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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Sept 14, 2015 0:25:18 GMT -8
325 WORDS | ❝ I’m Demetrio, though most people call me Deme. Nesia... that's a beautiful name. And you can sit wherever you want to, I’m in no place to stop you. Your shows going well, I’ve been able to catch a performance or two, you’re quite good."
If that compliment was directed to another performer, they would smile and thanked Demetrio. But Nesia, instead of doing that she was stunned for a bit. A smile, half forced, appeared on her face as she seated herself. "Thank you," she nodded a little, and looked around the room to hide her discomfort. She felt embarrassed whenever someone complimented her performance. Yes, it's good, yes she does it almost daily and yes she had received compliments from a smitten audience; but receiving it this close from a rather attractive man just made her want to hide behind a door.
She took several breaths, then returned his compliment, "you too. I think I've watched you perform several times. But we never talked beforehand, I believe?" Nesia couldn't recall whether he had been here before or after her. Sometimes they didn't work in the same shifts so when Nesia finally noticed him, he had been working for a while. But judging from Demetrio's age, it seemed that he's her senior.
Nesia waved at a passing staff and asked for a glass of water. "Water for me, with ice, please." While she was a fan of fancier, non alcoholic drinks, Nesia opted for water whenever she just finished an intense physical work. It was an advice from her old martial arts teacher back home, and one that she remembered until this day.
"So, is your shift over yet? Or are you going to perform soon?" she asked out of courtesy; to kill the rising silence and carry out their conversation. Although she said she saw his performances, Nesia always found herself unable to watch more than a few minutes. Her blush appeared too easily. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Sept 1, 2015 2:46:12 GMT -8
433 WORDS | S he was not a girl anymore, she was supposed to grow up already from this dramatic, emotional events. Nesia was an adult so she should face this like an adult too. But she did not know that being an adult is this hard. Someone clipped off her hope's wings and Nesia was ready to do anything as long as she can be a child once again.
This world scared her.
The student wiped her tears and placed her soda can to the nearest solid surface. She could not trust her fingers to hold any objects when she's in this state. The last thing she wanted to do was wiping spilled coke all over the floor, and considering that it was Lucille's gift, it would sink her heart further to see it spilled.
And -- get yourself together, Nesia! This is just a heartbreak, perhaps it was good that she never see it fully flourished. Now she had more time to spend studying or working. She had seen heartbreaks before, both fictional and real. Everything moved on eventually. But how long is the time she needed to do so? She was so sure that this was different, that he was different from the boys she had crushes on during her school years.
The Indonesian let her roommate led herself to her bed, feeling its soft bedsheet against her calves. Nesia half-heartedly listened to Lucille's voice. The Seychelloise and herself were similar in terms of personalities, yet she was brighter and more cheerful than Nesia lately. She liked to see herself as an older sister figure for Lucille, but right now their roles were reversed.
"Like, what if he snores really loudly when he sleeps? Or maybe he picks his nose and wipes it under the table!"
That prompted a mix of sob and laugh from Nesia's mouth. Tears came streaming down her face again, this time because of the image popped in her mind from Lucille's assumptions. Oh it would be quite a surprise if he really did the things she just said. And she was right. Heartbreak would pass, no matter how long. And there'd be more men she would meet, men more decent and better for her.
(Nesia pushed the memories of the men she saw the other night. They belonged to another world, a place she would never look for a potential lover)
She smiled to her friend, unable to say anything but "thanks." And her stomach rumbled again. Nesia pulled her in a brief hug, then stood slowly to approach her noodles. Hot or not, she still wished to devour it. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jul 6, 2015 12:50:37 GMT -8
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jul 6, 2015 12:48:56 GMT -8
505 WORDS | A gain.
Her hands twitched. So cold, so dismissive, so unimportant, oh so insignificant! Not even a slightest nod of approval was shown. Not even a word of advice or two. Zwingli was not just a highly skilled sniper, but he was also the trainer who's hard to please. As if she was accepting the fact that the rest of the day might went just as sour as the orange he prepared, Nesia clenched her jaw and released three more bullets. Her determination was back, this time fueled by her desire to make the Swiss acknowledged her marksmanship.
Nesia stole a glance to her side, ensuring herself that the blond was still watching. Yet he didn't seem to care, didn't seem to be concerned that his student need to be watched. That rifle was back in his hands, the one with strange inscription on its well-cared body was laid down. Was he giving her an example? Nesia paused her activity to observe him better.
Vash Zwingli was different. Not just from her (heck, who was she compared to him anyway?), but he's different from the man who just offered her to eat the orange and cheese few minutes ago. And then his world just reduced to his fingers, his sight, his rifle and the target practice hung few meters ahead. Like a real soldier (but he was, agents were soldiers in suit and tie). Formidable. Unyielding. With that precision and speed, if their targets were animate objects they would be lying motionless on the floor now.
Cold crept on her spine. Was he able to shoot better than Vash Zwingli?
Now's not a good time to think about it, agent.
She took her borrowed gun, fired another couple of bullets, but her mind had gone wandering. Daydreaming like it always do when she didn't watch. It went to the ceiling, to the wine poured by her mentor, then back at the gun left beside Nesia. Since it's still upside down from her point of view, she couldn't guess what was written on it. The etching was deliberate, seeing that the weapon was maintained regularly. The female agent scolded herself; she should have done the same to her own weapon. The fact that she did not need it in her missions was not an excuse.
Vash Zwingli was back on his spot right when Nesia ran out of bullets. Like he knew what was in her mind, he spent an unusual amount of time observing the etching, his expression remained unreadable. What's in his mind?
The Indonesian finished replacing the magazine and shot once to test it out. (1. 0.8). But in her joy, the second shot missed so far from her target. Her heart sank, almost, because her mentor told her to take a break. Nesia was more than happy to comply. This was a good opportunity too.
"Mr. Zwingli, sir, why your gun has an engraving?" she asked, deliberately placing hers beside his own. She figured he wasn't the type who loved small talks. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jun 11, 2015 19:56:22 GMT -8
| T here used to be a time when she loved to run, to jump and move every muscle in her body to attack an invisible enemy. But it was long past, and her limbs had lost so much strength albeit they did remember how every punches and kicks work. So while she was immersed in the training, Nesia had run out of breath before the session was over. It was not her fault for being so out of shape; the student was swarmed by endless assignments and homework. Keeping her grades up was the main priority, and the second one being her part time job, therefore Nesia had to drop her club activity. Too bad, since she liked to play badminton.
She could tell the trainer was dissatisfied by her result from the clicking of his tongue. "I want to see an improvement next week, miss." He tapped the clipboard. "This is barely any different than the last two sessions. You have to push yourself harder."
"Yes, sir," Nesia muttered between her breath.
After she was dismissed, Nesia headed to the shower to change. Next time she went to the SIS Building, she would learn about disguise. As usual, the sheer thought of doing a new obligation made her nervous. If possible, she wanted advice from a professional. But Nesia was not yet accepted; she was here because of a recommendation. She was not yet permitted to explore the whole building -- the college student was under constant watch since she entered the headquarter until she left it.
An alternative to this was looking for information online; but Nesia doubted such things were available for public access. The only answer she got from her trainer was that one of the best MI6 agent in camouflaging was a Polish person. He didn't tell which one.
Gathering her belongings, Nesia walked towards the exit. It's nigh impossible to find it out today, so she just hoped to see the agent in her training session. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jun 9, 2015 1:46:58 GMT -8
348 WORDS | A fter the encounter in the alley, the flowers had stopped coming. Not completely -- Nesia still received some bouquets every week or so from other casino goers, but none bore the signature mark of the anonymous flowers. The cards accompanying them were filled with compliments and occasionally, phone number. Nesia took them as a joke, and never bothered to call any of those numbers. But the important thing is, her admirer never showed up anymore in her shows
Still, Nesia was curious about the man who saved her in the alley. Was he simply a passerby who decided to play a hero? Or actually a robber disguised as a kind person? Either way, Nesia owed a thanks to him. If he hadn't appeared, she would have to put down the commoner persona she wore, revealing the MI6 agent underneath. Of course if she defended herself and hurt him -- which was a certainty -- it would disrupt her undercover operation. No one in her workplace knew about her identity. No one, as far as the Indonesian woman knew.
Bringing a small towel and a cold drink, Nesia headed to the lounge where other performers mingled when they weren't on the stage or backstage. It was rather full, and Nesia had to walk between tables just to find one unoccupied chair. Another chair in the same table had a man sat on it. He was one of the exotic dancers; Nesia recognized him even though she never watched his performance -- it always made her blush awkwardly. So she set her mind to look for another chair, but the man spoke up and the showgirl couldn't help but notice the voice and how he utter the syllables. A slight familiarity crossed her thought.
Nesia placed her hand on top of the empty chair, bowing slightly to catch his attention. "Excuse me, may I?" she gestured at the furniture. "Other tables are already full and I don't want to walk too much, my muscles are stiff. Oh, and I'm Nesia by the way." She extended her hand, believing that they hadn't properly introduced themselves. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on May 1, 2015 22:17:20 GMT -8
349 WORDS
feel free to go after her | T he adrenaline was rushing, the blood pumped even quicker, echoing in small thump-thump in her hearing. Would her admirer-slash-stalker resort to violence? Nesia curled and relaxed her fingers several times, doing the first step in self defense: assess your surroundings. The man was taller than her, he might outrun the Indonesian agent. But Nesia was a good sprinter, she could reach the busy street and scream for help before he could reach her. Nesia was trained in pencak silat, and although it had been years since her last training, the agent could deliver a powerful kick right to his weak spot.
A loud, familiar click halted her train of thoughts. At first Nesia thought the man had taken out a gun from his pocket, but both of his hands were still there. Then a moving shadow behind him explained it. Someone had followed them, and now the person was holding a gun to the admirer's head.
“The lady said she didn’t want you around. Now, I suggest leaving and never returning to the casino, and never bother her again. You wouldn’t want to find yourself missing a certain part of your anatomy now, would you? Now, apologize.”
The voice was too vague of a clue; Nesia could not determine its owner immediately nor find out its appearance. It was a male voice, calm and determined. He was serious about the threat. Her admirer was visibly trembled, his eyes darted from her face to the hand on his shoulder.
“Well, apologize and leave before I give you another hole in your body.”
The distance between them made Nesia unable to hear what words he said to the man behind him. She was interested to see who came following them, but her logic kicked in. This was a good chance to go. So she turned around and jogged to the big road, never once looking back. Who knows, perhaps her so called savior was a robber. That man was quite rich anyway, no one would suspect it if he was getting robbed; it was his fault for going through an alleyway.
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Apr 1, 2015 12:36:44 GMT -8
| H e was here, sitting at the front row with a cigar hanging between his lips. Nesia ensured her gaze fell on the tables behind his, knowing that he would be delighted to have their eyes met. When tonight's act was over and the curtain closed, Nesia could not feel more relieved.
The woman did not know him, save for his face. A man around his thirties, with a few streaks of gray visible between the jet black ones. He first came like other casino goers, attracted by the thrill of gambling. Soon the only table he frequented was the one closest to the show stage where Nesia performed four times every week. And then the cards and flowers appeared in her dressing room. It was always anonymous, and Nesia never asked for a name to any waitress who delivered said bouquet to her table --just a simple 'thank you'. The flowers would be handed to another girl --Nesia had no space left in her apartment and her boyfriend would be suspicious. All was forgotten.
But things changed.
Her table was bare tonight. She had long suspected the cigar man to be the anonymous sender, because the gifts were sent when that man was in the casino. Maybe the sender was someone else, but her intuition signaled that something was off. Just like it had predicted, when Nesia walked alone towards the tube station late night, an imaginary alarm blared in her mind. Strange, steady footsteps. She was stalked.
Despite being an undercover agent, Nesia had no weapons in her possession. Moreover, she made a mistake by taking a shortcut through a deserted alley. She stopped at its end, where the alley met a big road, before turning to find her admirer standing under the shadows. Nesia could scream and run as fast as her heels allowed to, if he showed any weird behavior.
"Sir? May I help you?"
The man took a step forward, desperation danced in his eyes. "Walk."
"To where?"
"Wherever you're going now."
"I'm going to my grandfather's house," she lied. "He didn't like surprise guest."
"He'll like me," he replied, blowing smoke from his mouth. "Let's go, I'm curious about what kind of place you live in."
Nesia narrowed her eyes. The lack of lighting made her unable to see if he was holding something. Both hands were in the pocket. He had no weapon when he's in the casino, that was obvious, but there's no guarantee he did not pick up any after he left the building. "I'd rather not having any stranger in my house this late," Nesia said after a prolonged silence, her feet ready to start running. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Mar 2, 2015 2:50:57 GMT -8
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Mar 2, 2015 2:49:37 GMT -8
696 WORDS | ❝ Wonderful. (4, 6)
If there was one thing Nesia could not help doing during shooting, it was closing her eyes a mere microsecond before she pulled the trigger. She could count several instances where her eyes stayed open with one hand - those happened during the last days of her training. But after months passed without skill polishing, Nesia's ability and courage had declined. Her grip was loose, as if the thing in her hand could explode at any moment.
Focus, focus.
"Miss. Your wrist is shaking. Even your knees are shaking, Weak form. And you're breathing too much."
Nesia prevented herself from turning her head and looked at her mentor in the eye. What's wrong with breathing? There's no such thing as breathing too much, she protested. But all she did on the surface was inhaling more oxygen and steadying her stance. In the training room, the mentor is always right.
"You're holding it like it's going to shoot you. The gun you're holding isn't even too bad on the recoil. It comes from Q's lab, and since it's the first gun model you'd get from Q, it's designed to absorb recoil for you. You shouldn't even feel any recoil."
"I didn't..." She felt no recoil, yes, but the Swiss man's attention already turned to his own rifle and the sound of its shot drowned the rest of her words. His reputations certainly did not lie. He was a professional and now that Nesia witnessed it herself, she understood. It was a bit frightening, making her shiver.
"You need to wield it with dignity, and you need to hold yourself with dignity. You need strength to be able to wield the difference between life and death. When you wield the difference between life and death, you carry power. Unnatural power. And nature is going to work against you. So you have to stand up to it. You fear power, it'll eat you alive."
"Yes, sir." But Nesia placed her borrowed weapon on the table and rubbed her sweaty palms together. His words were spot on. Guns were unnatural and Nesia feared them. They went against all laws of nature, save for the gravity and mechanics of motions. But how does one made of flesh and blood stand up against a bullet, if they were not standing behind the trigger? Strong was not a word she would use to define herself. She was weak and her weaknesses had thrown her into many places untouched by sunlight.
(Like the mouth of the wolf)
Nesia shook her head, pushing the thoughts away; away for at least during the training. Her gaze caught a sight of a mark on Zwingli's rifle. Like a scratch, a deliberate one that is. She tried to read it, but the distance and its upside-down placement hindered her reading. Zwingli's back was facing her, but certainly he would not like her craning her neck to see his rifle. That would be prying. Maybe she could ask him later.
Embarrassment warmed up her cheeks as Zwingli told - commanded her to sit and eat. Muttered her yes, sir for a second time, Nesia made her way to the table, peeling the orange almost in lightning speed. She was absorbed in eating until the fruit was none but seeds and the cheese was crumbles. Of course, the agent did not touch the wine, preferring to let the water from the fruit washed her throat instead. She even forgot to apologize, but as long as Zwingli didn't mention it, she would let it slip unnoticed.
With stomach filled - not full, but not empty either - Nesia walked to the shooting range again and picked up her gun. It was not hers, but she would have to be content with it. In battles, sometimes it was not the weapon you equipped yourself with that ended up in your grasp. Opening her feet shoulder-wide, Nesia straightened her arms, aimed, then pulled the trigger.
(0.4, 3)
(1, 0.7)
(0.2, 0.8)
Satisfied, Nesia turned to her mentor. "How was that?" she asked, a smile spreading on her lips. Sure it was not spot on, but it was an improvement nonetheless. |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Feb 15, 2015 2:22:56 GMT -8
333 WORDS
this ain't a wedding | N esia felt so out of place, and her disguise barely served its purpose when she was dressed not in black. The woman had replaced the contents of her wardrobe, afraid that someone would recognize her in one of those clothes. A black dress was not included among her new outfits. She felt her chocolate colored dress could pass as black, yet when she sat among the mourners, Nesia couldn't blend well enough with the crowd. A glance or two had been directed at her in the past ten minutes, but the agent put her best poker face, hiding her discomfort.
Tucking a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, Nesia adjusted her glasses and leaned to see people on the front row. Familiar faces -- or rather, the back of their heads -- were seen, friends and acquaintances from the MI6. She should be occupying one of the front seats, but her official status was hiding, and it's best not to attract the coworkers' attention. Heck, she was not even supposed to be here.
But Nesia would hate herself for not attending Donald O'Neill Kirkland's funeral. Her senior agent, a cheerful brotherly figure; the kind of man who did not deserve such fate. Despite her lack of contact with the headquarter, the woman knew the casket was almost empty. She had cried her eyes out when the news reached her, leaving the Indonesian with a pair of puffy eyes hidden behind the tinted glasses. Some part of her wished to join her friends, to give them comfort and together facing this tragedy, yet she couldn't. The last time she saw those people was the day she announced her need to hide from the world. Maybe they hadn't gotten over their disappointment...
Taking a deep breath, Nesia leaned back on her seat and remained silent, motionless, as people approached the casket to say their goodbyes. Fear passed through her consciousness when she realized that it could be her casket someday, if she was not careful...
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jan 31, 2015 22:15:16 GMT -8
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jan 31, 2015 22:14:14 GMT -8
322 WORDS | R ough, warm gravel met her skin as she stood once again, wet shoes dangling in one hand. Nesia had tied the shoelaces together so she could carry it easier. Her heart still pounded against her rib cage, afraid the people she spied on was waiting for a golden chance. Kyle Kirkland was not an agent; he worked behind a desk, with animals instead of people. This was not what he was assigned to do. And that boy must be a civilian -- they should leave this area immediately.
Keeping the civilians safe was a part of the agent's honor code.
“We’ll catch a cab to the train station.”
Wincing, Nesia nodded in agreement. Train stations were always crowded at this hour. They just needed to blend in and prayed their chaser -- if any -- would lost their track. But two soaked adults plus a sheep-carrying boy would be quite a sight in the tube. Fatigue and coldness that seeped into her bones dulled Nesia's thinking ability. Whatever method the Australian proposed, she would just agree as long as it got her to a warmer, safer place.
“Then you and I can change out of our wet things and Wes can pick up food. Then we’ll get another cab to my place. Does that sound alright to you?”
"Yes-- ow...yeah, I mean, let's go." Nesia removed a sharp small rock from her feet, trying not to show her pain and stay as alert as possible. "Go get the... the er, your friend over there." Among the three of them, only Nesia trained specifically in this situation. Better not waste those training sessions. The woman glanced at the nearest traffic light, spotting a black cab among other vehicles. She waited until the two were ready to go before telling them what she found.
"We better walk as fast as possible to the taxi," Nesia pointed at the cab. "Don't run, just walk. Don't look back." |
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jan 16, 2015 2:00:47 GMT -8
311 WORDS
my muse needs some rest from these angst ._. | T ell her.
I just did.
About Braginsky.
No!
Unaware that her revelation had birthed silence, Nesia hunched before her steaming meal, stirring the broth so the steam could escape. Her gaze - if a mere look can be sharper than a blade - was pinned at her bowl, imagining the curly golden threads chopped into pieces. Nesia knew Lucille was still looking at her - her back, at least, as she digested what Nesia told her. To be honest, finally telling her about the breakup was relieving. Yet it also made the event more real, more solid, shoving itself even further to her sinking heart.
Nesia's first relationship died before it had a chance to bloom. All thanks to Braginsky.
But no. Nesia doubted the men knew each other; Niklaas did not seem like someone who dealt with Braginsky's folk. Sadly, that was her reason to end their relationship. Dragging an innocent man into the underworld was the least thing she wanted to do, because keeping it a secret would be impossible as time passed and they grew closer.
She felt her body pushed forward a little when Lucille wrapped her arms around her body. "I'm so sorry. When did that happen? And—well—what happened?"
What happened?
"W-well..." The Indonesian's voice came out before she realized she was still facing her noodles. She turned, back leaning on the table, eyes deliberately avoiding her roommate's. "I... I guess we have our own differences, you know? And my studies are demanding quite much for me. It's... it's too soon to start a relationship." Nesia bit her lip.
"B-but that's not what really matter to me right? I-I'm supposed to just study and be diligent--" she choked, her voice brimming with sadness. "L-later I'll find someone better than him, so... I'll be okay."
Too bad the tears that fell to her soda can betrayed her statement.
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Post by Nesia Notonegoro on Jan 12, 2015 14:25:09 GMT -8
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