❛ hello dear revolution ❜

[cheesewedge]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ( ｖｅｎｉｃｅ! ) ▬▬▬▬
hello'░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ health - 100 % ● location - garage ● tags - assassination group ░░░░░░░░

cheesesleep was quite emphasized in venice's everyday life, just like everyone else's. though she was sure that sleep was more treasured to her than most. it was simply a time to say 'screw everything, if someone comes at me with a dagger at night, i will not give a crap', close one's eyes, and relax. she loved it. it was a little strange, though. she herself was diagnosed with primary insomnia at a very early age. sleep often took her at least three hours in, two and a half if she was lucky. but that didn't mean anything. even if she decided that she was going to lay down at seven pm and fell asleep at nine thirty, she would always wake up sometime in between three or four in the morning. when she actually did have a whole entire night's fill of sleep though, waking up felt great. refreshed was a feeling venice didn't encounter regularly, and when she did, she clung to it like a child hanging on to the edge of a mother's clothing when they knew that their parent was going away for a little while. sometimes, the nights spent up and staring at her ceiling seemed worth it, because after a week of three hours of sleep a night, waking up with seven instead of the usual was almost euphoric.
cheesethat wasn't the case this fine morning, though.
cheesestaggering out of bed, venice rubbed her eyes roughly. she had went to sleep late, woke up at least two times during the night, and ended up sleeping through her alarm clock. it didn't help that she was now in the company of others that she felt the need to kick every five minutes. "mattina orribile," she snarled to herself as she tugged on a pair of running pants and a random tee shirt, grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl sitting contently on her coffee table, and shuffled her way out of her bedroom. mornings in france had always been beyond horrible, since the first night venice had arrived. "sono in ritardo!" she was at least a half hour late, and she hated that.
cheeseher patterns were now mondays, wednesdays, and saturdays. the other days always had at least seven to nine hours of sleep every twenty four hours. though the bed she was provided just didn't feel right.
cheesevenice was what you called 'perfectionist'. her room was proof enough. she was a lucky one, she had called dibs on a big room with a big window and balcony, to see the city's streets and just to breath in clear night air every time she couldn't fall into a rest. there was nothing on the ground, the painting that hung from the eastern wall was perfectly straight, and her bed was made, looking all neat and crisp in its corner. just the way she liked it.
cheeseshe had gone through at least seven translations of 'i hate everything' in her head before reaching a small, shiny little pantry trashcan. she just stood their for a second, smacking on the last bits of banana before tossing it in the garbage. that would do for breakfast. she had no more time anyways.
cheesea roar from outside was what made her finally come to the realization that she was very late indeed and needed to haul ass quickly, before the rest of the group left her. a black puff of smoke rose from the outside, drifting past the french styled windows in a lazy manner. the sun was shining, the birds were bound to be tweeting, and there was venice - bleary eyed and already in a sour mood.
cheeseshe sprinted out the door as fast as she could. black clouds of pollution meant vehicle. particularly loud noise that originated from vehicles meant roman. that guy was such an jerk. it was pretty obvious that the engineer was late as well. but still not as douche-y as waylon, also known as 'garbage'.
cheeseshe got in the musty little garage just in time to listen to the familiar caterwaul of roman blake. "oi! first come first serve." of course. "ehi! i'm present, all is well. i'd like the back seat, if the lot of you will let me pass by." venice herself did not at all remotely enjoy the ugly, suspiciously bright white aluminum can that she was forced to drive about in. she preferred things that were more... elegant. like a mini cooper. she loved mini coopers. durable, flexible things that suited her just fine. sure, she could go out and buy one of she wanted to. that wasn't all that possible, though. she was currently try to stay very much under the radar, due to her last mission. enemies were just the tiny little things that were always stuck in the sole of her shoes. overlook-able, but always there.
cheesewithout another word or moment to loose, venice very brusquely pushed passed all of the others and hopped right on in the old, disgusting, bleach white death machine. roman had said first come first serve, didn't he? the back seats, much to the public's surprise, was her favorite place to be. sure, it was louder than acceptable, but it somehow always found a way to shake her awake.
cheesemostly all of the group was present, save a few people. venice knew little details about all of them. it might have seemed quiet improper to dig though other's personal information, but venice was venice. not even a drop of guilt. she just wanted to know who exactly she was working with. her connections in many different governments did nothing but help her out. if she wanted to, she could dig out every single grocery bill of akiko's from the two years ago, but who was she to toss her time out the window like that?
cheesethe info also helped with a nice bit blackmail every now and then.

[shiki,]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━　❛ ＡＲＡＴＡ！ ━━━
ＴＨＥ　ＨＡＣＫＥＲ;xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[ area: comp. warfare ] [ location: garage ] [ tagged: garage people ]

xxxxxxin another world, arata might have been an average young man who lived in an average apartment and woke up to average things like a phone alarm or birds outside the window.
xxxxxxin this world, however, arata was far from an average young man, had highly unusual roommates, and woke up this morning to the sound of one of the several monitors around his room alerting him with a loud ringing noise that !! alarm-- it is time to wake up. updates: no breaches in system security. an event titled “food raid (gj nero)” is scheduled for today. [DISMISS?] he rolled over with a small groan, unfocused vision swinging away from the cracked ceiling to the blinking screen in question, where the notification flashed back at him cheerily. while a very amiable person usually, it was common knowledge that arata was very lethargic in the morning--probably not a good thing for an assassin, admittedly--though at this point all of them were worn a little thin, riku especially. rations were running low, and as a result, morale even more so.
xxxxxxit took a few more minutes for him to fully wake up enough to tip off the mattress and slouch over to the monitor, dismissing the alert and starting a manual check though the rest of the computers for breaches. his room was a larger one, chosen because of the space he needed to fit in these computers and other bits of technology. realistically speaking, he really only needed one laptop to complete much of the work he did, but he enjoyed the freedom more screen space gave him, and having his data loaded onto additional drive didn't hurt.
xxxxxxhalfway through his rapid clicking and typing there was the sound of someone banging around and cursing a few rooms down. nero, maybe, he thought, until there was the distinct sound of very angry italian. venice, he revised, and quickly finished up his check and started hustling out of his room, tugging on a pair of pants on the way, lest he run into the communications expert while she was in a sour mood. as he avoided stepping on the the many cables running across the floor he reflected ironically that he was recognized as a mediator in their headstrong team, and he should maybe do something to try calming her down.
xxxxxxhe dismissed the thought a second later, though, because mediator or not venice in a bad mood was not something (someone) to be trifled with.
xxxxxxarata joined the others down below just as roman--soot-covered, grinning, and evidently fixing up the van--ducked into the vehicle at the mouth of the garage. most of the people already there were lounging in seats around the room, calling out what seemed the be the part of the raid they wanted to cover, and arata managed a "good morning" and "anything's fine with me" before there was a bang and the growl of the van's engine starting. the noise was accompanied by roman giving them the green light to get in, and a second later venice strolled briskly into the room and dove immediately for the back.
xxxxxxnot having a preference for this either, arata allowed the others to get in first while he slipped on a pair of scuffed converse and went over to his small area of the garage, where he'd plugged in a coffee machine for any of the all-nighters the people who worked in here would occasionally pull. someone had had the insight to heat it up earlier and now he poured out a small cup of the warm drink, nursing it as he watched the rest of the team pile onto the van.

[woodland]

✯ ★ （ ＭＩＲＡＮＤＡ ＴＡＮＡＫＡ ）.
xxxxxxxxLOCATION; garagexxxxxxxxHEALTH; 100%xxxxxxxxWEAPON/S; knifexxxxxxxx TAGS; roman, venice

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she was fortunate that the 'stink room', also known as nero's dwelling, was far from her own space. who knows what rodents could be feasting under nero's radar with all the trash that she leaves behind. come to think of it, she was such a pig that perhaps the presence of mice in her room wouldn't bother her fellow assassin. randy on the other hand was neat as a pin. perhaps she didn't have the grandest sleeping quarters, but she always kept it neat and tidy despite the peeling wallpaper, and loose floorboards. she didn't even possess a mattress to call her own, throwing it out months ago because the springs were starting to jab into her flesh as she slept. what she slept on was nothing more than a mere pile of blankets, it didn't look like much, but it was practical in saving space for all her paintings. technically, they weren't hers. miranda stole them from museums whenever the team went on supply hunts, as she couldn't resist leaving such beautiful pieces behind for war to destroy them. many of the portraits happened to come from the famous louvre museum in paris, although she couldn't bring home the wall sized paintings, the collection of 'takeable' ones were all propped up against each other in her dark room, where sunlight rarely entered. hopefully once the war ended, she had the intent of returning the works of art back where it belonged, as for now, they were safely stored in her room if the mice don't get to it. and if the inevitable happened, she hoped that riku, venice, alex, or roman would return the paintings for her as stated in her will.

on a normal day if she wasn't trying to overthrow the dictator and save the country, thoughts of imminent death would have rarely crossed her mind as she brushed her long black curtain of hair in front of a dirty mirror before her. raking the last tangle out, miranda often wondered why she bothered to brush her hair since it always snarled itself over the course of the day. then again, she'd prefer not to get it matted into an unruly clump. in no time, she left her quarters with a simple brown 'hippie sling' over her shoulder, a black hip-bag belted around her waist, and a couple rubber bands loosely wrapped around her bony wrist. it was seldom that she tied her hair back, but it was oddly reassuring to have the little bands on her.

the descent down the stairs was awfully noisy for someone who was supposed to be good at being stealthy. although her black combat boots were often silent on contact to any floor, miranda made sure they thumped a little every step down to indicate her presence if anyone was nearby. in no doubt, she had a fiery temper, but as quick as she is to anger, she was also quick to forgive. at the moment, she was hoping she'd run into some pleasant company on her journey to the garage. to no avail, her pale green gaze did not pick up a single sign of life as she made her way down.

upon entering the garage, she heard the first sound of life- of a purring car engine, and then her people afterwards. following the herd out, miranda's fingers came across a small blade that sat on one of the work tables, her dainty fingers were quick to snatch it up before she slipped the knife into her hip-bag. of all the things she may have forgotten, it was arming herself with at least something. perhaps if she and kiki were on good terms today, she'd lend a revolver to her. otherwise, randy can only hope that whoever was in her little group had better means of protection than her. scaling the steps into the white van, she perched herself by roman and greeted him with a friendly elbow bump and smirked. making sure her green eyes weren't locked with his for too long, miranda's gaze darted to her hippy sling as she started fishing through it with one hand, she retrieved a small ziplock bag. "it's not much, but at least it's something to eat for the day", handing the parcel to roman. miranda had stayed up the night before making small meals to eat, consisting of a homemade granola bar, a handful of fried rice, and even a small sweet for everyone- compliments to nero's candy supply. as each assassin passed through the doors to claim their seat, she handed each person their lunchbag with the sweet that she'd guess was their favorite. nero's bundle in particular contained all the leftover candy that miranda didn't distribute to the team because it still technically belonged to her. randy had often stolen a sweet or two from nero's stash for days like these. it was only fair that nero got her stolen sweets back, even if she didn't know they were stolen in the first place. at times, she could almost feel guilty for stealing the little assassin's sugary confections.

by the time when her sling was emptied of everyone's meals, miranda was about to plant her butt on the shotgun seat before remembering that it should be reserved for riku. he'd probably not whisk her away if she got to the seat first as a gentlemen, but she knew he preferred to have it...even if she believed she was the better navigator. she wandered towards the back of the van, finding her seat next to venice, a close friend of hers. it was probably for the better that she wasn't taking shotgun; wouldn't want to be distracting roman with a silly little math feud or have a carsick riku.

"hey gorgeous, what'cha up to?" miranda chimed, leaning her head against venice's shoulder like what sisters would do.

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[toast;]

▋▕

Ｋｏｓｔｙａ

⊰ ♛ ⊱

Ｒｕｓｌａｎ

▏▋

ＢＩＯＣＨＥＭＩＣＡＬＳxxxxx

[ mood - tired ] ✧ [ location - lab, room, garage ] ✧ [ tags - roman, miranda ]

There are many things that Ruslan Kostya should never be allowed do. He should never be allowed in haunted houses, he should never be allowed to be left unattended in a pet store(lest he leave with every animal inside it), and he should never be allowed to pull all-nighters. Unfortunately, as both a diligent assassin in a war torn country and a borderline insomniac, that last one was unavoidable. He had lost track of the last time he'd slept, but time seemed to slip away from him when he was working. At this point, he wasn't even sure if it was the middle of the night or if the sun had finally began to creep over the horizon. The night had slipped over the city in peaceful silence, the stars blinking into view like fireflies in a field. But Ruslan, locked away in a windowless room with all of his chemicals and toxic toys, had not been there to witness it. That was hours ago. Six, seven, eight. The numbers were lost in a world of unknowns, leaving behind the only thing the Russian foreigner did know. France was devastated, cyanide was fun, and he was pissed--though the latter was somehow hidden from the world for the most part. He was angry, but it wasn't obvious. He was livid, but the only ones that knew where the assassins inhabiting the rest of the hotel. He was hellbent on revenge, and the only proof of that we're the poisons and toxins and tear gas that were perched neatly on boxes and plastic crates, labelled with tape and roughly scrawled Sharpie.

Somewhere in Ruslan's makeshift lab, a rat squealed and died; taken by the previous night's contaminated rations. Yet even the breathless whining of the creature didn't pull the biochemist out of his own head. He was far too deep in his mind to hear anything really, besides his psyche which relayed what he needed. It had gone unbroken for so long that when the stirring of life finally came from the other side of the closed door, he thought it was a dream. A fantasy which had wound its way into the fictional novel that was his life. Ruslan sat in the spinning chair(which was missing two wheels and was stuck at one constant height) and, staring at the fraying wallpaper until he swore he saw things moving in it, decided that he had been alone with his thoughts for much too long. It was high past time he rejoined the real world and to the real world he went. He didn't follow the voices that served as road signs, not at first. Instead he wound his way down the hall, creeping around whatever ruin no one had bothered to clean up. His fingers traced along the wall, almost as if he were trying to reassure himself that everything was real. That he was real. The tips of his phalanges grazed across wallpaper, door trimmings and doors. They fluttered over door knobs until they reached his own and for the first time in nearly two days, he went into the room he should have been in the previous night.

Ruslan's bedroom was much different than his lab. The walls, a moldy white, were covered in thin cream wallpaper. The upper half was marked in gross, muted orange bars while dark red took over the bottom of the wall paper. In the left hand corner opposite the door lay a tattered mattress, gopher holes dotting the surface where springs had once been and the springs long since removed to serve more practical purposes. Most of the blankets that had once been at home there were now inside the lab, absorbing chemicals and the scent of wax candles and now only one thin and pathetic blanket resided in the near abandoned room. A box settled in the corner of the room just right of the door and it was this box that Rus moved to now. Stripping himself of his two day old clothes, the Russian man replaced them with jeans and a grey sweatshirt with mottled cuffs.
The fresher attire brought a sort of clarity to his head and he didn't feel as work worn. Feeling rather renewed and somehow lighter despite the ache that weighed down his weary bones, Ruslan departed. He retraced his steps down the hallway but instead of stopping at his lab he continued on to the source of the voices; the garage. It was the walk there that finally set in the exhaustion he should have been feeling hours ago.

Ruslan never really had sensitive ears, but in his semi-dazed state the mixture of voices and the engine of the ratty old van had turned to a roar. He stood in the doorway for more that a few beats of his heart, his green eyes staring emptily into the room. The strong scent of coffee wafted to his nose and while the drink had never been effective in waking him up, the smell of it hit him like a brick. His entranced expression faded and he finally seemed to realize that the group was piling into the beat up old van that Roman prided himself on. He quickly pranced over, stopped only by Miranda who was handing out little lunch bags. His thanks was uttered in Russian, a fact he wouldn't realize until it was long past being relevant. The dark haired Russian slipped into the row of seats in the center of the car, squishing himself against the side by the window with little complaint. He hadn't the slightest idea what the exact reason for his presence there had been, but the best guess was a supply run. If it was a hit, he wouldn't have forgotten about it whether he was running on 100% or 1%. No, this was something else and since it was something else, he didn't worry too much about his lack of knowledge. Worrying was exhausting and he didn't have the energy to do so. Instead, he sat quietly in his spot, head fallen back against the head rest of the seat. With his pale green eyes closed, he simply listened to the chatter of those around him and held on carefully to the information which he deemed most important.

[xxxxxx]

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♚/. ＷＡＹＬＯＮ － ＣＯＭＢＡＴ!
ａ ｋｉｓｓ ｗｉｔｈ ａ ｆｉｓｔ ｉｓ ｂｅｔｔｅｒ ｔｈａｎ ｎｏｎｅ
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( ＴＡＧＧＥＤ ) riku, nero, arata xx( ＲＯＬＥ ) fists in commandx ( ＲＡＮＫ ) the second
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indentkyung hyun soo had never gotten a better night's sleep in his entire life. and, furthermore, he has never looked nor felt this angelically handsome before. unlike a certain demolitions expert, the second in command had a very peaceful, deep, and dreamless slumber. perhaps it was his fatigue- waylon was so beaten down from the events of the days previous that the stack of springs and cottonballs masquerading as a mattress had looked like a fluffy paradise when he returned home. the sleep had rejuvenated him in a way he hadn't thought possible, the stubborn dark circles under his eyes fading and his skin having a brighter, more lively tone. he actually looked awake for once. you see, the fighter is a handsome man by nature, but it seems to be hidden beneath a constant layer of dirt and ash and apathy. he couldn't care less about being unattractive- they were in the midst of a revolution, and he was sure everyone would understand. this meant that he never took proper care of his skin, never drank enough water, never got enough sleep, never brushed his hair, never showered for anything more than to keep himself from smelling rancid. but this morning, the man who usually looked so worn down was smiling pleasantly as soon as he awoke, and there was a noticeably more peaceful air about him.

indenta jubilant smile spread across his face upon waking and he quickly got up and stretched, not procrastinating like he did most mornings. no sleepy grumblings about 'i don't want to get up,' or, 'arata is lucky i just want to see his cute face.' no, he was actually humming a tune, and walking with a spring in his step. it helped that last night he and riku discussed who would go pick up what, and he'd been placed in a group with the cutie pie tech dork. however, he wasn't quite as thrilled about the fact that little miss james bond would be tagging along. this didn't give him as many qualms as it would have most other mornings, and something in his head just kind of clicked and told him it would be fine. so he grabbed one of the few worn out black towels he kept in his room and slung it over his shoulder, making his way to the bathroom before anyone else could. showers in the rebel headquarters weren't exactly the most pleasant, but they were something. it's better than just being gross and dirty and smelly.

indentthe water was harsh and lukewarm, rushing against his skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. but after a moment or two waylon seemed to adjust himself and adapt to the rough stream. in fact, he even settled down in it. the pounding of h2o didn't seem so bad if you didn't think about it, so he just scrubbed a bit of shampoo into his hair and did a little dance, singing loudly. "she's an american beauty! i'm an american psycho-o-o! i'm an american, i'm an american, american psycho-o-o-o." there was no question on whether or not the others could hear him. he was so loud, but he didn't care. fall out boy is the stuff, fam. he gave a perfect rendition of american beauty/american psycho and rinsed the soap from his hair, quickly washing his body and brushing his teeth before getting out and starting to dry himself off. the korean man shook his hair and body like a dog, sending water all over the sad little bathroom and splattering the mirror. then he towel-dried his abused locks like they owed him money, and he was completely dry before he even realized it.

indentway dropped the labored towel under the sink and clawed his fingers through slightly damp dark waves. he ruffled them and flipped them out of his face, knowing and disregarding the fact that they would be messy and tousled when they were fully dry. he pulled on a hella old nirvana shirt of his, which was a size or two too big for him and incredibly comfortable. the fabric was a kind of light, distressed black that made it clear he'd had it for a very, very long time. after getting the top on, waylon wiggled his way into some plain black jeans with a few rips in them. they'd been really high quality pants back when he bought them (which was before he could remember) but all of his antics in the years after that worn them down to the same quality as any pair of jeans you could find at salvation army, and there were quite a few large tears in the knees and thighs that hadn't been there in the beginning. slipping his feet into some equally crappy, scuffed up combat boots, waylon rubbed his eyes and finally made an exit from the bathroom. he made his way downstairs a few minutes before nero did, so it was another pleasant surprise to have her wedge herself in between phoebe and himself.

indenthe gave a little nod to her question before covering his mouth with the back of his hand and yawning, leaning his head back a bit. "yeah. riku and i talked over it last night, you're on ammo with phoebs and kiki." he said pleasantly, drawing a circle on the wooden table in front of him with his fingernail, lightly. it was a distracted habit of his to always play with his hands like that. "i'm groceries with randy and arata, riku is with ruslan and natsu to get blankets, and then i think for toiletries we got theo, roman, and venice."

[heartout]

kiki
21
female
gun expert
garage
tags- most
of the crew

x●x a k i k ox●xm a i ● k a t s u k i x●x ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[goneleft]

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── ＲＯＭＡＮ ＢＬＡＫＥ
ｅｎｇｉｎｅｅｒ ────

( rank. engineer. )
( health. 100%. )
( location. garage. )
( tags. everyone. )
✷\\\\✷\\\\✷

People began emerging from the hotel, out of the nooks and crannies. One of the first people to come was Venice. She snarled and said a incoherent things in different languages, then responding to him in a not-so-happy tone. It wasn't the generic 'good-morning', but what could have been expected? "Ah yes, hello to you too venice." Roman retorted dryly. He recoiled and leaned back, drumming his fingers over the wheel. She had seated herself in the back seat--everyone liked the back and roman wasn't sure of the big attraction to it. He'd be the one to snake the passenger in an instant... then cheekily talk about how 'comfortable' it was to Riku. But instead, he was the driver. He took in pride in his driving skills and knowing france like the back of his hand. Most of the assassins knew it well. Hell, they had to. Knowing alleys and running across rooftops seemed like a second nature to them. Especially Roman, who loved the thrill of running and jumping out of two-story windows onto bikes and scurrying for safety; it was a major precaution for the engineer-assassin, but he absolutely loved it. Perhaps they all thought he was crazy at the fact that, in all honesty, the thrill of running, jumping and climbing was something he'd be willing to do every day. Quickly Roman wiped a sooty hand over his face--dirtying it up even more. He inspected his hand and frowned, smearing it over his shirt.

Miranda now joined them--it was hard not to grin a little. She had bumped elbows and he sought out to look at her green eyes. It was perhaps the lighting and his slight movement that changed them to a brighter shade of amber. He looked down at the clear plastic bag that was dropped in his hands abruptly, steering his gaze away from hers'. A little bit of this and that was seen inside. He tossed it from hand to hand lazily, listening to Miranda talk to Venice in a cozier way than most of the assassins. There was another side to the fiery-tempered tall girl--she was kind and bubbly, at some points of the day. The personality shift was interesting, and Roman couldn't help but prod her and see what buttons made her go nuts. The door opened again with Ruslan shuffling to the window seat. "Heya." He greeted. Reaching up and adjusting the mirror he could get a clear view of the three of them. Ruslan looked extra tired, whilst Miranda and Venice seemed fine. He smiled a little. There was a quick moment and a thought passed through his mind. Curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt, Roman gave a tug and balled it up, tossing it in the back (and making sure that it didn't hit anyone). Twisting around and resting his shoulder on the middle console, he smiled at Miranda innocently and then groped for his shirt. Letting out a huff he balled it up, rolled back and pulled the shirt over his head, tugging it downwards. Giving his head a shake, Roman glanced out the open passenger door.