You Don't Know Me

[Rina]

The base was noisy, much louder than it had been in a long time. But in the same sense, it was the fullest it had ever been. Kain liked to give breaks during holidays saying that “Even assassins need time off,” so the base was at its fullest capacity. Everyone was stepping over everyone else’s toes due to the overpopulation. Normally, dozens of teams were sent out daily to perform missions when the time came for other teams to return home; a schedule of some sorts that regulated the flow of people leaving and returning so there was never an excessive influx of assassins or spies at the base at one time. Even though the base was a massive establishment stretching over an expansive property, it wasn’t nearly big enough to fit the magnitude of members that attempted to board there.

Tara was never a people person. She always made sure to stray away from crowds and avoid being in the same area where too many people congregated at any given time. Hell, she even preferred solo missions to avoid the unwelcomed presence of someone that would only hinder overwhelm her. She was at an awkward stage in her technique that left her teetering in-between skill levels. She was by no means the least experienced or weakest assassin, yet she wasn’t truly at the top yet—no, the top was reserved solely for the power-duo of the base, her brother and his feline-esque partner.

She was somewhere in-between the blur of it all, in both her training and presence. She was a wallflower of some sorts—or at least to she liked to believe she was. However, her reputation at the base denied her the ability to simply pass by without acknowledgement. She was Tara, the blond-haired tigress who pounced at any soul unfortunate as to twitch in her presence. She was merciless assassin who excelled in her techniques although she didn’t bother to train—although unbeknownst to everyone, she did. She—despite her being a year too young to legally drink—broke the rules and had her fair share of sake with the guys late at night when she was gutsy. She was a defiant, headstrong, and lethal young woman who could make grown men quiver with as much as a sidelong glare. And the most renowned trait of her façade was her expression that gave no insight to her thoughts or emotions.

Yes, she was a force to be reckoned with. Or, at least that’s what everyone seemed to think.

There were only a handful of people at base who knew her true nature. Actually, just two: her brother and his mission partner. Tara disliked the feline-like woman at first, but after sharing a few words with her, they begun to talk more frequently in the privacy of one of their rooms or even in the kitchen over a cup of tea on days when there were very little people filtering about. Katanai was an easy person to get along with; she wasn’t loud and didn’t find the need to fill every lapse in conversation with a sentence. Instead, she was content to bask in the silence while quietly sipping her tea and waiting for Tara to engage in the conversation. In a way, Tara saw Katanai as an elder sister—but the idea of her being a sibling quickly became odd considering her brother’s off-field affection for her.

Raking her fingers through her blond tresses, Tara sat up on her bed, the rowdiness of her neighbors getting the best of her. She could hear banging and squeals sound from the room adjacent to hers and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think that something inappropriate was taking place. But she knew the duo that bunked in the room next to her and their sort of playing was nothing more than ordinary. But at the same time, she grew quite annoyed with it. Couldn’t they learn to shut up?

“Rinaa~” a voice next door bellowed right on cue.

“GIVE ME THAT,” another girl shouted in reply.

“But it’s sucha cute picture~” the initial voice sang.

“My dad did my hair for picture day, okay? I was seven! Now gimmie!”

More banging and shouts proceeded the conversation followed by giggling and aggravated huffing. Tara knew they could keep it up all day and had no intentions of sticking around. Reluctantly, she stood up from her bed, grabbed hold of her scythe that was tucked away neatly in its sheath, and slung it over her shoulder so it rested safely on her back. Her scythe was always something more than a weapon; it was almost like an article of clothing to her and if she were to leave it behind, she’d feel completely vulnerable and naked.

She allowed her foot to kick the wall that separated her room from the duo’s next to her to inform them that they were being too loud for her liking before reluctantly trudging out of her room. Her room was the only place that wasn’t overpopulated so she let out a sigh and begun to venture off in search of a quiet, serene area.

--

“Serene, my ass,” she thought crossly to herself. She had spent the past half hour looking for a place that wasn’t overrun by assassins or spies. First, she tried the den, where a group of men were clustered about the television set playing video games. Too rowdy. Then, she ventured into the kitchen where a petite blond teen shuffled about, humming to himself about “idols” and “making food” or something of that sort. Too annoying. She had half a mind to go out onto the training grounds despite the thick blanket of snow that shrouded the ground had she not seen the two silhouettes sparring outside. Most likely it was the power-duo of the base, not even resting on holidays or harsh weather. Too excessive.

With an aggravated huff, she trudged back up the staircase to retire back into her room. Even from down the hallway, she could still hear her neighbor’s clamor, only this time, one of them was in pain.

“This hurts!” one yelled out.
“C’mon, ten more seconds! If a cripple can do it, then so can you!” the other encouraged.

“How do you do this?” the initial voice cried.

“Practice!” she explained briefly. “Now hold it!”

“I hate youuu,” the other voice whined.

“Love you!”

An agitated exhale escaped Tara’s nose as her eyes narrowed at the room beside hers. There was no way she was going to spend the rest of her day listening to that. As she was about to escape down the hall once more, she saw it.

It was a sight for sore, aggravated eyes; a thin string being the only indicator of its presence. Tara strode over to it and reached out to clutch it, but her fingertips fell short. She glared at the string. Only an inch was preventing her from having her quiet area.

Her determination brought her to the bathroom where a small step-stool lay tucked beside the counter. Nudging it free, she took the step with her, returning to the string. Once more, she attempted to pull the door down, but this time, with the assistance of five more inches, she was able to comfortably snag the string and tug on it.

She quickly stepped aside as the door unlatched, a procession of stairs following behind it using gravity as momentum to finally land at her feet. With a content smile tugging at the left side of her mouth, she advanced up the narrow wooden staircase and into the attic.

--

It was a large area, but the slanted ceiling that created a right angle made the room seem much smaller. A lone window stood solitarily at the end of the attic, adorned with ratty curtains that seemed to have been collecting dust for centuries. Despite the fact that it was in the afternoon, little light reached the window—probably due to the grime that collected on the glass. Tara carefully stepped over the wooden floorboards—not knowing how sturdy they were—in an attempt to find candles. Digging through the stacks of boxes, she found a few scented ones that would seem to work well in a set. Someone obviously liked cinnamon candles at some point and time.

Setting them down on the windowsill, she dug around in her pocket for a match. Striking the head on the wood framing the wall produced a small flame, to which she light each of the five candles. They gave off a rather decent glow and had the musty smell of the attic replaced with the faint scent of cinnamon. It was a spicy scent and she liked it.

Waving the match head in the air, it extinguished itself promptly. Perhaps the attic would be a good place to practice with her fire every once in a while. But for now, she wasn’t looking to train. She was simply looking for a quiet place to seek refuge in, nothing more.

She shuffled around for a bit, testing the durability of the floorboards and glancing around at the trunks and boxes stacked around her. With curiosity plaguing her, she strode over to the pile of boxes and begun to rummage through the expanse. Stacks of comics, old clothes, and even a few weapons were discarded in the attic. Tara found the weapons particularly interesting and moved the top boxes aside to get a better view of the box beneath. However, upon doing so, she disturbed the resting place of a little black creature.

It darted out of its hiding place like a marathon runner, its eight legs aiding in its speedy assault. A small shriek of surprise bubbled from Tara’s lips and echoed in the dusty room. She hated bugs, finding their mere presence aggravating, but spiders were a different story. They were pretty much the only creature that she genuinely feared, although no one beside Tamaki knew that. She refused to acknowledge the fact that she was scared of anything, especially a creature so small, and she absolutely refused to let that knowledge leak out to anyone other than her brother. She was Tara, the headstrong, defiant tigress who feared nothing.

She cautiously wrenched her hand away to leave space for the arachnid only for her wrist to become snagged in a cobweb. It tangled around her fingers in thick, interlocking weaves, causing her to flail her arm in a desperate attempt to rid her hand of the web. Another muffled cry sounded from her lips as she noticed the dark mass inching along in the silken substance. She instantly froze in fear as it crawled further up her wrist onto bare skin.

So this was how she was going to die.

[Kitty]

Behind sunglasses, brown eyes were wide open with shock. This is the first time that Danny had ever seen so many people in base. Wandering around, he received more agitated glares than usual--some from people he had never even seen before. It wouldn't be surprising if everyone who lived in this house knew of him in some way or another. He was more of a troublesome prisoner than an assassin or spy, but he was living in a house full of people who killed for a living. He wanted to go home. All he ever wanted to do was go home. He was useless, clumsy, and simply unwanted. No matter how tough things got, he was sure that he would endure to the best of his ability. Danny Carlton sure knew how to make the best of a less than favorable situation.

He was the fool of this association of murderers. Although he was technically a member, no one treated him as such. Sometimes it got tiring to be made fun of so often, but he always just wrote it off with a goofy smile or a sharp come back. Living in this house certainly was a way to sharpen his weight. He had gotten used to slinging insults back and forth with people who could kill him an instant and have no regrets.

Mistaken for someone more useful, this organization had kidnapped him quite a while ago now. Figuring it would only be bad for their reputation if they admitted to having the wrong guy, they kept him alive. It was then that his power was discovered: bending. He personally thought it was pretty cool, but the others liked to frequently point out that a bended spoon would not last long against a sword when push came to shove.

He tried to train. Really, he did! He had even begun working on bending things other than spoons. Once, he was even able to bend a small dagger with his special ability. Pretty impressive, if he did say so himself. He reported it to the others, but they all just rolled their eyes and reminded him that he would definitely be the first to die in battle if the base was ever attacked.

Looking around, he realized that the more people that glared at him for "getting in their way" or intentionally laid their hands over their sheathed weapons in an unspoken threat, the more he wondered why it was that these people hated him so much. Did his not being a seasoned killer really put a damper on their Christmas spirit? Tch. The others were all just jealous. It was hard not to be. Even if he wasn't used to slicing people's heads off, he was the coolest guy around base and he had the sunglasses to prove it. Deciding that this was indeed the case, he sauntered around the place, trying to think of something to do.

After getting his fill of looking at all the people and inwardly commenting on how it seemed more like a house with the entire extended family over for the holidays than an organization of assassins, he headed back to his room. This was his happy place. The others didn't value his particular interests, so they usually stayed their distance. It got lonely at times, but hey. He'd much rather they stay their distance than come in and chop his balls off while he slept.

His room was so unmistakably Danny. The only decorations on the walls were his various charts about different species of bugs and his pinned butterfly collection. Here and there, various cages of live insects and arachnids stood either atop of a dresser or tall and on the floor. He was proud of each and every one of his treasures, seeking for new ones every chance he got. It reminded him of being back at home in his bug-enthused father's "man cave." (His mother was an interior designer, so like hell if she'd let the guys set up cages in any room she would have to be in.).

That's when his epiphany hit him. THAT'S how he would spend the holiday season! He would help all those poor, cold bugs that were undoubtedly seeking warmth around house. Picking up a small, easily portable plastic container and a small net, he headed off on his expedition. The majority of them were probably being slaughtered by the inconsiderate residents. "Bugs have feelings too!" he would often exclaim, trying in vain to stop them from trampling on the poor souls.

The smartest of these underlings took refuge in two places--the basement and the attic. The basement terrified him due to the fact that there was no source of light other than candles that were usually all the way burned down and had to be replaced. It was filled with whatever-the-hell-assassins-put-in-a-basement. However, he was rather fond of the attic.

Whenever he would seek out bugs upstairs, he would usually rummage through the boxes a bit. Up here, the most human touches to the members of base were kept. Most of the boxes were unmarked--no assassin would admit to having a sentimental side. However, almost all of them contained old clothing, "guilty pleasure" books (i.e. comics and romance novels), and even photographs of friends or family they had to leave behind. It was kind of heart-wrenching--even to a dude as cool as him--but it also made him remember that no matter how bad these guys could treat him, deep down they were human. The most unsuspecting people were the most sentimental--like Katanai!

She was cold, hard killer--one of the two most powerful at base. She was soft spoken, but he felt like when she spoke to him when he did something to piss her off, those soft words were laced with poison. Her cat-like features made her easy to consider more of a demon than anything--some sort of enhanced being made for killing. However, when adventuring in the attic one day, Danny had come across a photo that had a young cat girl in it. The girl was well-dressed, smiling, and standing between two adults who each had a hand on her shoulder. For her to carry this photo all the way here when he knew for a fact that she still had a house back in the dessert where she had come from, she definitely had to be more mushy than she let on.

As he approached the drawstring that lead to this little wonderland, he saw that it was already pulled. The stairs were already right in front of him, urging him up. It was kind of scary. He was afraid of going up there if someone else was already doing something or other. After all, he would just "get in the way."

That's when he heard a woman's scream. Muffled by distance between them, he was sure that he was the only one in base that heard anything. He turned pale, waving his arms about frantically to try and think of what to do. For someone in this house to scream like that, it had to be bad. "Awh, man..." he groaned while stomping just once. With a determined huff, he darted up the stairs.

His heart was beating quickly. No doubt, he was running into the midst of battle. His only hope would be to provide a distraction and lure the perpetrator downstairs where the other residents could easily gang up and kick his ass. Reaching the top of the stairs, he heard yet another cry of distress. Looking ahead of him, he saw a woman on the ground, paralyzed in fear.

This wasn't just any female. This was Tara--the younger sister of the most powerful dude at base...also the scariest chick he had ever met in his life. She hated him. She hated him SO much. He was lucky that she hadn't set him on fire yet. For her to scream, this had to be pretty bad. Then, he saw it.

It was beautiful. Definitely a treasure. How had it gotten all the way to base? He hadn't seen one outside his father's collection, but he knew that she was definitely a prized specimen. Now there was the trouble of getting her off of Tara without provoking her to bite.

"Stay still," he said to the girl on the ground, kneeling down next to the wrist on which the spider perched. For this girl to run out of where she had claimed her burrow, she must be on the defense. He then noticed the large egg sac that "Her venom isn't lethal, but I wouldn't doubt it would hurt like hell and probably cause irritation." He carefully hovered his net over her arm. He hadn't expected a big catch like this in the least. "I know you don't really trust me that much, but this is definitely something that I'm not useless at--I promise," he added with a serious nod. He didn't want her to panic because "spoon boy" was trying to tango with a venomous spider on her wrist.

Getting behind the spider with his net, he pulled up in one swift motion, pulling her into the net. Before she had the chance to escape, he slid her into the plastic container, closing the lid. He looked her with a great sense of satisfaction. Man was he lucky!

[Rina]

Tara had often wondered how she was going to die. It’s not like she was planning her death or anything of the sorts, but being an assassin often made you wonder how your days were going to end. She decided that she wanted a dignified death, such as dying while protecting a partner or the base. Just dying simply on a mission wasn’t big enough for her, it was too common. She wanted to die with honor. But no, she was going to die because of a fuckin’ spider.

She half wondered how everyone at base would take her death. Surely they wouldn’t expect the younger sister of a prodigy to die in such a pathetic manner. What person was easily killed off by a spider? None that she had heard of. And if she did, she’d consider them a disgrace to every living human being. And at the moment, she was the disgrace.

Tara had half a mind to man up and swipe the damned thing off of her arm. But the more timid side of her just wanted to closer her eyes and wait for it to crawl off—if it ever did. Perhaps she’d have to wait in the attic forever until the spider decided to be on its merry way. Would anyone even notice her missing? With the surplus of assassins at base, she decided it would take weeks for anyone to realize that she was absent.

Then, she heard it. It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard: someone shuffling up the steps. As much as she wanted to preserve her pride in public, her trepidation restricted her from doing so. Instead, she was forced to wait, to be saved by one of the other assassins. It was one of the cruelest tricks life had ever played on her.

“Stay still,”

The voice went through her like thousands of knives, screeching in her ears like nails on a chalkboard until her ears were ringing with distaste. It could only mean one thing: Danny, the kid who could only bend spoons and wore his sunglasses during the day had found her. Perhaps she’d be okay with someone else finding her—someone she didn’t hate. There was just something about him that pissed her off excessively. He was the weakest of the base—surely the first person to die upon enemy filtration—and was never at a loss for snappy comebacks. She hated that.

Sure enough, he knelt down beside her with a sense of purpose. Tara almost shoved him away if it wasn’t for the fact that a large spider was crawling up her arm, causing her to freeze to the spot she was sitting. There was no doubt about the situation: she was going to die.

“I know you don’t really trust me that much,” he began. Tara would’ve rolled her eyes if she was feeling up to it. That was an understatement. She rarely trusted people and having one of the most worthless assassins come to her aid certainly didn’t give her reassurance. “But this is definitely something that I’m not useless at—I promise.”

For once, he seemed completely serious. She hated to even think about putting her life in his hands, but considering she had no choice, she decided to reluctantly comply. But she supposed that if anyone had to come and deal with the spider, Danny was the best person. After all, if it were Tamaki, he’d try to kill it and possibly get her bitten in the process.

Squeezing her eyes shut to avoid seeing the tragedy that was going to inevitably unfold on her arm, she tosses her head back. Hopefully if the spider was to bite, it’d be quick and painless. Oddly enough, Tara absolutely hated pain.

Before she knew it, the presence was lifted off her arm and she hesitantly opened her eyes. Danny was resting smugly beside her, marveling at the devil that could’ve easily taken away her life. For the life of her, Tara wanted to take the contained spider and burn the hell out of it. Damned thing.

Gathering up whatever was left of her shattered pride, she pried the web off of her hand and tossed it onto the ground. She stood up, head held high, dismissing the prior events before dusting her pants off. She was going to pretend that nothing ever happened—after all, she still had to uphold her dignity.

She carefully paraded to the window of the attic, pretending to be preoccupied with the glow of the candles arranged on the window sill. Staring into the flames, she allowed a quiet, “Thank you,” to escape her lips before she pursed them together. That was all the thanks he was going to receive—ever—and if he happened to miss hearing her, he would have to deal with it. She wasn’t going to repeat herself.

[Kitty]

With a frown, he watched as the less than happy young woman stood up and angrily shook the cobwebs off of herself. Danny just couldn't understand how people treated spider webs so harshly. They were a beautiful work of art created by such a tiny spinster. If there was a way to frame a spun spider web and keep it forever, he would be the first one to spend all his money on it. Not like he had much money to be spent. Maybe like, ten dollars. That was one of the biggest downfalls of living as a subpar "assassin." Since he wasn't really sent on any missions, he wasn't really given any money. Ever.

He felt like it would probably be frowned upon if he went out in search of a job, too. Kain would probably give him sass--the scary kind of sass that only Kain could give. He's say something like, "If you have time to be walking to town every day to a job, you surely have time to train and make yourself more of an asset to this organization."

Holding back a frustrated groan, he decided it would be better for his mentality to turn his attention back to the beauty he had just captured. Holding the cage up to his eyes, he started checking her out. It wasn't long before his face lit up with satisfaction. Her glossy black exoskeleton. Her broad, defined head with eyes spread out all across. Her large rear abdomen with those short, flirtatious spinnerets. Yes. She was one hell of a specimen of Missulena bradleyi--commonly known as the Mouse Spider.

This was definitely one that he'd have to take pictures of and send them to his father back at home. The spider also seemed to have her eggs with her. Danny had never single-handedly taken care of a mother spider and her young before. Maybe it was time to break out the big cage and see what would happen. He'd have to carefully take care of her and then, when the babies were born, he would have to watch after them. Maybe after they grew a bit, he would divide them into a few cages and see how many spidery lives he could save.

With all this excitement going on, he had almost entirely forgotten about the blond firecracker that was still in the same attic as him. Or did she leave...? He had been so preoccupied, he hadn't noticed the young woman even walking away. Looking this way and that, he finally noticed her standing by the window.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. He almost opened his mouth to say something about the spider, but he knew that this would likely result in getting him burnt to a crisp. He couldn't die now! He had a pregnant spider and her children to take care of! So instead, he simply looked at her through the dark tint of his sunglasses, unable to think of anything worth while to say to her.

"Thank you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words could come out. Sharply inhaling, he stared at her. Considering how she seemed to be just fine acting liken one of this had happened, he was thinking the only thing he would hear from her would be a threat saying the consequences if he were ever to tell anyone about this little incident. Slowly, his mouth spread into a grin.

"It's cool," he said carefully, not wanting to ruin this beautiful moment. He blushed sheepishly, letting out a small chuckle as he continued to rub the back of his neck. "That's the first time anyone here's thanked me for anything," he mused aloud, more to himself than to her. He couldn't help but retain his goofy grin, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridges of his nose.

[Rina]

Staring into the flames as they ebbed and retreated, licking the oxygen to fuel their fire, Tara listened for any signs of movement from the nuisance. Shouldn’t he be leaving, already? Upon glancing over her shoulder, she found him staring adoringly at the eight legged demon that resided within the container. She never wanted to burn something so badly in her life.

“It’s cool,” she heard him say proceeded by a chuckle.

She turned around and was staring at him now, with a sort of unanimated interest that she had often seen her brother do so many times before when he was simply unconcerned about feigning interest. Perhaps she was truly was related to the ice man, after all.

“That’s the first time anyone’s thanked me for anything,” he said more to himself than her, grinning to himself like a moron before pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.

“That’s because you don’t do anything that’s worthy of gratitude,” she muttered flatly, turning her attention back to the flames dancing upon the windowsill for they were more entertaining than he was. Danny had to be by far the most inept person at base and it was obvious to everyone within sixty miles. It was a miracle the moron wasn’t killed off yet or maybe it was just dumb luck.

She crossed her arms, leaning them on the windowsill. Bent over, she could feel the heat of the candles radiating off of the wick and warming her cheeks. It was a pleasurable feeling, considering the fact that the base was kept at a more neutral temperature so there wasn’t conflict between who liked what amount of heat. She was often scolded by Tamaki who expressed his distaste in her bare-midriff shirts by saying, “If you claim to dislike the cold so much, why don’t you put some clothes on?”, but her shirts became a staple item in her wardrobe and she couldn’t bother replacing all of them. And besides, no one else seemed to complain but him.

“If you tell anyone about this incident,” she piped up casually, catching a hint of her reflection in the dull surface of the grimy window. She looked worn out and would more than likely have to hang back to regain her composure before venturing off downstairs again. “I will murder you so brutally, your corpse will feel it,” she threatened, shooting him a warning glance over her shoulder before raking her fingers through the upper layer of her tresses, parting them roughly over the left side of her head and allowing them to cascade messily over her right shoulder. “Got it?” she snapped, turning around to face him.

From all her years tucked away at base, she had picked up that the best way to receive obedience was by threats and if she had learned one thing; it was that she was the one of the most intimidating females residing within the base.

[Kitty]

“That’s because you don’t do anything that’s worthy of gratitude,”

The beautiful moment was quickly and painfully over. Her words chomped into him sharper than the fangs of any spider he'd ever been bitten by--and this time, it was like being bitten straight in the heart. He felt a distinct chill run through him, but that was probably just the feeling he got from Tara. "Maybe you and Frosty really are related," he muttered sulkily, referring to how cold and cruel she could be for someone who played so frequently with fire.

Just like that, it appeared as if she decided Danny was no longer worth her attention. Then again, he was done "rescuing" her from the "monster" that was now safely locked away in his clutches. His nose wrinkled in disapproval as he let out a quick huff. Spiders were so misunderstood. No one gave them enough credit. He looked closer into the plastic encasement, sending pitying vibes toward the expecting mother within. Danny knew that at base, he was pretty much a bug as well; if given the opportunity, everyone would gladly stomp him out or poison him with chemical death sprays.

Inwardly, he gave a sigh of self pity. It was times like this when he really did feel the painful venom of knowing he was hated by pretty much everyone. With Christmas being in just a few days, he was hoping that somehow, the tidings would be a little more on the "glad" side, though that was probably a lot to expect from an organization of merciless killers. These people didn't have souls; that was the conclusion he had come to one night. They were all ready to throw themselves into the fray of battle and be knocked off. So what if he wasn't so ready to throw his life away for no apparent purpose? That didn't make him any less of a person; it just made him less reckless.

"If you tell anyone about this incident, I will murder you so brutally, your corpse will feel it."

There it was: the expected threat of his immediate perish if he were to say anything about heroically hearing her shriek of terror and bounding up to her rescue, safely capturing her object of fear. It wasn't fair, really. Everyone else was able to joke around about the times they had arrived on the scene just in time to "save his pathetic ass again," but lord forbid he would ever so much as think about Tara being paralyzed with fear over a creature that was smaller than her by quite a bit.

"Got it?"

She turned to face him, making sure that he got the message by sending him even more toxic vibes. He swallowed hard. For a moment or so, no words would come out; it felt like she had used nothing but her eyes to pick him up by his neck and choke him. As he always felt indignant to the threats posed by other members, he began searching his brain for a snappy reply.

"No worries, dude, I gotchu," he mewed with a couple smooth dismissing flicks of his wrist.

Then again, who was there really to tell, anyway? Of all the assassins at base, Tara was infamous for never making threats--always making small, violent, terrifying promises. The way her bright blue eyes narrowed and seemed to stare through his sunglasses, right into his own chocolate brown eyes threw off his confident groove.

"It doesn't make you any less badass," he added after another beat and a bit more thought. "I mean, if I'm the one that likes bugs, disliking bugs isn't that big a deal, right?

That was one way in which his sunglasses usually came to protect him: he never had to look at anyone directly (he was kind of avoiding Tara's gaze at the moment due to his sudden lack of confidence) and no one really was able to gaze into his eyes. While his super strength was bending cutlery, a lot of people in the house had terrifying gifts that came directly from hell. By one lock onto one of the more mentally-powered assassin's eyes, he could probably feel all sorts of pains that weren't even really there. He knew that Tara's ability wasn't anything like that. More than anything, she had an inner dragon that was able to quietly roar and scare the piss out of people while allowing her to breathe fire (or so he was brought to understand, being he was never assigned a mission with her).

Such didn't make her gaze any less terrifying, so he decided to play on the safer side in his dealings with her, rather than entirely succumbing to his snarky, sharp-witted nature and egging her on. After all: just as he was sure no one else in the base had heard her scream from the attic, he was damn sure that no one hear his scream (and even if they did, they were likely to be exceedingly prompt in completely ignoring it).

Once his bruised ego had a moment or so to recover, he looked over the terrifying dragon lady from behind his glasses. It really was a shame that she was such a cold-hearted bitch. Other than that, she really was hot (forgive the pun). Her body was undoubtedly perfect. As if teasing every man in base with a "you can look all you want, but if I catch you looking, I'll fry your eyes out," she wore midriffs that clung to her in just the right ways. Her pants, though by no means feminine, just seemed to fall attractively on her as well. Beyond that, her beauty was beyond him to read. Her face was always so hardened, it was hard to tell how potentially pretty her eyes and other facial features could be. It was a shame, really.

[Rina]

“Maybe you and Frosty are related,” she heard him mutter.

Tara raised a deploring eyebrow. As an overprotective sibling, she didn’t appreciate the moron in front of her creating such a whimsical nickname for her brother. She decided against a comeback and instead stared censurably at him for a while, warning him that anything derogatory directed toward her brother was off-limits unless he wanted to dance with death.

As she turned away, she let the threat of her gaze linger in the air. She was accustomed to getting her way simply by flashing her signature stare. She had spent years perfecting it; an icy look that had become so intimidating that her brother’s stare—which basically embodied the epitome of Jack Frost—had a hard time comparing to it. She was a force to be reckoned with and her gazes proved it.

She had turned around again to reinforce her threat with her stare. Before she could divert her attention away from him again, he spoke up:

“No worries, dude, I gotchu.”

The way he talked irked her. He was constantly calling people “dude” and sometimes she’d even catch him calling one of the females “dudette”. It was almost as if he was trying too hard to sound “cool”. But then again, the way he talked was consistent, which pointed to the fact that he simply talked like a moron twenty four-seven. There were days that she often wished he’d lose his voice permanently.

Instead of answering, she stared at him, an unwavering gaze that searched for his eyes underneath the security of his sunglasses. She hated how he wore glasses that were meant to block out the sun’s rays where the harshest light came from the television set up in the den. She knew that each of the assassins had their quirks, but when it came to Danny, his were just idiotic. If one good thing came from the inept moron, it was the fact that he was able to be the butt of the majority of jokes around the base. Everyone knew what a loser he truly was.

“It doesn’t make you any less badass,” he began suddenly.

She narrowed her gaze. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her, but regardless, she didn’t like the feeling of being talked down to. No one talked down to her for fear of being burned to a crisp or nicked by her beloved scythe. She opened her mouth for a comeback, but he spoke up again.

“I mean, if I’m the one that likes bugs, disliking bugs isn’t that big of a deal, right?”

Tara shut her mouth, momentarily at a loss for a rebound. She stared dumbly at her reflection in his sunglasses for a few seconds before regaining her composure. Subconsciously, she ran a hand roughly though her tresses. She had a habit of playing with her hair as it seemed to never stay in place. It was always disheveled, yet a sort of perfected dishevelment that provoked her ‘inner girl’ to appreciate the way it seemed to naturally fall into place despite the weather conditions. However, her exterior ‘tough girl’ demander stifled her fondness and she took to tossing it aside as if she simply didn’t care how it fell.

“Don’t put me on the same level as yourself,” she found herself retorting in recovery. Her gaze—which she found had relaxed—hardened to its usual intensity—if not harsher—to compensate for her dropped guard. She wanted to turn away, to finally end the humiliating encounter, but instead found herself facing him; shoulders squared, cerulean eyes boring into his artificial ones. She felt as if she had something to prove to him, that he had just caught her in a freak situation and that she was simply caught off guard. She had to validate her reputation of being the undaunted tigress she truly was.

She found her legs move on their own, carrying her closer to him in fluent strides. It wasn’t until she had firmly planted her feet a few inches away from him that she found she was actually shorter. She stared up at him, lips pursed into a firm line, brows furrowed.

“If you think this makes me any weaker,” she said after a few seconds of silence (which she hoped intimidated the piss out of him), “think again.”

[Kitty]

For a moment, it looked as if a great deal of her guard dropped. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he tossed the idea of asking if she was okay back and forth in his mind. Her usually tense glare released to a look that almost seemed that she had been left dumbfounded. Compared to the tight line that her lips were usually tensed into, her mouth was ever-so-slightly ajar, as if the words had been momentarily sucked out of her.

“Don’t put me on the same level as yourself,”

In that instant, her softened gaze hardened back up very quickly, returning to it's former state of pissy annoyance--perhaps even more scary than it had been before. So much for having disarmed her. She seemed even more on the defense than ever.

"I didn't and I don't plan to," he retorted almost immediately, brows furrowing in a way that was hardly noticeable due to his sunglasses and long, pointed bangs. That was one thing that pissed him off--having his words twisted into whatever the person listening to him wanted to hear. Inwardly, he noted that this girl must have some sort of weird, senseless inferiority complex. In his mind, it was completely nonsensical for her to feel down on herself whatsoever. After all: she wasn't him.

If anyone was allowed to have an inferiority complex, it was Danny Carlton. Living in a house of rough-and-tough people who all hated him, one would think that he would pretty much be ready to jump off the roof of base with an arachnid encyclopedia in one hand and a bent spoon in the other. But, somehow, he managed to take the blows delivered to him, absorb them, and still have a grin to spare. That was just the kind of person he was raised to be.

Danny's disposition was a direct mimic of his father's. His mother often wagged her fingers and clicked her tongue in distaste and scolding upon seeing the elder Carlton holding his son practically inside the tank of a face-sized tarantula. She would often chide and scold her husband for the day-to-day trivialities he would forget, such as picking up the dry cleaning or picking up her mother from the train station. No matter how insulting his mother would get, Danny would always see his father sheepishly grin, rubbing the back of his neck, and sometimes even bow once or twice (depending on how bad the situation was) with a sincere "Awh, my bad!"

The young Danny always promised that he would grow up to be just as cool as his father. He was always the happiest going out with his dad, be it picking out a pair of sunglasses, feeding the baby spiders, or hunting fireflies at night. He knew that if he could be as cool as his dad one day, he would be just fine out in the real world: even if he wasn't the greatest assassin around.

Tara, however, was not like his mother. Sure, his mother was sometimes stern or harsh, but all in all, she was a very happy, motivated businesswoman who held success and family on the same plane. For some reason, Tara didn't really strike him as the "mothering" type at all. At this point, he didn't even know if she was capable of smiling. She was just so damn bitter. Hell, he directly insulted himself in order to make her feel less embarrassed. He was TRYING to (pardon the pun) get her to warm up to him, and now, he just had that sharp glare of hers trying to bore to the back of his skull only to be deflected by his shades.

“If you think this makes me any weaker, think again.”

"Dude. No. Just stop it, 'kay?" he started out boldly, allowing his frustration to push past his fear of having his head severed from his neck in one, clean cut and having the blood fried out of him.

"I never even -suggested- that you were "weak" or "like me" or whatever you're accusing me of. Frankly, I've seen a lot of people freak out over spiders--no matter how big, burly, or strong. It's no big deal--that's all I'm trying to say. You don't have to be so... snahhh (this noise was made in way to try and convey his feeling, before he realized that she probably wouldn't bother to try and understand what he meant)...you know...like...judgmental. That's the word. Yep."

He gave a sincere nod, feeling accomplished with having found the word he had in mind. "All I'm saying is that you don't have to put extra effort in trying to be a badass when it's just me. After all, I'm the weakest dude here," he reminded her with great honesty and a sheepish smile that was practically the mirror image of his father's. He didn't like getting angry, so he tried not to stay pissed off or stressed for too long. The tension that he was probably exuding and angry steam that was likely coming forth from his ears had finally resided. If only she could just understand what he was trying to get at. Maybe he was worse at communicating his thoughts than he thought he was.

[Rina]

“Dude. No. Just stop it, ‘kay?” he retorted dauntlessly.

"I never even -suggested- that you were "weak" or "like me" or whatever you're accusing me of. Frankly, I've seen a lot of people freak out over spiders--no matter how big, burly, or strong. It's no big deal--that's all I'm trying to say. You don't have to be so... snahhh—you know...like...judgmental. That's the word. Yep."

Tara, taken aback by his verbal retaliation, stood dumbfounded, mouth agape, eyes slightly widened. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been reprimanded. Even Tamaki found it hard to stand up to her sometimes, so having the weakest moron in base square up fearlessly to her brought an uncertainty to herself. For once, she felt awkward and inferior, like a baby fawn trying to stand up for the first time. She wasn’t used to feeling this way.

"All I'm saying is that you don't have to put extra effort in trying to be a badass when it's just me. After all, I'm the weakest dude here," he concluded sincerely with a sheepish smile.

It took a few moments for her to regain her composure. She stood there for awhile, doe-eyed and confounded, her hardened exterior—which had taken a great blow of damage—doing its best to suppress her bottom lip from quivering. She stared at her reflection in his glasses which was nothing more than the little girl who had stumbled after Tamaki in both life and accomplishments, trying to catch up to the only thing she had left in the world. Noting how her flustered face had grown flushed, she swiftly turned away from him.

She retreated to the windowsill, finding refuge in the flames of the candles. The scent of cinnamon had long died down along with her morale, leaving nothing left but the wavering flames. She laid a hand over the cluster of candles, drawing nonsensical shapes with her fingers in the air above the heat. The flames complied, following the patterns of her fingers in a flickering dance. After a few moments, when she felt as if she had composed herself well enough, she spoke:

“Well aren’t you going to go and brag about how you put me in my place?” she sneered. Somewhere in the midst of being knocked down a peg, her voice had lost its intensity, her sneer instead coming out as a tired, weakened question that sounded too forced to be natural. She glowered into the flames of the candles, wishing she could disappear into the fire. She blew softly at the flames, watching them fluctuate and pulse, hoping to get lost in the orange hues.

Staring at the flames, she was able to recall the last time she had been rebuked for her tongue and attitude. It had been four years prior when she and Tamaki were living on their own. Tamaki had recently enrolled in night courses to pursue his dream of becoming a doctor. He would spend the majority of the day away from home considering he took on two jobs during the day until he’d have to go to classes. Tara, feeling neglected, had taken it out on him when he came home one day in a string of belittling, rude comments. For once in his life, Tamaki lost his cool and knocked her down to size.

“Tara, do you think I enjoy working two jobs and going to school on five hours of sleep each night?” he had retorted sharply, a frigidness in his tone that she had never heard from him before. “The only reason why I’m working myself to death is to take care of you. For once, quit your damn complaining and lose that impertinent attitude. You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”

She had stormed out that night, feeling betrayed and belittled and sought refuge in the park a few blocks away from their apartment. It was cold, but she found herself stubbornly planted on one of the swing sets. After about twenty minutes, Tamaki had found her, pulling her into the warmth of his coat.

“I guess we were both in the wrong,” he had admitted softly. “You know I love you; but sometimes your impudence gets you in trouble.” He allowed a soft smirk to interrupt before continuing,” You may be the undaunted, superior Tara, but there’s always going to be that someone who’s going to come along and put you into your place.”

Tara didn’t know that there could ever be such a person aside from Tamaki who would dare humble her. After all, most of the residents in the base were intimidated by her mere presence. How could the idiotic spoon bender be the one to knock her down to size?

Wrapping her arms around her torso, she leaned her elbows on the windowsill and stared out the dingy glass. It was beginning to snow again; heavy snowflakes whose weight carried them down faster than the other elegant snowfalls they had in the start of the winter season. With that rate, she was sure it’d easily accumulate to a few inches—which would be enough for the more spirited assassins to romp around in the snow banks.

Glancing more directly at the glass, she searched for the reflection of the moron behind her. Perhaps he wasn’t as different from her brother as she thought.

[Kitty]

A small, cold droplet of sweat accumulated on the back of his head and slithered down his neck. She looked even more bewildered than a deer caught in the headlights of a hummer barreling right toward it, the driver slamming as hard as he could on the breaks as the massive vehicle came to a screeching halt. He almost felt bad for speaking up, but then it occurred to him: what did he even say that was so offensive? Her seemingly indestructible barrier of cold-hearted aggression that she built up between herself and practically everyone else was suddenly gone, as if he had shot some sort of bullet and shattered it, staying behind long enough to watch it splinter, crack, and fall away.

For a moment, he opened his mouth to speak. There had to be some way to fix this. He knew that once she had picked up all the pieces of this broken shield that she would waste no time in plotting his demise. Surely a simple apology should suffice? A quick but solid 'sorry' always seemed to get him out of the worst situations. That was the thing, though. He didn't know what he was about to apologize for.

Swallowing hard, he noticed that she began to attempt to reassemble her wall right before his shaded eyes, gathering up all the sternness and quiet anger she had left within her. Danny chomped on the inside of his right cheek, bracing himself for the fires of hell to engulf him right then and there.

“Well aren’t you going to go and brag about how you put me in my place?”

Now it was his time to stand there dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing once more. Was this chick even listening to anything he said? With flustered annoyance, his brow furrowed. Trying to be more careful with his outrage this time, he pointedly nudged his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose once more before crossing his arms indignantly in front of him. After a deep breath, he began his retort with as much conviction as he could shove into his vocal tone.

"Why would I do that?" he questioned more or less rhetorically, drawing out the first word of the sentence with breathy emphasis. With this simple question, all his control began slipping away, succumbing to his befuddled frustration.

"You know, that's one thing that bothers me most," he added, voice still strong with conviction, but ever so slightly softer. "Everyone here does it. Everyone just assumes that I'm some sort of careless idiot."

That wasn't an exaggeration on his part, either. It was a well-known fact. Danny was the idiot of base. He knew that he wasn't strong or overly brainy or even the slightest bit innovative, but he wasn't stupid. "Brainy" and "smart" were two entirely different things, so he believed. He proclaimed himself "smart" in the sense that he was intensely considerate for other people's feelings. That was why he allowed half these people to use him as a punching bag in the first place. (Granted, no one could escape his sharp tongue or snarky comebacks. He knew that everyone had begun to expect him to have some sort of quick-witted reply.)

His thoughts began to swirl together with his speech, taking him just off topic enough to consider his speech more of a rant than anything. "I get that you're all busy and assigned to do a lot of hard, pain-staking stuff. I respect that. I'm not going out there and ripping people's arms off or punching their faces in or whatever it is you guys actually do. I kinda consider the whole letting-everyone-chew-me-a-new-one-every-time-I-walk-into-the-same-room-as-them thing as me doing my job here."

In Danny's mind, missions involved the assassins running around and clubbing the "bad guys" to the point that they were begging for mercy, the tears streaming down their faces as they waved their white flags. His job: let them all be miserable assholes. Going back to his tangent, he hugged his already crossed arms even closer to himself.

"It's cool. I get that you could all easily kick my ass with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your backs if you really wanted to. I just wish everyone would stop underestimating me more than I deserve. Stop twisting my words. That goes for you, too!"

Satisfied that his annoyed ramblings had finally lead back to his original subject (Tara), he uncrossed his arms, standing ever-so-slightly more confidently. "I don't give a flying shit about weakness and strength. Let's get real. I'm just a regular dude. You're all badass fighting machines. If I would hold the spider thing against you, I'd be fooling myself."

Taking a small step toward her, he continued to speak. "If you think I'm gonna go downstairs and tell everyone about how I 'put you in your place' or whatever the hell, you're wrong. I'm not that kind of guy."

[Rina]

“Why would I do that?” He asked.

Tara diverted her gaze from the snowflakes drifting outside to the window itself, staring discreetly at the reflection of Danny behind her. His sunglasses eclipsed his eyes, making it hard for her to read him. Normally, it was easy to read people by their eyes—more than likely, it was the look of intimidation when she happened to walk by—but his sunglasses gave no insight to the onslaught of what he was about to respond with.

“You know, that’s one thing that bothers me most,” he began with temerity. “Everyone here does it. Everyone just assumes that I’m some sort of careless idiot.”

She thought about opening her mouth to intervene, to finally retort with such a tongue-lashing that would make him instantly regret his decision to retaliate, yet she found herself dumbly staring at the glass, watching him as he went on with his tangent.

"I get that you're all busy and assigned to do a lot of hard, pain-staking stuff. I respect that. I'm not going out there and ripping people's arms off or punching their faces in or whatever it is you guys actually do. I kinda consider the whole letting-everyone-chew-me-a-new-one-every-time-I-walk-into-the-same-room-as-them thing as me doing my job here."


In a way, he had a point. Everyone at the base—including Kain—saw him as nothing but a nuisance, someone to shove around a bit because he was obviously the weakest link. But in a way, he totally deserved it. If he was so aggravated with the fact that he was constantly picked on, why didn’t he stand up for himself and tell the others off? How could he stand there and go off on her when he didn’t have the guts to put the rest of the assassins in their place?

Feeling her morale start to flood back and her patience begin wither away, she narrowed her eyes at the reflection of him. Her fingertips begun to drum impatiently on the windowsill as he continued his tirade, each word he spoke fueling her irritability.

“It's cool. I get that you could all easily kick my ass with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your backs if you really wanted to. I just wish everyone would stop underestimating me more than I deserve. Stop twisting my words. That goes for you, too!"


She spun on her heels to face him, lips pursing into a thin line to mimic her irritation. Suddenly, the frightened doe had vanished to be replaced by the tigress, tail twitching and avid to attack. She narrowed her eyes as he uncrossed his arms and stood with an air of confidence. Never once had she wanted to hurt someone so badly before.

“I don't give a flying shit about weakness and strength. Let's get real. I'm just a regular dude. You're all badass fighting machines. If I would hold the spider thing against you, I'd be fooling myself."


“You’re a real pain in the ass, do you know that?” she spoke up suddenly, taking a step forward. “You claim to be bothered by everyone seeing you as careless idiot, but what do you do about it?” Another step forward. “You bitch and moan about it to me. Do you think I care?” Another step.

Soon, she was standing before him, aggravated than ever, glaring up at his sunglasses like a relentless child. “If you’re so upset with it, why don’t you do something about it?” she challenged.

She stood there for awhile, glaring up at him, chest heaving and falling from her frustration. It took everything in her power for her to suppress the urge to punch him square in the face. He was probably the most infuriating person at the base.

"If you think I'm gonna go downstairs and tell everyone about how I 'put you in your place' or whatever the hell, you're wrong. I'm not that kind of guy." He said, taking a step closer.

She craned her neck to keep her eye contact with him—or for all she knew, he could be completely avoiding her gaze—and stood her ground, brows furrowed. “Then what kind of guy are you?” she dared to ask crossly.

[Kitty]

“You’re a real pain in the ass, do you know that?”

Yet again, the sweat dripped on the back of his neck. Just as he had feared and figured, Tara's shield was officially reassembled and back in business. Apparently, it was working better than before. The anger and tension she exuded was almost palpable. If looks could kill, Danny would have been beyond dead. He would have been killed so hard, words and thought couldn't even begin to describe it. Her gaze would have ended him, then brought his marred soul back to life just in time for him to be ripped limb from limb a second time. He could see that she had regained power of speech--and with vengeance.

“You claim to be bothered by everyone seeing you as careless idiot, but what do you do about it? You bitch and moan about it to me. Do you think I care?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. She did have a point there. That was what he deserved for his tangent: a quick reality check. At the same time, he felt a strange sense of relief in Tara's sharp, cutting words. At least she wasn't standing there looking awestruck by his snappiness. In a way, her anger was encouraging. He almost smiled, but then met her gaze and realized that if she had encountered him and given him that look at any other time, it would've scared the living piss out of him.

No matter how terrifying her gaze got, Danny's intense stubbornness would not allow him to back down. Even as she took threatening steps toward him, he found himself take that one step even closer to her, a physical sign that he was not going to run away that easily.

"Of course not," he replied earnestly. He knew that she wasn't going to care, and he figured he may as well admit to hear that he realized that much. He was just in one of those moods again.

“If you’re so upset with it, why don’t you do something about it?”

No matter how threatening her gaze and stance both were, he found himself thoughtlessly coming back at her. "You really need to learn to pay attention when people talk," he lashed out. After realizing that he had been so forward about it, he explained his reasoning.
"I never said I was 'upset' about it," he reminded. "It just gets hard to deal with--especially when people...oh, you know...twist my words around." (He said the final part of his explanation with a tone and raise of the eyebrows that indicated that he was directing that right at her.)

At this point, he was literally playing with fire. He could almost feel the pain of her ripping his face off with her bare hands already. The candles that sat on the windowsill a few paces away were practically mocking him. He could all but hear them say "ha! we're gonna burn your balls off!" laughing as he gulped hard and tried to suppress all the logical fears he should be having.

Maybe he really was stupid. Anyone in the house would have been petrified, bowing to the point that their noses touched the ground as they kissed her feet. For some reason, even though he was the weakest link without a doubt, Danny occasionally had these strange moments where for some reason, his sensibility, restraint, and good judgment disappeared all at once, convincing him that he was truly indestructible.

"Then what kind of guy are you?"

Danny took a moment to take in her question and toss it around in his brain. Bringing a thoughtful finger to his mouth, he closed his eyes (though it wasn't noticeable behind the dark tinted glass). After a beat, his eyes opened and he brought his finger away.

"The kind that gives a damn," he said with a tone of utter seriousness, regardless of how foolish the remark could seem. "Though, no one can really describe themselves totally," he admitted with another convinced nod. If Tara HAD been looking for an answer, which he doubted she was, this probably wasn't what she was looking for. She was actually bound to give him sass. Scary sass, but not the same kind of scary sass that only Kain could give. A more "I'm gonna light you like a torch" kind of scary sass. Yet, somehow, since the time was right and his mind was on overload, he didn't mind it as much as he usually would have..

[Rina]

“Of course not,” he replied.

Tara felt her eye twitch out of annoyance. If it weren’t for the fact that killing fellow “assassins” was practically illegal within the organization, she would’ve killed Danny right then and there. The weight of her scythe was boring into her shoulders more prominently and made her fingers itch to unsheathe it and use it as a silent threat against his irritating ramblings.

“You really need to learn to pay attention when people talk,” he chided. “I never said I was ‘upset’ about it.”

Tara raised an eyebrow, restraining herself from smacking him upside the head. She knew she had selective hearing, but his moaning and groaning certainly implied that he was ‘upset’ about it. But then again, she apparently didn’t pay well enough attention to completely understand what he was getting at.

“It just gets hard to deal with--especially when people...oh, you know...twist my words around.”

His tone and the way he indicated that his words were meant for her set her off. Since she was in reach, she lashed out a hand and grabbed onto the chest of his shirt—considering reaching the collar would be too much of a hassle—and glared up at him. She tightened her fist on the material, hoping to pull him down closer to her level.

“You really piss me off,” she all but growled. “Maybe if you didn’t open your damn mouth as much, everyone wouldn’t hate you.” She was scowling up at him and had half a mind to knock off his sunglasses so he could get the full effect of her glare. She hoped that even with the security of his glasses it still scared the piss out of him.

“And maybe if you weren’t such a maladroit, intrepid moron, you’d be more attractive,” she sneered, releasing her clutch on his shirt and turning swiftly away. She retired to her spot in front of the window sill, warming her hands with the heat of the candles. She was still irritable, but the flames had a way of calming her down. With fire, she felt completely relaxed in her element.

“The kind that gives a damn,” she heard him say in a response to her earlier question. “Though, no one can really describe themselves totally.”

“That’s because there isn’t much to describe,” she retorted coolly, flipping her hair over her part. She let her layers fall messily against her cheek, creating a makeshift curtain to separate her from the irritating presence that grew more aggravating each time it opened its mouth.

[Kitty]

“You really piss me off,”

"Gee, thanks," he crooned, wiping a nonexistent tear from beneath his glasses Bringing his hands over his heart to sarcastically cover the "wound" from her verbal stab, he let out a soft "tsk" of mock offense. In all actuality, he was being quite the idiot and he knew it. The only thing holding everyone back from offing him was the fact that there was a rule against it. The line had been drawn when someone mistakenly kidnapped him and brought him to Kain. He knew that of all the people in base, she was not the one to be dancing on the lines with. Tara was the one person who, in a blind fit of rage, might actually take her huge, curved blade out from it's casing and use it to make sure that he'd never have children.

“Maybe if you didn’t open your damn mouth as much, everyone wouldn’t hate you.”

"I get that a lot," he offered with a short shrug, brushing his spiky, disheveled hair away from his eyes. His fit of rage was beginning to subside and the usual "cool" Danny was returning. Maybe it was because Tara physically shook the rage out of him as she grabbed at his collar, dragging him down to her level. In a "keep the peace" sort of way, he held his hands in front of him, palms to Tara in a way as if to say "okay, okay you win."

Inwardly, he cursed himself for choosing Tara to be his target of the day for his spirited rant. Usually, he waited until Kat and Rina were available with a ready ear. They considered it gossip, he considered it getting the crap off of his chest. Of all the others at base, the giggly little duo were the most tolerant of him. Sometimes they even offered to let him hang out with them for a while. It was almost like he had friends or something. Then, it always occurred to him that the reason they kept him around at any given moment was to get a good laugh out of him.

Just as suddenly as she had grabbed at his shirt, she let go.

“And maybe if you weren’t such a maladroit, intrepid moron, you’d be more attractive,”

"Well, I may not know what half those words mean," he admitted, "I'll take that last part as a compliment," he sang almost dreamily. No matter how vague and meaningless it was, any compliment he could get at as God-forsaken a place as base was a remarkably momentous occasion. This definitely was a back-handed compliment of some sorts. After all: she said he'd be "more" attractive. That meant that she had to find him attractive already, right?

With a confident twinkle alighting behind his glasses, he almost let out a smooth, egotistical chuckle. Sure, she was a scary chick, but she was also pretty hot. To be complimented by a babe--no matter how terrifying that babe may be--was nothing to be taken too lightly. Danny already began to consider how he would tell this story of triumph to his friends back at home (preferably without these friends of his thinking that Tara was made up or the sister of a friend pretending to fill the role of a love interest).

“That’s because there isn’t much to describe,”

"Ya think? 'cos I say it's just the opposite," he retorted, shoving his hands absentmindedly into his pockets. "I mean, from appearance to past to feelings to opinions in general, there's a lot to figure out with me--as there would be with any other person."

In yet another moment of blind confidence, he happened to flightily remark "You know, if we actually tried to talk, I think we'd get along," he announced. He didn't by any means expect her to listen. Frankly, it would be surprising for her to listen. However, he felt the need to put it out there. "Jussayin," he added, wrapping his fingers around the crinkly wrapping that once contained a mint that now rested inside his pocket.

[Rina]

“Gee, thanks,” he cooed, pretending to wipe a tear from underneath his glasses.

She narrowed her eyes as he held his chest in offense. She debated for a second whether or not if she could make his death look like an accident, but she knew Kain—although he appeared the most ‘ordinary’ out of all the assassins at base—held some sort of secret power behind his quiet, sedate façade of his and could certainly raise hell if he wanted to. And she had to face realty: if someone were killed at base, more likely than not, Tara’d be suspected. After all, everyone knew of her temper.

“I get that a lot,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

She let out a small exhale of annoyance. He just didn’t know when to shut up, did he? If it were anyone else at base, they’d reply with a short cry of dismay, a shaky apology, or simply run to the most crowded area of base to ensure that she wouldn’t follow after. But Tara never did follow. Continuing the nuisance of a fight was over-kill for her. She’d rather battle, see the fear in her opponent’s eyes, and then go about her day. But today, her engagement with Danny was lasting too long for her taste.

She let go, returning to her candles. The mixture of the frigidness outside and the heat of the candles caused the glass to fog up. After nonchalantly scribbling ‘help’ on the glass, she rubbed the side of her hand over the word to clear the slate. With a slight smirk, she dropped her hand to the flames to warm them. One day, if the glass fogged up again, inscribed on the glass would be ‘help’ and depending on the assassin who found it, she’d be able to get a good kick out of their reaction.

“Well, I may not know what half those words mean, I’ll take that last part as a compliment.” He crooned.

“Well don’t, “ she retorted, allowing her back to slide down the wall. She didn’t mean for what she said to be taken as a compliment, it was supposed to be an insult. She sat cross-legged, resting her elbows on her knees, fingering the soles of her boots. Tara didn’t compliment people, especially not morons like him.

“Ya think? ‘Cos I say it’s just the opposite,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She groaned in distaste, lolling her head to the side and blowing a piece of bang that had escaped from her mess of tresses away from her face. Did he always have to counter with another thousand words? Couldn’t he just say, “Yeah, okay,” and be done with it?

"I mean, from appearance to past to feelings to opinions in general, there's a lot to figure out with me--as there would be with any other person."

She laid her head against the wall and rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to figure you out,” she responded dryly. She knew everything she needed to know about him. He was an idiot, an annoying idiot, and he talked too much. That's basically all there was to him. Oh, and he was a bug lover. That made him even worse.

"You know, if we actually tried to talk, I think we'd get along; Jussayin’.”


She lifted her head from the wall to look at him. “We’re talking now, and I still don’t like you,” she admitted indifferently. “I don’t like a lot of people and you certainly aren’t going to earn the privilege of being tolerated.”