Get Out Your Guns, Battle's Begun {Tino/Clara}

[Deleted]

that gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand, Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. I know that I messed up a few times or watcha wanna call it. I know if I fell down, you'd change the way that I saw it. I put it on the line for this time only (Is that what you really want?) I can't see that I got red hands, I'm colorblind singing (day-oh). Don't put the blame on me, child, the damn thing gone wild (day-oh). Never wanted to be fooling you, can't believe I was wounding you (Is that what you really want?) Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. The fire burns, I'm not the one with the match, man. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. I've seen it all before, you back out, and everything's changing. I needed something more, you stepped down, so what are you chasing? I put it on rewind for this time only (Is that what you really want?)

tagged , No one~ words , 2181 notes , Updateeee credit , evkav of btn

TINO was storming down the sidewalk, his rage barely contained within his lean body as he tried not to lash out. He was beyond frustrated , humiliated, and feeling all out horrible as his ears burned and his face was red with anger. He kicked a small stone as hard as he could and the pebble flew down the block. Dammit. Dammit it all to hell! Tino's brow was so furrowed and he was so angry that he had to clench his hands into fists and lock his posture in a rigid position so that he wouldn't up and scream, or worse, explode on some random civilian. Tino glared up from the ground when he got the the corner of the street, waiting for the light to turn so he could cross the street and go home to the apartment complex that was now within his sights. He clenched his jaw, hesitating for a moment, and when the walking symbol appeared, Tino turned. He wasn't going home. He was too angry to go home. Instead, he twisted his trajectory at the last minute, now heading straight for the SIS building with smouldering violet eyes. ________________________________________ Tino had been walking around the Isle of Dogs. Yes, he knew that he shouldn't have been there, but hey, there were no signs saying he couldn't. It wasn't like civilians couldn't go in that place, right? He wasn't on duty.... So letting the curiosity get the best of him, Tino ventured into the area. Simple inquisitiveness was not the only reason for Tino's wandering. He was looking for a job and had been unable to find one in a better area of the city. Sure, he didn't really want to work area that was more dangerous, but he didn't really have a choice. He wasn't making much right now with M16... he was too inexperienced to get the more expensive and risky missions. Tino needed money... Unlike other people, Tino had a strict diet that he had to keep to. That involved foods that weren't cheap. The Fin couldn't live on £5 greasy burgers and fries. He needed a balanced diet to keep his diabetes in check. Even with the insulin, he had to be careful. Other costs sprang up too, so a second job was practically necessary (at least until he could get his feet under him). Tino could pretend to not notice the signs of poverty in this area. Occasional smashed windows, graffiti... the Fin kept walking forward, trying not to make eye contact with people. Yikes, this wasn't the best of places for the undercover agent to be. What if he was recognized? Not that he had been with M16 long enough to be marked, but still! Tino was working on a disguise, but it might have been premature to venture here this soon. Deciding that it might be best to swing around and head back, he stopped when he saw a small sign in the window of a building titled 'The Gun'. As intimidating as the name was, the sign had said 'Now Hiring' in hastily scribbled letters. Tino paused, hesitating on this. He was having poor luck with jobs in other areas. No one wanted to hire the platinum haired Nordic waiter because one, he was not a woman, and two, he was not an overly buff man. The only places Tino hadn't approached were the gay bars. Hell would have to start freezing over before the Fin swallowed back his pride and suited up in that kind of uniform. Lost in thought, Tino practically jumped out of his skin when two people burst through the door in a jumbling pile of flailing limbs and drunken curses. Tino's eyes widened as the pair proceeded to beat the crap out of each other while a woman stepped out over the pair, seemingly unaffected by the ruckus to air out a grime filled rag or something. She glanced up at Tino, noting the male's interest in the sign. Flicking her gaze up and down a few times, she smiled and waved him over. Tino swallowed, nerves beginning to pinch his stomach. Did he really want to risk a job like this? Was this even a job requesting a waiter? Tino fought with his doubts by justifying that his pockets were feeling extremely light. Would it hurt to just ask about the job? If it was unreasonable, then Tino could just say no. Swallowing, the Fin stepped around the still squabbling drunkards and approached the woman. She placed both hands on her hips and offered him a coy smile. “Lookin' for work?” she said, to which Tino nodded cautiously. “Yes... I'm looking for a job to wait on tables...” he added, wanting to set some guidelines in first. He wasn't doing anything... anything precarious. He needed money, but not that badly. Her eyes flicked over Tino again, making the Fin feel uncomfortable. He was being studied like some specimen... he didn't like it. She met his gaze again, moving forward to gently reach out with her hand to cup his cheek. Tino flinched at the unwanted touch. “You'll do,” she said in good spirits before she pulled away, waltzing back through the doors. When Tino stood there, dumbstruck as to just what had happened, she poked her head back out and waved him inside. Tino took a big breath, trying to justify his actions, and stepped inside. Despite the fact that it was around noon, the pub was full and boisterous. Wait, this was a bar? How was Tino supposed to serve here? He was not a bartender (but he could be, as the Fin knew his way around alcohol quite well). Confused, Tino merely followed the woman as his 'innocent' appearance warranted many strange looks. If Tino wanted to make himself known, he just succeeded. Cursing himself many times over in his head, the woman lead him into a side room, presumably to talk about an interview or something. When she closed the door, Tino pulled out his resume. He expected to speak, but the page was taken from his arms and tossed in in the rubbish can. “Here's your uniform,” she said curtly, pushing a pair of black pants and a black t-shirt into his arms, along with a waist apron with a couple of old pens and a dirtied notebook. Tino's sigh of relief was almost audible. It was a waitering job. “You're job is simple. Take the drink orders from the tables, tell the bartender what they want, and bring it back to them. Sometimes they order food. Do the same, but with the cook. Got it?” Tino nodded. “And one more thing....” she leaned forward, pinching Tino's cheek. “Don't touch the customers.” She left before Tino could question what that meant, she was gone. The Fin looked around, discovering the fact that he was in a bedroom or something. Sighing, the Fin stripped and dressed himself in the clothes that he had been given. They were a little big (the pants especially), but manageable. Tino took his belt from his other pants and strung it through the loops, keeping the baggy cloth around his hips. Pulling the simple t-shirt on, Tino smoothed the fabric across his chest to try and removed some of the faint wrinkles from the material. It hadn't been worn in some time... Tying the apron around his waist, Tino took a look at himself in the reflection of a picture frame. He didn't look half bad! Pumping himself up, the Fin readied himself for his work shift. He hadn't expected to work today, but now he had a job. Trying to look at the positives here, Tino told himself he was in a risky place. That meant, he might get to know faces or hear scraps of information. This could be the key that he needed; a foot in the door for learning more about the lawless and criminals of the city! Stepping out, Tino was met by the same woman from before. Once again, she glanced him over before her unwanted touch grazed his body once more. She tucked in the tag of his pants, tied the apron a couple centimetres tighter, and collected the excess material of his shirt and tied it into a knot. Tino found that the material was pulled tight across his torso and he didn't like it, but the blond didn't argue. “Table in the back needs another round a beer. Take care of that.” Tino nodded and moved without further instruction, weaving through the crowd towards the table that he had been pointed towards. He didn't get there though. Part way through, he felt an uncomfortable pressure on his backside as someone grabbed him. Grabbed. Him. Tino yelped and squirmed back in alarm, eyes vivid and accusing at the person who pinched his bottom. He expected a woman, but a larger, obese man was grinning at him slyly. Tino almost stepped forward to punch the sonofabitch, but a hand quickly clasped on his shoulder and pulled the Fin back. Tino was almost jerked off balanced as words were breathed onto his ear. “What did I say? Don't touch anyone! Deal with it if you want this job!” Tino bit his teeth into his lip, about to say that he couldn't do this when he heard the word Mafia mentioned somewhere in the pub. Hell... it did exist in this area. Tino clenched his jaw and looked back to the woman. This time, he met her gaze as he narrowed his eyes. “Fine.” ________________________________________ For 8 gruelling hours, Tino endured it. He had been cupped, pinched, harassed about his looks. He had been pulled into someone's arms, played with like a toy, and even asked to enter that back bedroom to change out of his uniform for different reason (that was something he refused upfront). He had been manhandled like a goddamn prostitute in that bar by men and women alike. The women seemed fond of his charm and uniquely coloured eyes, while the men often commented on Tino's body and face, emphasizing the fact that his features were softer than the regular, average-day man. Apparently the Fin became the new favourite around there, as the regulars liked to play with Tino's reactions. The Fin never got used to the contact and always jumped, squirmed and wiggled away from greedy hands and lustful eyes. Tino dealt with the emotions differently than others. The main thing that coursed through his veins at the moment was raw rage that had been building like the pressure under a volcano. Tino reached the SIS building in minutes, flashing his ID to unlock access entry as he didn't even acknowledge the front desk. Expression dark with anger, Tino climbed a few flights of stairs until he reached the room he was looking for. Flinging the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall, Tino stalked in with no sense of hesitation. No one else was in the Training Facilities. Good, because Tino wanted to be alone. Wasting no time, Tino tore off his apron, throwing it to the ground as he paced over to the racks of weapons to grab a handgun. Of course, Tino knew it was a Browning Hi-Power, but the name of the gun barely registered on the back burner of his mind. Turning in and instant, Tino clicked off the safety and emptied the magazine of the gun into the first target he saw, which was a humanoid cutout with a red targets placed on the head and chest. Tino chose to fire at the head. Thirteen cartridges later, Tino tossed the emptied weapon aside and grabbed another, this time a M1911 Pistol. Tino channelled his rage through the barrel of the gun, violet eyes burning with hatred as he pictured that fat bastard's head on that target. “Paskanaama!” Bang. “Kusipää!” Bang. Bang. “Vitun kusipää!” Bang. Bang. Bang. That emptied the clip of this pistol as well, so Tino reached for the gun rack again, using both arms to hoist a M16 rifle into his hands. Tino poured not one, not two, but three separate clips into that inanimate target until he was panting, exhausted, and his anger was beginning to fade. Not a single bullet had gone astray. In fact, the paper of the target was completely clean, save for the hole about the size off a golf ball in the centre of the target's head. Tino hadn't missed a single shot. Placing the rifle down as the Fin slid onto his knees, he gripped the floor as his ears rang from the consecutive gun blasts. He had drained away his anger, but the feeling of frustration and helplessness in his job situation made the Fin feel overwhelmed. He could feel the hot tears pricking at his eyes as his emotions began to fill up the space that the anger had masked. “Voi perkele!” he quietly cursed into the ground, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent himself from completely breaking down on the cool concrete floor.

[Deleted]

CHECK MATE

Clara never did quite like storms; something about the distant roll of thunder simply unnerved her on the inside. To her ears, the unseeable thunder was a gathering of drums, their bellows like a warning of war – not that she had ever experienced one before. The world was in relative peace. Relative being the word of emphasis. Still, from what she has heard, war was a terrible, terrible thing. It was the embodiment of destruction and chaos, everything that Clara absolutely loathed. Storms were the same – a force that she could not control, something that she was utterly powerless against. (She hated when there was something she could not command to plan and perfection.)

Storms symbolise chaos, fury, a force to be reckon with, and there was a storm brewing inside Clara now.

‘Inadequate’, he had said. He, the pompous agent who must have missed the lesson about ranks within the British Intelligence Services. He was neither a rookie to be allowed pardon for such rudeness, neither was he a veteran who knew better than to irk the Gamemaster, especially when she was giving you your goddamn homework. True, it was a running joke about how Clara was constantly rejected as an agent recruit, but when the same punchline was said in mockery rather than good humour, it wasn’t quite that funny anymore. That agent had simply miscalculated on the Gamemaster’s level of tolerance, and the amount of strength a tiny tiger could put into stilettos, heel to foot.

Fun time was dismissed and she sent four agents off, three walking and one hobbling. Inadequate, the word was seared into her mind like blue flames and hot iron. Frustration welled like a balloon within, but it was nothing a few practiced breaths couldn’t ease. Temper, temper – ‘Clara Huang Hui Xing, you are better than this.’ The thought repeated like a mantra, her safety net of sanity. She was better than that, to be blinded by her own emotions, she was better than them.

One, two, deep breaths.

Outside the SIS building, the lightning crackled like a whip across the sky, but the thunder was in the building itself. Like a series of muted explosions, the sound reverberated in Clara’s ears like an endless chain. Gunshots; the cry of a soldier. While Clara was familiar with the practice shots that rang through the top level of the complex, these were… different. Unconscious of the fact or otherwise, everyone had their own style of shooting, a song from their weapons that was unique to them, and this one simply screeched ‘desperation’.

Her feet took her there fairly quickly, to the source of her curiosity and mystery, whereupon she discovered none other than one Tino Väinämöinen. (She still couldn’t pronounce his name.) His stance was that of a fighter’s but his mark was that of a killer’s. Shots after shots, none that seemed to stray in the slightest, all intended for a victim that wasn’t present. There was a face upon that humanoid cut out – singular or plural – and Clara only stood at the door to watch, overcame with the queerest sense of breathlessness. Even in his anger, he held control; precise, exact, perfect. Amidst his own storm, Tino was still able to stand firm and fight for his own, never faltering, never waning. The only form of beauty and art Clara would ever appreciate perhaps.

Instincts kicked in and Clara took three seconds to simply observe, and another two to understand. Abandoned apron – work; cover job, somewhere rundown, apparent with the amount of grease. Frustration – bad day, no, terrible day. Sod’s law. Furrowed eyebrows, but the crease tells her it was not just anger at other – it was also at himself. The guns, the shooting, the adrenaline, they were a gateway for his tension and stress but still they held him back from his full potential. Even as skilled as Tino was with weaponries, the ones available here were tailored for right handers. He was a lefty.

A thought came to mind, and with decisive promptness, it mutedly led Clara a few strides off, to a door some distance from the practice room. A flash of the government ID and the security locks relented. It was a storage of specialised weapons and among them rested two that didn’t belong; after all, where better to hide a tree than in the forest? The weight of the rifle was an uncomfortable burden, a burden that was not hers anyway.

Selecting the Hunter, Clara hoisted it carefully against her petite frame as she retreated from the room. (She noted with mild amusement that it was nearly half her size.)

“Voi perkele!”

She couldn’t empathise with his frustration and sympathy wasn’t quite her style. Diplomatic she may be, ‘nice’, not exactly. This situation did not call for pity pats and tissues either. Stop hugging the floor, agent, you are not going to be swallowing comfort here.

“Oy, soldier. Think fast.” Catching his attention, she tossed the rifle at him, back in the hands of its rightful owner. “Get up. An agent has to have more pride than that. Show me what you got.” She smiled.

Get out your guns, battle's begun.

TAGS: That agent with the really nice eyes.
WORDS: 865
NOTES: I can't pronounce his last name jeez, Nordics.

coded by DESTINY of BTN

[Deleted]

that gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand, Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. I know that I messed up a few times or watcha wanna call it. I know if I fell down, you'd change the way that I saw it. I put it on the line for this time only (Is that what you really want?) I can't see that I got red hands, I'm colorblind singing (day-oh). Don't put the blame on me, child, the damn thing gone wild (day-oh). Never wanted to be fooling you, can't believe I was wounding you (Is that what you really want?) Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. The fire burns, I'm not the one with the match, man. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. I've seen it all before, you back out, and everything's changing. I needed something more, you stepped down, so what are you chasing? I put it on rewind for this time only (Is that what you really want?)

tagged , The Girl Who Shouldn't Play With Guns words , 1016 notes , Updatingggg credit , evkav of btn

TINO was very close to letting his emotions fully pour out of his body when he heard footsteps. He quickly blinked back the moisture that had accumulated in his eyes, mentally preparing the lie that he had gotten gunshot residue to the face. If Tino hated one thing, it was crying, or at least being seen with tears. Tino honestly just wanted to wallow in his own pity party for the next few hours as he processed the memories from his overly shitty job. Instead, he was called from the 'ohhh poor me' thoughts when he was addressed informally, his amethysts flicking up miserably before something was thrown at him. Tino barely even registered that it was a gun as he scrambled to jut his hands forward and catch the barrel of the rifle. The second thing that registered on Tino's radar was irritation. Stupid girl. Obviously she had never handled a gun before, because you just didn't go around tossing them this way and that. Accidents were caused that way through triggered misfires, not to mention the general damage that could come to the weapon if it were banged around too much. Settling to glare at her (Clara was it? He knew her from before... Sort of), Tino's eyes glinted as she poked at his dignity. She had no right to talk like that, as it was his pride that was already hurting. She, as he recalled, had a government job that probably included a cushy salary. He doubted that she'd need to take up a second job, and even if she did, it probably wasn't as degrading as the one that the Fin currently held. His grip upon the weapon in his hands tightened, eyes burning a little at her challenge. She wanted to be given a show? Fine. With narrowed eyes, the Fin glanced down to the tool within his palms. And, like jello sliding off a hot car hood, his anger slipped away. This was... Tino's glare relaxed, the muscles pinching his brow growing smooth as his eyes widened ever so slightly. Resting the butt of the rifle on his thigh, Tino took his left hand and barely, just barely grazed the polished wooden cast of the weapon. A shudder slithered up his spine, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. A sigh then worked its way up and out of Tino's chest as his entire body, coiled with apprehension, loosened as a small smile ghosted his lips. The weapon within his hands was more than just a gun. It was his gun, his token of advancing into manhood, his pride and joy. Lifting the object, Tino sighed once more as the back of the gun pressed comfortably against the muscle of his shoulder. This gun, this article was more than just an inanimate toy. It was an extension of Tino, a piece of his soul that could only be reunited when he raised the gun and stared down its sights. Like a sword was an extension of a samurai's arm, the Sako 85/M Hunter LH was an extension of Tino's passion and determination. He practiced almost every day in his youth with a similar model. This one was newer, a coming of age gift when he turned 18, but it had not failed him yet. Tino's eyes reopened gradually, slowing raising to the chartreuse green of the woman before him. A smile pushed the corners of his lips up further, the raging fire within his soul tamed, but the sparks were still dancing around his abnormal eyes. He flicked open the breech with the twitch of his fingers, noting the fact that the weapon was loaded, before snapping it closed. In one fluid motion, Tino turned on his heel, standing square and balanced to the next humanoid target that had been unmarred. Bang. Tino felt the shot reverberate through his torso, sending shivers down into his stomach as his reunion with the weapon was sealed with a perfectly fired blast. Directly to the head, clear between the eyes. Tino reached for a new cartridge, pocketing two as he popped the used bullet from the barrel. It clinked on the ground only once before another blast echoed through the room. However, this time, Tino wasn't aiming at the paper targets. The light bulb in the corner of the room shattered, sparking out of service as the Fin turned once more, eyes searching for a more challenging, impressive shot. He found it as he dropped to a crouch, now using the sight on the scope to pick out the meticulous details of the other end of the room. He could see the knives, the weights, even the numbers scrawled on the machines with his detailed, 'eagle eyed' vision. He saw what he could shoot, and with the aura of calmness, Tino's mind, thoughts, and emotions all faded into the background. He was alone. There was nothing else in his sights, not Clara, not the hum of the shattered light bulb, not even his terrible day. Inhale, exhale. Tino waited, eyes narrowed, posture straight. Thump thump... Inhale deeply, tight pressure on the trigger. With a gentle release of air, catching between the natural pause between breathing in a breathing out as his heart relaxed after a single beat, Tino squeezed the trigger. The punching bag that had previously been dangling from a rope across the massive gym crashed to the floor, the rope that was suspending it swaying gently with frayed tips. Instead of turning to where the female had been, Tino simply stood and pulled the rifle back as his stance crumpled. Staring at the gun with both hands, he traced the wood contour lines with a gentle fingertip, he realized how much he missed target practice. With one last sigh, Tino let his pent up breath, stress, and frustrations of the day out as he turned to Clara, a small, but genuine smile on his face. This was one of the rare times when Tino Väinämöinen had no words to say other than a breathy “Thank you...”

[Deleted]

CHECK MATE

Humans were ever so volatile, especially when it came down to one’s emotions. One could go from insurmountable joy in one moment to unsuppressed fury in the next, and this was not only prone to a gender of higher oestrogen level. That was why it had been rather effortless for Clara to read Tino’s feelings. Shuttered and brief they might have been, but she saw the undeniable traces of shock, then irritation, followed by a soft veil of contentment and familiarity when his heart caught up with his hands. When his eyes opened, Clara smiled at what they revealed; a burning fire, hardly tampered by the wariness of the day, were ablazed with valour and challenge behind a pair of honest eyes. Now, that was what she wanted to see.

He rose, pivoting sharply to address the foam targets at the other end of the range. Seemingly careless about aligning his aim, he fired, and nicked a perfect shot right between the humanoid’s eyes. A lethal shot, and an effortless one at that; Clara could see why this man had been scouted for the agency.

Tino did not stop, not even close to being satisfied with that single, perfect shot. His movements were swift and practiced as he reloaded the rifle, it came to him as instinctively as blinking. Tino Väinämöinen knew how to shoot like he knew how to breathe.

As a glass bulb shattered, her lips quirked into a small smile. A most unconventional of targets, but if he had sought to impress, Tino was half-way there. Come on, soldier, there had to be more to you.

And more, he did deliver. He was certainly not one to disappoint. As his body crouched into an unnatural stillness honed by years of training and a good amount of inborn talent, Clara speculated the nature of his next target. What could top a pint-size light bulb? It had to be smaller, and from the direction that he was facing, there were only so many—

No. He wouldn’t – he couldn’t.

The heavy thump of the sand-filled punching bag met the floor like a defiant answer. Clara couldn’t mask the grin that touched her lips – she didn’t mind being wrong just this once.

Tino Väinämöinen really did have wonderful eyes, and impressed Clara Huang Hui Xing, he had truly accomplished.

Her hands rose to offer him a round of applause; a show as breath-taking as that deserved its recognition, after all.

“Thank you...”

“You’re welcome, though I suppose it is I who should thank you, for such an amazing performance.” She answered, taking easy strides over to inspect Tino's handiwork. The rope that suspended the punching bag was frayed, but so cleanly that Clara might have presumed it to be done by a blade rather than a bullet, had she not had first-hand witness to that. It was true testament of Mister Tino Väinämöinen's capabilities. The MI6 was lucky; they snagged a real treasure this time.

She shifted slightly to regard the Finn with a shrewd eye. Clearly the agent had been having a rather rough day; Clara would not have pegged him as the type to fly into a temper without rhyme or reason, especially if said temper could also be interpreted as a mild bloodlust. She pondered on the wisdom of broaching that subject, and the even tougher question as to how. While subtlety, tact and a perchant for word games were Clara's forte, she had come to learn that it was not so for many, even feeling a tinge of disappointment that it was not so for the majority. Ah, shame.

Deciding on a suitable route for advancement, she pivoted to address the agent (who was decidedly comfortable on the cold, hard ground). "You know, a great man once said that life is shooting a single bullet; the target is a proverbial exemplar for life, and all your problems are rounded up in that bullet. You only have one chance to shoot, one chance to throw back at the bastard life all the stupid problems it gave you, one chance to prove yourself," A light smile tilted her lips ever so slightly. "And once you fire, then it's time to let go and forget of all your troubles, the great man said."

A minute of silence descended and a minute was all Clara could hold out on before the smile on her features transformed into a full-fledged grin. "Did I mention that aforementioned great man is standing in this room right now?" She couldn't contain the chuckling, even if it was to appear modest for just a moment. But then again, Clara Huang Hui Xing was anything but modest, so why bother? It would be pretty great if Mister Tino Väinämöinen thought her to be 'great' as well. (At least the mood was now lightened.)

"So, soldier, how goes the day?"

TAGS: Mister Sharp Shooter
WORDS: 806
NOTES: Wait a sec, I'm going to have to pay for the damages in the room, don't I.

coded by DESTINY of BTN

[Deleted]

that gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand, Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. I know that I messed up a few times or watcha wanna call it. I know if I fell down, you'd change the way that I saw it. I put it on the line for this time only (Is that what you really want?) I can't see that I got red hands, I'm colorblind singing (day-oh). Don't put the blame on me, child, the damn thing gone wild (day-oh). Never wanted to be fooling you, can't believe I was wounding you (Is that what you really want?) Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. The fire burns, I'm not the one with the match, man. That gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand. Oh yeah, oh yeah-ah, that gun is loaded. I've seen it all before, you back out, and everything's changing. I needed something more, you stepped down, so what are you chasing? I put it on rewind for this time only (Is that what you really want?)

tagged , Little Miss Observant words , 783 notes , I'm so so soooooo sorry but this is really crummy. I had muse, but I dunno where it went DX. Hopefully my next post will be better sweetie. Thank you so much for posting for me today <3 credit , evkav of btn

TINO had almost tuned the tiny girl out, as his eyes and hands were fastened to the barrel of his gun. The vibrations of the previous recoils left ghost-like chills on his arms, prickling his skin with anticipation. Tino blinked at the female as she began to clap. Was that the point of this all? A test to check his abilities? If it were, Tino knew he had passed. He could see that he had impressed the petite female. Violet stared into apple green before red glazed the Fin's cheekbones. “A-Ah, you don't need to thank me...I-” Tino stopped, cutting himself off in mid-phrase. He wanted to prove something to the girl when he took aim. He wanted to give her the show that she wanted. He demonstrated his talents without restraint. He wasn't fishing for compliments, but he wanted to prove himself. Not only to Clara, but to himself. He wanted to find his battered pride and rebuild it. Working at the Gun was, to be blunt, fucking shitty, but if Tino could vent through his weapon, he could firmly root his sanity. The Fin hated being manhandled like he had been, but... A sigh passed the man's lips as the sourness drained from his body. Getting angry wouldn't help anything. In fact, wallowing on the floor would only make things worse. Tino let his gaze drop to his lap, where his weapon lay. It was truly a beautiful piece of machinery... Tino adored target practice with it, but it was not meant to be used to have a tantrum with. Tino wanted to use the gun to vent, but not to channel raw anger. Breathe in, breathe out. Now shoot with a clear head. Tino twisted to stand, but he noted the pair of shoes that twisted towards him. His gaze rose, meeting the yellow-green stare of Clara Huang Hui Xing. She held an intimidating aura, despite her size. Tino didn't avert his gaze though, not this time. Fire still flickered beneath the amethysts of the blond, not quite ready to be tamed. She spoke with dignity and clarity, her voice ringing across the room like a melodic tune. Violet glinted sharply as she spoke and literally pieced together the situation. She knew. She knew that Tino had been utterly enraged with himself, with his situation and that the weaponry show was his temper lashing out at something. Was this a game of hers? No, she wasn't playing. She was sure of herself and was simply telling Tino what he already knew. Wary eyes closed when her monologue came to a close. Yes, he had to let it go. He already knew that. It was embarrassing to be told that from someone else though, especially since she was younger than him. Tino opened his strangely coloured hues with mild amusement after the moment of silence between the pair. Yes, she had figured it out, so he allowed her to bask in her own accomplishment. How though? How much did she know from Tino's little act? Perhaps she had seen him on the street, or even at the bar. Was there surveillance there? "So, soldier, how goes the day?" Ah. Evidently Clara didn't know everything. A small smile played its way onto Tino's lips, but it wasn't truly genuine. He leaned forward, slinging his rifle over his shoulder in a swift motion as the safety was clicked on. Rising to his feet, he glanced her way with a tired expression. “Evidently you picked up on most of it, so you probably know my answer Ms. Huang,” Tino said, as the facial muscles on the left side of his face twitched upward, forming a lopsided grin. He would have left the topic encrypted like that, but Clara did do him a tremendous favour by bringing his gun to him (where the hell had she gotten it anyway?). He felt like he owed her something, at least a small explanation of events. He paused for a moment, before sighing and giving in. “Missions aren't exactly being tossed in the direction of the new rookie. I can't afford to live here without working. Let's just say that my second job isn't as ideal as I would have liked...” Tino said, holding his amethysts level with her own gems. Part of him noted that in this light, the colour around her pupil was a golden yellow, while the outer rim of her iris morphed into a darker green. Pretty... Wait... what!? Tino gave his head a shake to clear away his thoughts. Tino's eyes flickered up and stared into the woman's as his expression grew sombre. “Ms. Huang, can I trust you?”

[Deleted]

CHECK MATE

He had a nice smile, Clara realised, and it was much more preferrable to the murderous scowl he'd adopted previously. One would think, however, that such a good and wholesome grin would be reserved for someone special and… animated, not so much a gun. But hey, some like their tea with milk, others with bullets and machine grease.

(Speaking of guns though, the little genius scribbled a mental reminder to submit the proper paperwork for clearance later; there were rules and protocols to be followed, after all.)

"Missions aren't exactly being tossed in the direction of the new rookie. I can't afford to live here without working. Let's just say that my second job isn't as ideal as I would have liked…" Ah, so that's it.

Hah, so she was right. Score seven hundred and two for the Asian.

"Have you tried asking Q? I'm certain there are plenty of missions available. In fact, I've read through all the files and---" Wait one-thirty six hundred of an hour. Clara stared at the agent, still upon the floor caressing his precious weapon, and her eyes narrowed. And narrowed. And narrowed.

And in her head, the system declared: P E R F E C T F I T

A faint smile touched her lips, no more than the slightest curve of the sides, as she continued lightly, "I don't think you'll have to worry for much longer, Mr. Väinämöinen. I'm very certain you'll soon receive a mission that requires someone of your expertise." And she said no more on that subject.

"Ms. Huang, can I trust you?"

She stared hard at him for that, assessing his tone for any sign of mockery. No one has ever asked her that; they all assumed that they could trust her with whatever confidential information or national secrets that passed their lips. After all, she's a pup on a short leash; she - literally - could not betray them.

"I don't know, Mr. Väinämöinen; if it's some kind of secret family receipe for biscuits, I cannot promise you that I would not abuse that trust to sell those biscuits as my own. Money matters to me, after all." She joked, trying to ease whatever tension remained from that gunshow, on the agent's part at least.

It was nicer when he smiled, after all.

TAGS: Mr. Nice Smile
WORDS: 385
NOTES: I'm so sorry it's so short and crappy ;; n ;;

coded by DESTINY of BTN