. (isconfetti) wrote in repose, @ 2017-08-17 00:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, con t, hannah smith |
[Capital: Hannah, Con, & a bad guy]
Who: Con, Hannah, and a bad guy
What: An encounter
Where: The Capital
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: V for Violence
Hannah knew she should leave well enough alone. She knew she should do her job and fetch coffee and carry boxes. She knew she should smile and flash perfect white teeth to men that thought conversations should be held while looking at her chest instead of her face. She knew that life would be easier if she retreated to her room to pet her cat, and she knew her life would be easier if she smiled at the right people and giggled on cue.
Hannah wanted to do those things. She really, really did want to do those things. But she was just really terrible at sitting and smiling and letting the world happen. That was something she'd already learned about herself, and it wasn't something in her programming.
She was allowed off the facility grounds. Her room was even in non-secure housing, and she had unfettered access to that portal in the basement that they kept sending her in to document. She went in, and she came out, and she rode a bus to the Capital late at night and with the moon blurred through the old bus window.
The bus stop was mostly deserted, and the streets were dotted with late-night drinkers and loud college students. Hannah was a little overdressed, but no one gave her any trouble on her way to where she was going.
Tethys. Where she was going was Tethys.
The huge building was quiet at night, and she knew there were fewer employees now than there were before Dane Blake's death and the incident in Repose. But she knew all that was just about publicity. Tethys hadn't changed, and it didn't matter how many press releases were released. They were still drowning in horrible, fingers in all the bad pies and fingertips stained with the juice of really terrible things.
In she went. Time passed. She covered her tracks perfectly. Out she came.
But she wasn't alone. She knew she wasn't alone, and at first she walked really slowly. If she acted normal, then maybe she would blend in with everyone leaving the bars at last call. She turned toward the school, toward the line of bars the students had claimed for their pub crawl. It wasn't too crowded, but it was loud and there were enough bodies that she had hope she could get lost among pledges and hipsters.
She was being followed by one man. He wore a suit, and the gun in his hand was sleek black and it moved so fluidly that it seemed to be part of him beneath his suit cuff. He came closer and closer, and, eventually, she ran. She wished for a hoodie to cover her hair, but that was kind of pointless now, and she took corners and ducked into alleys. The man followed, like she'd known he would, but she hadn't realized he would plow down anyone in his way.
He did.
She skidded to a stop as she rounded a corner behind a bar that was decorated with youthful anarchy and uninformed philosophy, and she watched a girl get gunned down as she swerved and caught a bullet aimed for corner and stone. The girl, blonde hair quickly turning tacky red, fell with her mouth frozen in a circle of shock, and the man stepped on the girl's back, then on the back of her head, and Hannah could see the heavy imprint of the man's boot in blood on the girl's hair.
Again, she started running.