( no idea if he's taking the bait, really. not that it's really bait: leon's already hooked, at least enough to keep coming back, and she doesn't even have to tip his chin with a pink fingernail or leave her panties behind in his room to prove it. it's that do-good nature of his, maybe, or his need to look out for someone relatively helpless; with a badge or without, he's far better with a gun than she is, after all, and it takes a good shot to take down some of the monsters lurking around building corners and abandoned alleyways. bullets are a commodity that will eventually run out. better to start in with a metal pipe than a pistol, but she won't critique his methods.
a familiar place, or so her thoughts say. a familiar entrance, that she shoulders through, a ratty convenience store bag hanging from one hand, a few holes punched in it near the top, as though it's seen just as much of the city as she has. up through the back entrance to the door that leads to the dressing rooms--a door that she stays behind, at first, leaving it shut.
rather than open it, she puts her back to it, shoulders against the glass; her smile lifts, falters, drops again as she lilts behind her. )
Are you properly cuffed, or are you still back here?
( the silence--or lack of it--will give her an answer; she's not sure which one will be the more disappointing. after all, true to her word, she's back with supplies: including, in fact, a package of those stupid little drink umbrellas, something hard-earned from one of the shattered convenience stores down the road.
whether he answers or not, she's opening the door anyway. hopefully, it's without monsters, too. )
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Date: 2025-06-03 04:07 am (UTC)( and wouldn't that be a change? he's never gotten to be the damsel* before! )
* only because he is completely unaware of the multitude of times ada saved his dumb ass
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Date: 2025-06-10 07:30 pm (UTC)a familiar place, or so her thoughts say. a familiar entrance, that she shoulders through, a ratty convenience store bag hanging from one hand, a few holes punched in it near the top, as though it's seen just as much of the city as she has. up through the back entrance to the door that leads to the dressing rooms--a door that she stays behind, at first, leaving it shut.
rather than open it, she puts her back to it, shoulders against the glass; her smile lifts, falters, drops again as she lilts behind her. )
Are you properly cuffed, or are you still back here?
( the silence--or lack of it--will give her an answer; she's not sure which one will be the more disappointing. after all, true to her word, she's back with supplies: including, in fact, a package of those stupid little drink umbrellas, something hard-earned from one of the shattered convenience stores down the road.
whether he answers or not, she's opening the door anyway. hopefully, it's without monsters, too. )