kisafa

Hey, I feel like a total bitch for not messaging you for so long! I'm at imagine-all-the-art if you ever want to message me and I'm not on this account.

Well, here he was again, doing extra work that he didn't quite believe in. But he did it anyways. It was his job, and he did it right. Morals didn't matter, it was the fulfillment of goals and objectives that determined whether or not he succeeded. He stopped on the porch of Jayx's house and dug through the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. It looked strangely juvenile against his large shoulders, his red-brown skin, his calloused hands and scarred body, his hair, dark and tightly pulled back against his skull. He found his key ring and cursed lightly. Jayx's key wasn't on it anymore, for some stupid reason. He sat the bag down and pulled out a little dark roll of fabric. He kneeled down and unrolled it, choosing his instruments carefully. He stuck them in the lock and, after several quiet moments, he heard a click. He turned the knob and then removed the lock-picking gear. He was replacing the tools when he heard a car pull into the driveway. He furrowed his eyebrows and turned quickly, sliding his pocketknife from his jeans to the sleeve of his jacket, where he quickly released it with the handle in his palm, so he'd be ready for whatever was there.


He didn't recognize the car, and the streetlights only illuminated part of it, leaving the driver in shadows. He leapt off the steps and marched towards them, the knife gripped tightly in his palm. He saw the figure turned towards the back of the car, opening the backseat door on the drivers side and leaning in to get something. He moved with ginger, quiet steps, and leaned against the open backseat door, letting the knife slide into his hand so it was exposed, though it was held casually, reflecting his posture. He recognized the figure as a female, and felt a vague prickle of familiarity, but he didn't know her well enough to have remembered her. She straightened up and he raised his eyebrow at her as she saw him, his knife clearly exposed.
"Listen here, I have someone to take care of. And I don't want to risk their safety by getting into a fight here with you. But that's only going to happen if I find out quick who you are and what you're doing at this house."
His memory, so weak with remembering faces and names, told him he knew her. But if he couldn't be positive, he wasn't going to risk losing his supply chain.