((apologies to everyone in my inbox and drafts. RL + meta shenaningans on my main
+ cookie clicker GODDAMMIT COOKIE CLICKER have kidnapped me from this account and I hope to be ransomed soon.))
Haven’t finished MGR yet, just defeated Mistral, BUT DAMN this game has so much sass. It still feels like a MGS game and that makes me so happy!!
…..????? What that lady doing to daddy? 0A0’
R- Rose! It’s not—
*quirks an eyebrow* At least it wouldn’t be the first time you were seduced on the job. Though one would think you’d have learned from the first experience…
I never figured you for the multi-armed Algerian type.
It was her soft, yet strict voice that snapped him out of it. It was always her. When he looked at her, he could see something combined in her disposition — was it vague disappointment? He didn’t know, but it was obvious his wife was so much better handling these things than he was, and not only because of her degree in psychology.
Suddenly, the confidence in his words was gone. “I— uh,” he was trying to look for words, but couldn’t quite find them. Rose was right, after all. So he took her words into consideration.
He grew quiet, in defeat. Aggression of any kind would bear more aggression, especially he should know that very well. When he looked over at John, he saw him passively protesting against their small argument, with eyes and ears shut. As soon as silence fell in, the boy seemed to open up again.
"Yeah, you’re right," he finally agreed.
It was almost scary, how much control she had over him.
Once the moment passed, she could only think about how she shouldn’t have intervened, shouldn’t have spoken up, shouldn’t even have made her presence known. This Jack clearly hailed from some other time and place where she hadn’t made her mistakes, where she’d been strong enough to hang in there and not just let him walk away. This Jack was allowed to have his Rose and his John. Who then, was she, to intrude upon this happier world and partake of it as if she deserved better than the cruel reality she’d constructed through her own failures?
But there was still room to retreat. She had worded herself carefully enough to keep the nature of her relationship with this man ambiguous, at least to any Patriot onlookers.
She smiled gently, almost shyly. “I… Mmm, I’m just glad I could help you out.” Anyone who wasn’t looking for the hint of distance and guardedness that crept into her tone would not have noticed it.
(Source: little-john-ask, via iamraiden)
Her guise was in place; acting as the contractor here to pick up a new recruit. Though in actually her intentions were what she would consider much more sinister.
A young man who had information the Patriots desired, and so she was tasked with finding someone who could get it. To bring someone else into her shoes wasn’t something she was particularly proud of. The woman they had chosen, who was none the wiser, would be trained in the arts of seduction.
Much like herself.
Eva put her thumb between her teeth simply waiting. This was where they were supposed to meet under the guise that she was here scoping the young woman for a job.
Her first mistake was the assumption that she could keep any secrets from them. She would make that same mistake many more times - albeit with decreasing frequency - in the months to come, but the consequences would never again be as trivial.
The sparsely-furnished meeting room seemed more appropriate for an interrogation than an interview, although experience had taught her that the distinction tended to disappear for companies with a sufficiently generous litigation budget. And the NSA’s budget drew from the functionally inexhaustible coffers of the U.S. treasury.
Hell hath no fury like an executive editor scorned, she supposed. It wasn’t her fault that he refused to believe someone just six months out of undergrad could have the skills and work experience to qualify for Assistant Managing Editor. Sure, his suspicions were true, but so was the adage that truth without evidence was much like a general without an army. Nonetheless, she did bear the blame for giving in to her penchant for games and “accidentally” leaving a single hole in her otherwise airtight falsified credentials. Unable to contact the alleged supervisor who’d written her glowing letter of recommendation, Executive Editor Kennedy Hartley had hoped to use this lapse to blackmail her into providing him some extra “assistance” outside her professional duties. She politely pointed out that her previous place of employment was infamous for its revolving door of management, and wished him luck in proving his suspicions. Ego and libido thwarted, Mr. Hartley was searching desperately for a means of retribution when one practically fell in his lap upon his company’s decision to collaborate with the alphabet soup of federal intelligence agencies widely recognized as among those most inimical to investigative journalism. Reassuring her that this move was in her best career interests as it gave her access to classified information that most senior journalists would kill for, he gleefully threw the young newsworker into the NSA’s waiting maw. She wondered if perhaps late at night, beside his sleeping wife, he comforted himself under the sheets by imagining the feds having their way with her as he hadn’t been able to.
Wouldn’t he be disappointed to know, then, that the interrogator they’d sent was unlikely to prove much of a challenge. Ten seconds’ glance at the waiting woman was enough to establish several crucial facts: she was older than she looked, and she was well-practiced at hiding this fact; she was serious about this meeting, but she was not particularly anxious or enthusiastic in her seriousness; she was aware that she was being appraised, and she was including that fact in her own appraisal; she already had a detailed impression of her interviewee, but she was still open to new information.
"Assistant Managing Editor Marjorie Kincaid-Dulles reporting for duty, ma’am," the younger woman joked with a half-baked salute as she walked in.