He's always been someone who values his privacy, but in light of things – the person currently by his side, namely – lately it's felt so much more crucial to maintain.
...Especially because no one at the agency really needs to know that two of their biggest wild cards are spending this much time together. He's wreaked enough havoc on his boss's blood pressure as it is.]
I can do fun. [One of his wry half-smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth. See? Cutting loose.] But I just can't help but notice that there's a lot of overlap between things you find fun and things that tend to piss the state police off.
[You can take the cat out of the jungle... But you can't take the master thief out of the INTERPOL agent. Or something like that. Not that he's exactly Mr. Straight and Narrow himself – and he's never really tried to convince Isha otherwise – but someone's got to make a half-hearted, token attempt at being the advocate for the path of morality here. Or at least the advocate for the path of not making a habit out of gatecrashing highly visible events.]
[She frowns a little at his incredibly astute observation. Sure, he's not exactly the most moral person she's ever met, and more often than not she imagines he'd rather punch his way out of a situation instead of talking it out.
But he has, in some marginal way, helped to at least think past the criminal-only tendencies.
Lifelong habits are hard to break.]
If I make out with you, will you stop moralizing at me?
[The go-to move, nice.
The good thing about their mutual secrecy, though? No one would really pin them for being together, and definitely not like this. Sometimes Isha would get a hard time from her coworkers. He can't stay away, you must really be up to something, they'd tease. All of them knew just how easy it is for her to reel in men and to push them aside once she's done. Mission parameters and all.
Reputations and all. Easier to keep a secret behind a veil than to keep a secret, period. Let her own work do the talking for her, while she enjoys her nights out with Adam and then some.
He hid behind his dark lenses and brooding American ways, she hid behind her dark glasses and her charming British ways. They could keep guessing for all she cares. None of them needed to know Adam is so much more than he could ever let on.
They probably didn't need to know either they've been together for more than a few casual times.]
[Don't get him wrong, a lot of what he does tends to piss off state police too. Not exactly a high bar to meet, that (being from INTERPOL would be bad enough – he just had to be an Aug as well, didn't he?) But he's always been someone who prefers to separate his work and his play – and seeing how he's definitely not making enemies for fun...
Well. Best to leave the conflict for day duty. Surprisingly (especially to himself) he prefers to spend his nights like this when he can manage – party crashing and all.]
Has it stopped me before?
[No. Hell no, it hasn't.
Or– not permanently, anyway. Not that she should let that keep her from trying, of course.
At length, he shrugs and adds, with a passable attempt at nonchalance:] They say the fifth time's the charm.
[And before, it'd been the fourth time– and before that, the third time... One might start to see a pattern here, if they cared or anything.]
[His attention's further ahead up the street – ever alert when the two of them are out together like this, always scanning for movement in the dark or for a sign of potential threats – when her arms go around his neck. If that doesn't bring his attention back solely on her, the kiss certainly does – long, drawn out, a reminder that there's more than just one way to keep warm on a frosty winter's night like this. He turns to the brief embrace, slipping his hand around the small of her back and lacing his fingers through the other's.
Adam snorts. He's been accused of being a lot of things– but coy's a new one.]
Some day you're going to have to tell me how it is you do that.
[You know – always getting people to do what she wants. He's going to go ahead and attribute that to some mysterious talent she's got, anyway. Better that than to admit that maybe he's just kind of a pushover when it comes to her. Give her an inch and she'll take a mile – that'd been his initial assessment of her the first time they'd met. He hadn't been wrong.
She pulls back, meeting a second or two's resistance before he obligingly withdraws his hands, resting them instead on her hips. He's silent for a moment further, meeting that challenging look in her eye with his own gaze. Green-gold, slightly reflective even in the dim street light– and saying everything he can't say with words.
No use pretending; with his eyeshields drawn back, he might as well be an open book to her. His reply – when it finally comes – is in a low, quiet murmur.]
Sooner we get you back to your place, sooner we can see if I pass muster.
[She chews her lip, clearly pleased with both of his responses. It's when he's like this that she forgets he's the agent that no one really seems to want to mess with, that no one really knows too much of. She'd rather have him like this, in her arms, and then some that could really only be described by her so-called lack of imagination.
And even with all of his robotics, he's still clearly human, so easy to read and easy to know what he's thinking once he lets his eyes show from behind the lenses. Much how she sees his eyes more than most, he sees this side of her almost exclusively. Wasn't it only months ago she was so adamantly against having anyone be close to her?
How easy that changes once someone gets under your skin and happens to be in your space almost all the time.]
You're driving, mister never drunk. It's all on you.
[Isha leans in again to kiss the curve of his jaw, dropping her voice when she pulls back.]
And that's a trade secret.
[One that he'll never likely figure out, outside of the fact that she freely exploits what little she's given. In his case? An excess of physical touch and affection.
Not that she suffers when she kisses him and runs her fingers through his hair, of course. Maybe, quite possibly, she does it because she wants to, because she actually likes doing these things and not for some sort of endgame? The world may never know.
Adam does have one thing that most others don't: an inkling of how she operates.
How she's operating right now is the same exact way he's operating: there are more fun alternatives to keeping warm on cold European nights.]
Edited (what if I pay attention this time and write something INFINITELY BETTER) 2017-05-29 06:00 (UTC)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
where's my gif
Jill starts by scanning the immediate area, she waits for her newly assigned partner to catch up. They'll have to find another way off this island to the nearest one, but it shouldn't be an issue after they carry on with information gathering. Hopefully it would be more along the lines of giving a disgruntled guard a week's pay instead of having to fight their way off, but she's prepared for either obstacle and then some. After a moment, she drags herself toward the mouth of the cave, overlooking the expanse of thick foliage below; it's scattered with small outposts, some larger than the others. Intel suggests they're factories and the fact that they aren't on the main island means they're not immediately important, perhaps even extraneous to the work being done elsewhere.
She readjusts here pack, rolling a shoulder as she tries to make out anything more in the distance. It's all shrouded by tree canopy or the lay of the land. Though where they are has a small vantage point, it's not nearly high enough to hit the other edges of the island and see to the others nearby. There's bound to be more guards, if not BOWs spread throughout but she's itching to get rid of the sea legs already. ]
You about ready to head off? [ She throws her voice low so there's no echoing off the cavern walls. In some vague attempt to be more friendly, she commits to it with a crooked smile, eyebrows raised. ] Know I was introduced with full name and we haven't done much chatting, but just Jill's fine.
got a one-frame gif for you fam
The Vltava had been one thing – and even if it hadn't, it's not as if he could've afforded to feel squeamish about the Prague river he had to cross every day – but the open sea's something else entirely. Of the vague, fragmented recollections he has of the events three years ago, it's the memories of his icy, second brush with death that come through the clearest, and he can't look at the roiling surface of the water now without hearing his heartbeat thundering in his ears like it had before – as if trying to convince its owner that, this time, it's not going to leave him.
All in all that's a load of shit he doesn't feel like dealing with at the moment, and so instead he steals away below deck for most of the trip, busying himself with his usual pre-mission ritual: an almost obsessive inspection of his augs, methodically activating and deactivating mechanisms, searching for even the slightest hint of a catch in the moving parts. It's a little quirk of his that'd earned him nothing but scorn from his previous CO, but his new partner seems content leaving him to do what he needs to do. Waiting to see how he performs in the field before she draws her conclusions, perhaps. More discreet than he's used to dealing with, this one – or maybe she's just less of an asshole. Sometimes the simplest explanations are the best ones.
Eventually – mercifully – they make landfall, and the two of them practically leap off the boat, but a couple minutes pass before he catches up to Jill's position. By now he's ditched his long coat, leaving the BSAA standard issue tac gear – and his arm prostheses, black, sleek and smooth – on full display. He meets her glance, the green-gold metal of his artificial eyes catching what little light there is in the dim of the cave in a way that organic tissue simply doesn't, slight raised brow indicating surprise at the sudden familiarity. But surprise aside, the carved-stone face of his seemingly isn't made for much more than that; her smile isn't returned.]
More than ready to be off that tin can.
[No smiles, maybe, but he can certainly commiserate with her over putting up with a shitty boat (and there's the faintest hint of humor there in his tone if she really searches for it.) His reply's low, quiet – more like a rasp than a whisper – but somehow it's still the most emphatic he's sounded in all of the few hours they've known each other.
(There's already enough he has to fabricate about his reasons for being here – no point in lying about everything.)]
Jill, then. [He indicates her with a nod.] But if I'd known this was a social call, I might've worn something nicer.
[That, and maybe picked a less hostile choice of scenery. But if there's one thing that can really get people on a first name basis, it's probably shared risk of death.]
i would've went with maniac cop
Though she's left him alone for the trip due to her own antisocial behavior, she figures he was just as welcome to have come bug her the entire way. For her, it's staring at maps and mission objectives. Though she'd managed to go through her mental checklists for her weapons a hundred times and took her trusty handgun apart more than once and reloaded it, when it comes down to the wire all she needs is her knife and if that's taken from her, then she'll make due with her surroundings. Over the past few years she's dramatically changed herself; the sparse three spent taking down hundreds of facilities had been enough to kick start it all. Staying still too long seemed to mean bad things and settling in was still associated with STARS and all the loss that accompanied that ill-fated city.
More importantly, it would be apt to say he maybe possibly sort of (kind of) makes her uncomfortable. In many ways he was the sort of person that bio-organic weaponry was used to create. It's a stretch, but she was built up with viruses the way he was with robotics (which she suspects she'd be laughed at for comparing augs to).
She gets to stretching while ignoring his tone, her joints stiff from the trip. Waist and hips, mostly legs; crouching and extending with an exaggerated sound as she stands and holds her hands to her hips. ]
Nah, if it's a social call with me you're going to be wearing something like this. [ Just without the heavier gear. Weapons optional, but she rarely is without them. ] Bit of a drop, hope you're ready for some climbing.
[ She's still foggy and not sharp enough to tease about his voice, but it's better than a partner who doesn't know how to keep his voice low. She's tired of coaching the rookies.
Starting toward the edge, she talks as she moves, though a flip might be easier to maneuver out of this, it'll do her some good to move more normally. It's a quick drop, no psyching herself up before legs are over the edge and she's pushing her hand off, boots tight against the walls of the rocky crevice so the speed is bearable. There's not much of a path that can be seen onward, but the trees will do well for cover. ]
Look, if we're going to be partners you could at least try to sugarcoat it some. Wouldn't feel quite right putting my ass on the line for someone my chief description of would be gruff at this moment.
[ Her tone suggests she means the first part, at least. Though maybe not finding his curtness disagreeable, it cuts the silence and discomfort while she walks as far as she can. The drop is still too far to manage directly, at least not without busting either herself or her gear. ]
you'll get robocop and you'll like it
He offers his silent acknowledgement by flicking his shades on – doing pretty much nothing at all to help the whole gruffness thing – and watches Jill's descent from behind the reflective lenses, waiting for her momentum to slow before hopping down after her, limb enhancements absorbing the shock of the landing. Still more to go, but he trails after her towards the next drop, letting her set the pace. Time's not yet a factor here– but precision is.
A quiet snort.] Is it really because of how I act, or is it just that I'm the new guy?
[The question's pointedly wry – at least he's self-aware (if still unwilling to crack a smile about it or anything.) Little of column A and a little of column B, he has to imagine. No one gets into this line of work and lasts without being able to put aside differences for the sake of the mission– but he's done this song and dance before. It's the second time he's been inserted onto a team he's got no business being on and, while the Collective's hackers were able to spoof enough on his records to ensure him the position, some truths are plain: somehow the BSAA's ended up with an Aug with a long history of loner tendencies, authority issues, and a knack for always being present where shit's about to go down.
It'd been the same story with TF29, and at his first meeting with his new squad, he'd recognized the tense atmosphere in the room, felt the familiar furtive glances stolen his way. Sensed the unspoken questions. All things considered, he can't blame them for being spooked by– well, the spook. First time anybody's said as much straight to his face, though. He'd been content to ignore his team's obvious misgivings about him – knowing they'd be mostly dispelled once he proved himself on the first op – but hadn't expected it to be brought up in the first five minutes of this mission here.
(It's gonna have to be team building excercises now, isn't it?)
He shakes his head.] I'm not really great at icebreakers.
[Comes off less as an excuse and more like... Well. Honesty. Not that it's a stretch to believe that Mr. Dark Trenchcoat and Sunglasses-At-Night sucks at positive first impressions.
Seeing where Jill's looking – down at that long drop to the rocky base of the treeline – he taps her shoulder to grab her attention, signalling his pack with his other hand. The standard field equipment's mostly fluff as far as he's concerned (and he would've been glad to have left it behind entirely) but he can think of a decent use for a length of rope right about now.]
Don't want you thinking you can't rely on me, though.
[And if nothing else, a guy with mil-spec cybernetic arms can be relied on to not let his partner's rope slip from his grasp. Just sayin'.]
please sir can i have some more
Instead of voicing that, she flicks the rim of her baseball cap and smiles further. Almost playful, but still restrained. ]
Dunno, didn't think I gave off the sort of John McClane vibe. [ But she should be knocked down a peg or ten for talking about Die Hard. At least it's not Speed. ] Occasionally train rookies in my free time and I'm not someone to knock another organization so long as they're willing to work with us. Wouldn't be very good for the image of the BSAA when one of the founding members treats someone like that.
[ She is clearly not out to impress with that little revelation, almost shy about bringing it up, looking away from his admittedly quite cool gear (is that what you call built-in sunglasses?), uncomfortable with how she's treated based on who she is within the organization. If it was up to her, she'd just be doing SOA without any credit. Nothing she's ever done has been for credit, after all. ]
Makes two of us. I'm good at teasing, which gets mistaken for being good at conversing with people at least. [ She turns toward him, not even thinking about the fact he probably could do a lot of damage if not work better than any hook might on the terrain. Lucrative perks, she guesses. ] Hnn, that. If you let me fall on my ass, I'm going to drag you down with me, just so you know.
[ There's that Valentine charm in full-swing, quick to stare him down even though it's borderline laughable considering their difference in height and the fact she can't actually see into his eyes right now.
It's a snap judgement, but she doesn't like it. It reminds her of Wesker.
The unspoken is still picked up on and she's careful to unloop a rope from her bag and hand it to him; normally, she would've just walked some ways and slid the rest, but this seems preferable especially when he can just gracefully drop beside her without a worry. Maybe that's an assumption on her part, but it's hard to say. She tightens her gloves and exaggerates a look of worry. Like she said, teasing. ]
I am one hundred percent serious about dragging your ass if you're thinking about being cute, though. I'll armbar and sharpshooter you until you're crying.
[ But her smile softens as she wastes no time in carrying onward. It's not like with Parker or Chris. You can't trust someone you've just met to throw you across a gap, but if this goes well he might just be lucky number three. ]
there is enough brobocop for all the sad hungry british orphans
The subtle title drop is a little bit of a surprise– but not as much of a surprise as the sudden reticence. Maybe she's no Bruce Willis, but he hadn't exactly taken her for a shrinking violet either. Uncomfortable with the insinuation of glory or prestige. So if she's not in this to put a feather in her cap, then perhaps it's for the cause. Just someone trying to do right in the world, as is the cliché (but who is he to talk?)
Trust is a commodity – and these days, he has very little of it to throw around – but maybe he'd be able to find some to spare for someone like her.]
I'll tone down the cuteness, but only because you asked. [He says, with a solemnity that – coming from anyone else – would be practically comical.
(As it is, Adam's a bit of a harder read– but something that could almost be mistaken for a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth...)
He briefly considers making another comment (something suitably charming, like "we'll be fine as long as you don't weigh more than a dumpster") but something tells him she absolutely would make good on her threats – you know, all four of them that he's received in the last ten seconds – if he gives her an excuse to. And no one needs to see a grown man cry today. So he doesn't hesitate taking the proffered rope, unlooping it and folding it in half, wrapping his portion around one arm, and grasping it tightly before tossing the two ends over the precipice. His particular model of cyberlimb might not be as obviously built for heavy lifting as some Augs' were – more like a performance machine and less like a piece of demolition equipment – but Sarif's work was known for form without sacrificing function. In the absence of any trees or solid anchors on this barren cliffside, he'll do just as well as any boulder.
Hunkering down on one knee a few feet away from the edge of the cliff, he nods at her.]
After action reports are enough of a pain to write without having to explain why I dropped a founding member of the BSAA off the edge of a cliff. So consider yourself safe.
[Ha ha! Of course that's a joke! He never writes his after action reports.]
i thought that said bopit and i'm like i bet there is
First, it was a thrill or a purpose. Fresh out of Delta Force, being dragged by a friend into what seemed like a lucrative and active position where she genuinely could make a difference. Then, it was vengeance and rage spurred on by the loss of not just her friends, but the entirety of the life she'd come to know. It was easier to be angry than charitable for a good, long while. It's when she realized how deeply that not just Umbrella but anyone looking for the same were involved in so many atrocities that it became something like a calling. Too cliché, too pointedly deep a phrase for her taste. It wasn't just something to do, but she was good at it and it felt right. That's reason enough.
She seems to be content with his answer, almost awkwardly giving him a thumbs up even though she looks to be ready to talk. It seems like there's going to be a lot of excess gestures on this wonderful trip. ]
Much appreciated, partner. Here I was expecting something like "I can't change who I am," but guess you're full of surprises.
[ Needless to say the surprise is more like you get two sides instead of one with the meal deal and not gaping, wide-eyed shock. It's fine, he can be the soup and the salad.
So far he seems alright at the very least and she'll take this over too talkative. Once you've partnered up with a guy who jumps every time you enter the room and makes a two decade long ongoing joke at your expense or someone who repeats what you say in a different way with a joking tone like it's something entirely different... well, there's worse partners to have. As long as he isn't blowing up their escape route and trying to drown her, she can give him at least a B- on his performance.
(She's got her fingers crossed on him not trying to drown her, but it's still up in the air.)
It's difficult to not watch him with too much curiosity, never having seen this sort of skill in action. She makes an effort to shoot an apologetic glance between eye drags that might easily be confused for being extra into high quality arms or something like that. Honestly, it's something she might call cool but she's not in the mood to embarrass herself quite yet. ]
I'd like to think I'm worth a report that's twice as long as average, but hard to say. [ It's her kind of joke at least. It's nerve-wracking in that this is a long way to go with someone she's spent a long boat ride occasionally glancing at and once asking if he wants some coffee, but at least this way she can prepare for momentum. It might involve having to climb to the best of her ability or spearing herself so she doesn't hit the ground too hard, but sometimes the quickest route is better than the safest. Plus, this could be the safest. Maybe. ] Sorry to have to use you as a human anchor, feels kinda shitty.
[ That's a weird thing to leave him with, but it does feel awkward. It feels like it strips him of being a human, more than having someone as a look-out or a tether in a different way. She starts down with enough ease, her gloves picking up any slack and her legs making sure she doesn't sway much. It always feels like going down is easier than coming up, but it's easier to look up than look down.
There's barely a pause in her movement, only occasionally to check her surroundings and make sure there's no patrol. Conceit seems to be a frequent factor in easy starts on missions like this. They never seem to consider that anyone will bother, or they crop it all around the more important areas. For the most part, this seemed abandoned. A rejected facility or maybe one associated with a grave misstep that hung over head enough that they just kept to the main island. In the end, all that mattered was they got information here or somewhere else.
Perhaps a bit of a show-off, around the fifteen foot mark she uses her feet to push off, swinging outward while using the momentum to kick upward and flip to the ground off, landing in a way that it seems natural. Shock absorbed as she crouches and gets to her feet, it got her blood flowing and definitely saved them some time. Jill makes an effort to peer into the wooded area just to make sure there's not anyone he can't see, but somehow she gets the feeling he can see better from up there than she can down here.
Moving nearer where she'd come from, she waves him down. Though it's unlikely she can do anything to support him on his way to where she is, she still waits where she is, looking outward. At least if he hurts himself she will be right here to lend a hand -- or a first aid spray. ]
I'M ALIVE also wrong icon but too lazy to resub rn
Nice to feel needed.
[The dry retort is all the reassurance Jill gets before he shifts his weight, digging his heels in the dirt and bracing himself for the sudden burden as she drops over the edge. There are worse ways to be used– to be useful. Helping a teammate of his own accord isn't not one of them.
Keeping a tight grip on the rope – and trying to think heavy thoughts – he takes the time to glance out past the overlook, towards the distant edge of the treeline where clusters of run-down old buildings can be seen. Evidence that this part of the archipelago had once been occupied– but no sign of any occupants just yet. Nothing showing up on Smart Vision either, he notes, artificial eyes registering only cool blues and greens on the thermograph. He blinks once, twice, three times before his view shifts back into a more comfortable wavelength – back to grey skies and rolling fog. Not that heat readings mean much here. If he's to believe everything he'd been told at his first briefing, not everything they might be dealing with would necessarily be alive– or even robotic. Undead, like something out of one of those B-rated midnight movies Pritchard was always pestering him to watch. At first he'd thought they'd been joking – some sort of elaborate hazing ritual for the new guy – but quickly, disturbingly, he'd realized that wasn't the case.
Things are never simple these days. If it's not the actual, literal Illuminati, it's zombified bioweapons. He's not yet convinced it isn't both on this island, but– well, that's why he's really here, isn't it?
A sudden tug on the end of the rope grabs his attention, and he peers downwards curiously, the top of his head and a pair of sunglasses poking just far over the edge of the cliffside to be seen from down below. Barely in time to catch the tail end of what must've been a
sweet-assflip. Stuck the landing too.Nice.
Adam acknowledges her wave with a quick nod, drawing up the rope and putting it away before getting up and moving to the edge of the cliff. He glances downwards – making sure Jill isn't right underfoot – before stepping off unhesitatingly. He drops like a stone, arms spread at his sides, before coming to a strangely silent landing on his feet and dropping to one knee – silent save for a involuntary, pained grunt that he isn't able to bite back quite in time. It was a long fall, certainly – long enough to rattle every tooth in his skull, but not quite long enough for his landing system aug to feel like it needed to kick in. The wonders of technology. Still, the shock absorbers in his cyberlimbs do their job, and a moment later he's back on his feet without too much discomfort.]
We can swap next time if you still feel shitty about it.
[It's a joke, but for all he knows, she'd match his fall– and throw in a backwards somersault and a reverse twist. At this point, nothing would surprise him.
Joining her once more, rolling his shoulder, he follows her gaze over to the treeline. No chance of sighting the old buildings from down here now. Not through the dense foilage on the forest floor, and not through the encroaching fog just starting to roll onto land from the sea – a product of the earlier storms. Adam frowns.]
Didn't catch sight of anything while I was up there. [A pause. Neither of them need to say it to know what he means: doesn't mean there's nothing out there.] How do we want to approach this?
you think you can just come waltzing back on into my life like this
Tell me about it.
[ Which contrary to the actual meaning of the sentence, it's not encouragement for him to open up on the subject. If he'd care to fill the silence with real and perhaps legitimate personal woes, she'd lend him an ear, but he doesn't seem like the type to do that sort of thing. At least not until post-mission victory celebrations and a twelve pack are drowning him.
She rubs at her wrists, thumb rolling over the joint and over her gloved knuckles. Maybe at some point it'll be down to lack of humanity in general -- not just tricked out humans or those robbed of their own lives. Give or take a decade and she might be last year's model, replaced with a cyborg or a completely obedient supped-up viral freak, easy to dispose of when you remove the element of empathy. She's not sure it's a change she'd welcome, but she'd fought for nothing other than the safety of others; to make monsters fictional again, that's a goal to strive for.
His slide down is watched with some curiosity, unsure exactly how it might feel and if the pressure might put strain on him. Must be convenient. ]
Impressive dismount. [ It's hard not to think of it like he just did a gymnastics routine. Jill raises her arms slightly at the elbow, waving her hands a little. ] I get the feeling you'd drag me down head first even if I put all my weight into it. Don't know about you, but I think I'm just fine not being a pancake.
[ There's only so many food-related jokes she can handle.
But he's not incorrect -- although she'd just do a modified moonsault. She's become much lighter on her feet and more capable of using the way she moves to be more accurate, swift, or avoid injury. It's experience and knowing her own body, the specialties she's cultivated have all been to accommodate the skills she already had and her small stature (in addition to riffing off her typically much more bulky partners). Where they're power, she's speed and compromise. Jill isn't entirely sure if it'll pan out that way with this guy. ]
Figure slow and steady is well enough. Trees are pretty thick, so we should stick together. [ What makes for good cover and good hiding doesn't just apply to them, after all. ] Probably don't have to tell you to aim for the head, but be wary of Plagas. Some grow to maturation quickly and can detach from the original host body. Anything that regenerates you'll want to unload quickly on. [ She probably didn't need to mention that, but it's something to be reminded of. She almost seems apologetic, like she's the one who brought all of this down on them, her expression drained to emptiness as she holds her trusty Beretta tight. ] I'll take point.
[ She'd started back in STARS in the rear, clean-up duty and taking great care of her comrades. She'd become more of a leader since, though perhaps not the best with inspiring cowboy speeches.
Raising her weapon to eye level she gives it a swirl. Tight, upturned like a question: ] Yippie-ki-yay?
[ The motherfucker is implied.
It's the best kind of pep talk she can muster as she takes a more serious stance, gun held pointing forward and down with both hands. It's a comforting feeling, even if only the tips of her fingers are able to recognize it. The first goal is the small cropping of buildings, but some distance has to be crossed before then. The sound of the forest floor is crisp and the smell thick and green, which means that the plants hopefully weren't a casualty. The trunks of trees hold no signs of rot and the branches are just as thick and robust, extending high and darkening their passage through them. Between this and the fog, it's likely she'll have to flip the light on her headpiece on for a little added clarity.
Even if he probably has something to take care of it all for him. Maybe having him work as the compass would've been a better call. ]
no subject
One: crashing a wedding is, in fact, as easy as the movies make it seem. Almost annoyingly so.
Two: top-of-the-line leg replacements – no matter how advanced the design – are not and never will be a substitute for actual dancing ability.
And three: Isha's capacity for smooth-talking and bullshittery is practically boundless and, if he didn't know any better, he'd swear she has a CASIE mod she isn't telling him about. Not even because she'd talked him into the party in the first place – the fact that Adam's a soft touch when it comes to her had (unfortunately) stopped being a secret long ago – but witnessing her successfully convince several guests sober enough to be suspicious that a pair of wayward Augs belonged at a reception like that had been like watching an artist at work.
(Honestly– he could stand to take a few pointers.)
But as the evening had died to give way for the early hours of the morning, so too had the music and the laughter and their cover along with it, and eventually it became time for the two of them to slip back out into the cold – a little warmer, if only for all the complimentary wine – and find their way back to her place. The snowfall, though little more than a flurry when they'd ducked into the wedding hours ago, had quickly accumulated and blanketed everything in a layer of white. Prague winter nights at their most picturesque... At least if you can ignore the state police at every corner and the openly hostile looks from the non-augmented. Mercifully, however, the weather and the biting wind seem to have driven most people back into their homes, leaving the darkened streets empty and quiet save for the crunch of his and her footsteps on the fresh snow.]
Told you I couldn't dance.
[It's not like him to wear a fault like a badge of honor, but it might be enough to distract her from the fact that maybe – just maybe – Adam "No Fun Allowed" Jensen might've enjoyed himself a little tonight.
It also might be enough to distract her from the top hat – hot pink, sequined, and very not his style – that seems to have escaped on his head, a souvenir liberated from the wedding's photo booth.
Come to think of it, that may have accounted for some of the looks.]
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That was a fact.
She didn't know just how bad the Augs had it in the city, how hated they were, and how much trouble they were simply by existing in a space.
Clearly it didn't stop her, not now, not ever. What she knows are people. That's really all it took. When you get down to the basics, it's really easy to read any kind of person from anywhere. What was it about universal truths?
Isha had actually never been to Prague. For someone with as much money to burn as her, there was something about keeping to usual haunts. Prague really was something special in the winter. The state police didn't bother her too much, really. She grew up around police, dodging them, then working for them. She did what she did best: throw her head up high, pretend they're nothing.
And they are nothing, especially now, as she's latched her arm onto Adam's and they make their way through a late winter night.]
And I told you I'm not dating you for your dance moves.
[The distraction is not enough, unfortunately. The sequined top hat has now become One Property of Isha. Not without a kiss to his cheek, though.
She arranges the hat just so, making it lopsided, covering one eye like a real gangster. She looks So Tough. Almost as tough as No Fun Adam? Maybe.]
How do I look?
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He snorts lightly.] Answer carefully now, Adam...
[A quiet aside that's neither quiet nor to the side enough for it to sound like anything but his usual Jensen brand of sarcasm. If she's not dating him for his dance moves, it's got to be for his sense of humor, right?
But luckily, he's just kind of fallen into things with the one woman he's ever known to happily take even shameless flattery at face value. So, joking aside, this probably is the one time "how do I look" doesn't have to be a risky question to try and answer– or however the cliché goes.]
You make anything look good.
[Basically true. But there's got to be a "but..."]
But– [he adds with an exagerratedly appraising eye, tipping the brim of the hat back up with one finger in an attempt to un-gangster it] –I'm not sure even you can make this look catch on.
[Which sounds like as much of a challenge as she'd like it to sound, honestly.
The hat, unfortunately, still looks exactly as gangster as it did a second ago. Which is to say: not a goddamn bit. Adam might have the whole "fixer of problems" thing going on, but there are limits to what even he can do.]
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Isha hadn't expected any kind of real answer from him, but he knows her well enough. A good compliment would get him a long way. Dating her is deceptively easy, once you can figure out just exactly how she thinks.
Which is real challenge. Adam seems to have figured it out some of the way. She'd never admit how pleased she is by that.]
I knew it would end this way.
[Their slight height difference made for nearly everything being easier. In this moment, it's the minimal effort it takes to press her lips against his. The hat, once an accessory, serves to hide their faces ass he holds it up. Because who knows what soul is going to catch them, right?
The all of no one outside in the streets, of course.]
We should do this more often.
[Random wedding crashing and all.]
So I can tell you how much I like you when you're not being so serious. You do know you're actually fun, right?
it's aliiiiive
But only because it was her suggestion. Really.
He draws away, a considerable silence following her question as if he were seriously mulling it over – does he know he's actually fun? – before finally leveling her with a look far too solemn for anyone to take seriously.]
Just don't go telling everyone. Ruins the surprise.
[In a city already full of conspiracies, the fact that Adam Jensen knows the meaning of the word "fun" is probably the best-kept secret in all of Prague– and he'd very much like to keep it that way. Crazy as it might seem, this reputation he's got for being a quiet, unapproachable loner suits him just fine. Keeps people from asking questions. He's always been someone who values his privacy, but in light of things – the person currently by his side, namely – lately it's felt so much more crucial to maintain.
...Especially because no one at the agency really needs to know that two of their biggest wild cards are spending this much time together. He's wreaked enough havoc on his boss's blood pressure as it is.]
I can do fun. [One of his wry half-smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth. See? Cutting loose.] But I just can't help but notice that there's a lot of overlap between things you find fun and things that tend to piss the state police off.
[You can take the cat out of the jungle... But you can't take the master thief out of the INTERPOL agent. Or something like that. Not that he's exactly Mr. Straight and Narrow himself – and he's never really tried to convince Isha otherwise – but someone's got to make a half-hearted, token attempt at being the advocate for the path of morality here. Or at least the advocate for the path of not making a habit out of gatecrashing highly visible events.]
aaahhhh
But he has, in some marginal way, helped to at least think past the criminal-only tendencies.
Lifelong habits are hard to break.]
If I make out with you, will you stop moralizing at me?
[The go-to move, nice.
The good thing about their mutual secrecy, though? No one would really pin them for being together, and definitely not like this. Sometimes Isha would get a hard time from her coworkers. He can't stay away, you must really be up to something, they'd tease. All of them knew just how easy it is for her to reel in men and to push them aside once she's done. Mission parameters and all.
Reputations and all. Easier to keep a secret behind a veil than to keep a secret, period. Let her own work do the talking for her, while she enjoys her nights out with Adam and then some.
He hid behind his dark lenses and brooding American ways, she hid behind her dark glasses and her charming British ways. They could keep guessing for all she cares. None of them needed to know Adam is so much more than he could ever let on.
They probably didn't need to know either they've been together for more than a few casual times.]
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Well. Best to leave the conflict for day duty. Surprisingly (especially to himself) he prefers to spend his nights like this when he can manage – party crashing and all.]
Has it stopped me before?
[No. Hell no, it hasn't.
Or– not permanently, anyway. Not that she should let that keep her from trying, of course.
At length, he shrugs and adds, with a passable attempt at nonchalance:] They say the fifth time's the charm.
[And before, it'd been the fourth time– and before that, the third time... One might start to see a pattern here, if they cared or anything.]
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[Though it's hard to know what actually is a terrible liar, given that all she does is compulsively lie and she happens to be very good at it.
She brings her arms around his neck, pulling him in close, nose to nose. She grins again, but then again, when is she not grinning?]
You know, you could try coming onto me for once instead of playing coy.
[The kiss she gives him now isn't just a simple peck on his lips. It's drawn out, just enough to tease before she pulls back.]
Come on, impress me. I know you can do it.
[Obviously she doesn't care if he's the toughest, most difficult and antisocial Aug cop she's ever met. He's under performance review at the moment.]
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Adam snorts. He's been accused of being a lot of things– but coy's a new one.]
Some day you're going to have to tell me how it is you do that.
[You know – always getting people to do what she wants. He's going to go ahead and attribute that to some mysterious talent she's got, anyway. Better that than to admit that maybe he's just kind of a pushover when it comes to her. Give her an inch and she'll take a mile – that'd been his initial assessment of her the first time they'd met. He hadn't been wrong.
She pulls back, meeting a second or two's resistance before he obligingly withdraws his hands, resting them instead on her hips. He's silent for a moment further, meeting that challenging look in her eye with his own gaze. Green-gold, slightly reflective even in the dim street light– and saying everything he can't say with words.
No use pretending; with his eyeshields drawn back, he might as well be an open book to her. His reply – when it finally comes – is in a low, quiet murmur.]
Sooner we get you back to your place, sooner we can see if I pass muster.
[Time to get in out of the cold.]
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And even with all of his robotics, he's still clearly human, so easy to read and easy to know what he's thinking once he lets his eyes show from behind the lenses. Much how she sees his eyes more than most, he sees this side of her almost exclusively. Wasn't it only months ago she was so adamantly against having anyone be close to her?
How easy that changes once someone gets under your skin and happens to be in your space almost all the time.]
You're driving, mister never drunk. It's all on you.
[Isha leans in again to kiss the curve of his jaw, dropping her voice when she pulls back.]
And that's a trade secret.
[One that he'll never likely figure out, outside of the fact that she freely exploits what little she's given. In his case? An excess of physical touch and affection.
Not that she suffers when she kisses him and runs her fingers through his hair, of course. Maybe, quite possibly, she does it because she wants to, because she actually likes doing these things and not for some sort of endgame? The world may never know.
Adam does have one thing that most others don't: an inkling of how she operates.
How she's operating right now is the same exact way he's operating: there are more fun alternatives to keeping warm on cold European nights.]