( paperwork; the lifeblood of bureaucracy, and current scourge of his existence. a chart from the medical examiner in one hand, oliver stood immobile, expression locked in concentration. her approach didn't register. not until a delicate yet perplexingly strong hand grasped his forearm, guiding both of them away. something preternatural to the movements. the quickness.
the soft clicking of a lock didn't fail to catch his attention. instincts fought to seize control. fight or flight. 'me or them'. instead, a steadying breath kept tension from spreading throughout his muscles, and instead he regarded the person standing across from him.
blonde, female. unrecognizable. arms staying down at his sides, he regards her curiously, wanting to give an unassuming impression to his body language, despite being ready to spring into action )
Last words? ( lips pursing together, a moment of consideration ) You're a little young to be an assassin.
no subject
the soft clicking of a lock didn't fail to catch his attention. instincts fought to seize control. fight or flight. 'me or them'. instead, a steadying breath kept tension from spreading throughout his muscles, and instead he regarded the person standing across from him.
blonde, female. unrecognizable. arms staying down at his sides, he regards her curiously, wanting to give an unassuming impression to his body language, despite being ready to spring into action )
Last words? ( lips pursing together, a moment of consideration ) You're a little young to be an assassin.