halosuit | ( INBOX )

With your doctors permission, of course?

( casually bossing around men twice your age? casually bossing around men twice your age. )

Is this an occasion to bring presents?

( x )

Seven hours ago.

( the bruises on her legs and arms are roughly ten hours old. they smart — falling off various tall buildings and roughing it with serbian goons thrice her bodyweight tend to result in bruises that fucking smart — with the handful of advil she'd downed only just taking the edge off. but she's had worse. they've all had worse, and this can be toughed out with minimal complaining. the team in medical at hq had bore the brunt of her attitude.

peeling back out into traffic, she gives eggsy a somewhat tired smile, but a smile all the same. )

Did you miss me?

( x )

( yes this has gone about as explicit and blatant as can be expected. but roxy can roll with it.

encourage it. )

I bet you are.

You seem the dedicated, dilligent, darling, dutiful type.

( x )

[It's their first mission, and Eggsy had high hopes for how it would go. Lancelot and Galahad, working together, taking the world by storm, all that good stuff.

In some ways, it's gone entirely as expected, because what good Kingsman assignment doesn't end with one's life being put in danger? The thing is, they'd been so close to getting in and out of the office building without anyone being the wiser. They'd downloaded all the necessary information from the server onto their flash drives (complete with Kingsman logo, of course), yet on the way out they'd somehow tripped an alarm (how is something Merlin's still trying to sort out) -- and, well, here they are.

Here being the garage of the building. They need a getaway vehicle, and they need it now. Eggsy has stolen a car or two, so he's got that part covered, but he can hear a stampede of footsteps coming from an opposite hallway, and he can guess that whoever they belong to, they're armed to the teeth.]

Shit, shit shit --

[He's on his back, laid out across the driver's seat with his head underneath the steering wheel as he hotwires as fast as he can without killing himself in the process. One last touch, and the engine purrs to life. He doesn't even have time to be triumphant about it. Roxy's busy covering him, but if they stay here much longer they're both likely to get shot. Eggsy yanks himself up so that he's sitting, though with one leg hanging out of the open door.]

Come on, get in, who's driving?

[Eggsy would never assume that it's him, especially given what Roxy has said about his driving skills before. Then again, this is the exact kind of situation that he thrives in, and he has absolutely zero plans to drive backward unless absolutely necessary.

Still, he turns toward Roxy, poised to move where he needs to based on her response.]

You mean for you.

( still not impressed huff huff )

( x )

( it was supposed to have been an easy mission.

in-out-up-down — glory, and another threat to society neatly neutralized before the situation got out of hand. merlin had been all about preventative action after they'd gotten on top of the widespread petty ("petty", destructive but not quite on a global scale) crime that had sprung up in the wake of v-day. given, it'd taken about eighteen months to restore world order. and after breaking up her last militia cult (who'd had a hefty stock of military grade weapons in the basement right next to the baby formula), roxy had been tired. she can't imagine eggsy being anything short of exhausted, either, what with half their numbers being held up with delapidating (most likely permanent; stamps of retirement) injuries or else dead (a la chester king), merlin had been running them all ragged in the pursuit of peace. and lancelot and galahad especially.

they were the newest recruits; the youngest and the quickest to bounce back from minor (basically everything short of a broken neck by their handlers standards) injuries, so they got most of the grunt work. less of the missions that involved high heels and silk ties; dancing or cordial, thinly veiled conversation with dangerous people or government officials (who were sometimes the same person, in the right setting). no, they got the heavy lifting, so to speak; the missions where the odds were visibly stacked against them and there was at least one near death experience or close call an evening; the ones that called for heavy body armor and risky stunts.

...like dropping from an absolutely silent, black aircarrier in the dead of night; strapped into tight, reinforced halo suits and parachuting onto the roof of a heavily guarded private estate of a man who was rumored to be planning the assasination of a few important persons.

it was supposed to be easy. then they'd get a few weeks off, merlin had promised, and they'd made tentative plans to finally go out together to get shitfaced. then roxy was going to watch jb when eggsy and his mum and sister went on a little holiday to finistère, and she'd made a few tentative plans of her own to visit family. the job was a job, and even if it was one her mother would undoubtedly complain about (a tailor, roxanne, really?) it was important to steal what few moments they had with the ones they loved in order to keep them grounded. now she understood why her godfather had spent so many weekends in their guest room and had so readily indulged her desire to play, and likewise couldn't wait to see even the most distant of cousins. all that stood between them and their long weekend was this one last mission.

and it'd been supposed to be easy.

that's her distressed mantra when everything starts to go to shit. when the alarm system that was supposed to have been disabled suddenly blared back to life; when dogs started barking and lights flickering on before they'd even disconnected from their chute trappings and made it inside. then there'd been the guards; not many of them, but enough to make their lives hell and mission near impossible. they'd seperated, having only their ear pieces to relay important tidbits of information whilst trying not to get shot. well, fatally shot; their suits are sleeker than the average high altitude low opening attire, and completely bulletproof, as kingsman does. but that doesn't mean we'll walk away completely unscated, roxy thinks while she's pinned behind a statue and steadily running out of ammo to return fire with. not that her depleating bullet supply matters in the long run, because it turns out that their mark hadn't been intending to take out presidents and kings with anything quite so mundane as bullets or poison.

no, he'd intended to use a bomb. and he had on already; primed and fully opperational in his basement. and maybe it's a misguided attempt to kill his would-be assassins (retcon quickly became terminate him from merlin's end) or maybe it'd been a really efficient suicide, but the man trips it, and neigh ten seconds after she and eggsy figure out what's happening, their entire world explodes in a wash of red and pain.

roxy doesn't remember the time between the heat blasting her face and slowly waking up on grass. and now, lying amoung the wreckage and smouldering chunks of house littering the lawn, roxy can just barely make out another crumpled body s few yards away through the haze of heat and floating plaster dust. but she can discern enough to tell that he's wearing a halo suit as well, and that his previously immaculately combed hair was now a mess and full of soot from the settling explosion. )

Galahad? ( she rasps, something like dread curling in her stomach and trying to force its way up her throat like bile. he's so still and that scares the shit out of her. until the lump of eggsy groans and convulses in weak coughs.

then there's a relieved laugh on roxy's lips that quickly turns into a sharp, painful intake of breath and has her clutching at her side when she tries to sit up. even in flickering firelight, and even against the sleek black material of her insulated glove, she can see the sticky red of oxygenated blood.

and there's a lot of it. )

Oh, ( roxy wheezes again. then a very real panic seeps into her voice as she presses on the wound again — not that the pressure from her palm seems to be doing much for the bloodloss; now it's just oozing through her fingers instead of falling directly on the ground from the deep, roughly pound sized puncture just above her perlvis. ) Eggsy, Eggsy I can't — ( move ) — hear Merlin.

[ the waves are thrashing, a nasty storm brewing above, which only means that, at the surface, there must be true chaos. Charlie has been told countless times to remain under, to keep his distance even from the bottoms of boats, from the hulls of capsized, wooden behemoths, that they are not to be trusted.

and of course, Charlie believes it. he knows the tales, knows too well what humans are capable of (his father had been injured by one during one of the great human wars), and yet he has never been a particularly cautious creature. when told to avoid something, he charges at it, head first, all defiance and easy arrogance.

which may well be the reason he's breached the surface in the quaking moments after a storm, when the seas are still turbulent and torpid, when the air whips across his pale face, pushing even heavy wet curls out of his face, when somewhere on the shores he hears shouts of mayday and overboard and help her but he's not wholly familiar with the meaning of these words, the danger they convey in the muggy, misty afternoon.

but it's the strange, hulking sound of weight hitting water, of new ripples being created in storm waters, that draws his attention. he becomes nothing but a flash of dazzling amber ombre, the flick of a maroon flecked tail, sinking into the dark depths in search of what may have come crashing unceremoniously (and unwelcomed) into his realm. could humans breathe under water? could they swim? peculiar, how little he knows. ]

[The next morning, Roxy will wake up to another picture text, this time of Eggsy curled up in a plush doggy bed with JB tucked against his chest like a rugby ball, Tiberius sitting on the floor beside them both looking very confused.]

Tiberius wants to go to bed but it's proving to be rather difficult.

( x )

You've been busy. I've had three weeks off.

( this is what happens when you get stabbed with shrapnel and need to take some time off.

why don't you pick up a hobby? eggsy had asked. roxy had scoffed, but had bought a pair of knitting needles because she was convinced they could be used as a weapon; subsequently she'd had to be escorted out of the shooting range by a very stern uk hq nurse. )

( x )

Lovely. Order me a specialty whiskey in ten minutes. I'll be there in twelve.

( x )

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no subject

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666th tag

undah dah seaaaa~

i'm assuming by the time u get up captcha will be around so fuck that

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