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1nfernals · 15 days

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he walks in without invitation. zeliha would be lying to herself if she didn't say that she was growing used to it. if she didn't want to be, perhaps then she shouldn't have contributed to the blue star sprouting on his forehead. one good-job & now the lackadaisical posture slunk into her office as though part of the chairs belonged to him. codes spread out on the table, immediate in how her gaze pierces through all of the lines. she takes in that steadying breath, already addressing both him & his work. she retreats behind the borders of business to avoid much else taking precedence. "it isn't the rain that makes your mood blue?" one of those offhanded questions, tossed into the atmosphere where it may or may not implode. "or is it the fact that you were, in fact, unable to find any faults in this code to fix? although this seems new. is this from the defective cybernetic pistol?" she points to the disruption.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a starter for @1nfernals, feat. zeliha ... setting: mercy hq.

lately, the 'pimple patch' in the shape of a star has been a permanent attachment to his forehead despite the fact that he's outgrown his acne-harvesting teenage self. especially when zeliha exists. well, specifically when he's in her proximity. today, knowing that she asked for the report regarding the last tests she wanted him to run on the systems, he plastered the blue star on the right spot before he departed for her office. it's what he'd dub a personal touch, most likely much to her dismay. "well, good afternoon to you too," he says as soon as he walks into her space, putting the tablet where he's finished listing most of the results. codes drafted, sorted in the meticulous orders of alphabets and relevance, placed on her table. "the weather is nice today, so blue... like my mood. it's too bad that i was stuck inside for lunch, so i ended up growing a blue star as a sign of my trials and tribulations."

#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / threads.#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / xavier han.

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1nfernals · 15 days

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patterns, habits, flickering through the ether. this was not an unfamiliar situation to find themself in. how often has zeliha had to navigate floors & premises where the situation was dicey? but still, something permeates differently. because the last time she saw him — it was also across a room, it was with no time between them to exchange a single word. & then, on her part, silence for months. in this sense, perhaps it's better that their meeting happens where something is familiar. where the potential for a threat lingers around every corner. then she doesn't have to give ideas to what she would say. how she would explain it. if she could. the reason was open & unfolding before him regardless, out in the open for everybody. arguing with herself. giving even an inkling as to what occurred. it wasn't appropriate. couldn't be.

"i would like to think it isn't. but i'm afraid it's a fantasy. first the brief, then this? my new position non-withstanding, also announced ..." allowing the thought to trail off. a notation as to what occurred: she was there with them, then she wasn't, then she'd been given permission to emerge from the cocoon into whatever this was bringing. it annoys her to be out of the loop. to be given excuses. his grin, a familiar curl; this isn't something which should tighten like a rope in her ribcage. "things are too aligned. if you were a breach, where would you begin? on the inside." offering her opinion. even if he hadn't asked for it, still she would give it to him. "and to think, we're meant to be playing nice. i even put on one of my best dresses." her gaze dips to the place where a shirt should have been on his person. with their only-slight difference in height, it is easy to make it a focal point. a little bit too easy. her perfume mingles with his cologne. "don't be so rash, agent phoenix. maybe if we stand here pretty and nice as we're meant to, the answer will reveal itself soon." he has leaned into her space another inch. she remains unmoved. she should put distance.

a whiff of her perfume, accompanied by something forgotten swirling down in his stomach, mixing with the champagne from before. through practiced motions, he does not let this get to his head ( the alcohol or the-—? ), without knowing what 'it' is to begin with. once today is over, and he has time to mull over everything in detail, about seeing her in person after so long, it will be easier to come up with reasons, or excuses. the starkest one would be that she was gone. too quickly, too soon, without warning — and kit is not stupid enough to think most of them won't meet that end one day. though the sting that comes with that realization, with her disappearance... is irrational. locks it into a box, tucks it away. they have more pressing matters at hand. low hum, quiet enough that it's for her ears only. to learn she is as clueless as he is adds another element to this. field agents are not always notified the first about developments, and albeit weapons division was announced merely minutes ago, he was entertaining the possibility this was something she knew. not really then, how interesting. "it is, isn't it?" sharp brown eyes continue to look around, trying to take in the details, see if he can gauge the answers out them. "do you think it is... mediated?" uttered in a much quieter whisper. trusts her enough to question the motivations behind this dinner, hosted by their employers. maybe it is part wishful thinking to put that option on the table. only time will tell. if there is one thing kit knows, however, is that his hunch is telling him to stick his nose into it. whatever this is, it smells fishy. "something's... off." shifts on his feet, leaning into her space another inch. "and i'm not just talking about the lights." lips curl into a grin, though muted with whatever he put into that box, as well as the tension they are under. "a message, maybe? a lot of important people are here." at her comment, that grin only widens, playfulness swimming in his eyes. "you know i can't say no to a good skulking. though might be better to figure out which direction first." both the physical and metaphorical way forward. he wonders if there will be a new direction from mercy any time soon. doesn't know if they can afford to wait with the way civilians are growing antsy already.

#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / threads.#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / kit chaichana.#𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎. / the governor's ball.

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1nfernals · 17 days

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endorsing the hours passing through self-entertainment. zeliha at least is left to her own devices of pressing observances into the back of her eyelids. a chance encounter, unfurling like the bitterness of the draught she finally caved into sipping. a deep breath to provide movement to the iron which otherwise encases her. the thin band of the watch tattles that the minutes are ticking down to that crawling kind of annoyance. this annoyance, reflected in the other woman who has also found this corner. zeliha arches her brow, this too spilling over the rim of her drink. "as soon as they decide they've had enough of us. and we are at their whims. tragic."

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 001 / GOVERNOR'S BALL ; open

time at events such as these never moves in a linear line — it's a spiral, a journey inward, not forward. time, always so fascinatingly cruel, the way it either slips or slows, moving of its own accord. cipriana stands in a corner of her own, resembling more a lalique statuette than an actual person; something you could almost look through and not at. at least the dome of her skull feels picked clean, pierced by soporific and nearly obligatory tête-à-têtes. the wine in her glass, redder than most she'd seen before, sloshes around, threatening to spill over the rim. thus she steps back, steadying her hand. '' so, when can we leave? ''

#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / threads.#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / cipriana cao.#𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎. / the governor's ball.#hehe

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1nfernals · 17 days

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some might believe zeliha is a cold body these days. glimpse of the old version of her that might linger beneath, soon delegated to the iron grasp of who she had made herself become, she pauses only because she knows the man to whom the voice belongs. his unimpressed state of being, his attention to the sensory detail of a swirling glass. zeliha's gaze flicks down towards where prospero's distaste for the dull evening gathers best in his mouth: crinkled lower lip. does he even realise how much he teeters towards a sneer? zeliha won't be the one to point it out. he might make a complaint about how she didn't pay attention to the hard work on his attire. "this is a test of your willpower and yours alone." dry. she has yet to gain a drink herself & if the tension in the ballroom, however subtle, continued to be to this level or threaten to rise, she would not be filling her hands with any kind of distraction. "didn't you read that part of the memo? at the very end: we want to annoy prospero." whether the curl in her mouth was imagined, or she was letting herself be amused, it would be left up to the observers. zeliha was no longer in the business of being forthright about the truth of the emotions boiling within her. it was, after all, a waste of time. "don't be so distraught. making nice with oligarchs is a strategy all on its own. it's not easy as it seems to pretend to be interested for hours at a time to gain information."

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧 . . . anyone.

𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 . . . the bar, at the governor's ball.

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐌 when the memo had first graced the masses of mercy. " troubling " events. five agents dead under " suspicious " circumstances. it had piqued his interest rather than inspiring horror, or sympathy, or dread — the most appropriate responses replaced by simple curiosity, & that tingling feeling he tends to get in his fingertips when he can't help himself. & of course, mercy prepares itself with unprecedented security against cyberattacks, so he hadn't been able to hack beyond the initial firewalls ( that are mostly there for show, anyways ) or find anything remotely interesting about what had happened before he'd been shut down — by his own father, no less. a scolding ensued that had left prospero pouting like a petulant child all the way to the governor's ball in the backseat of a black car, flanked on either side by both of his parents, who practically dragged him inside by his ear, planted him by the bar & told him to stay put & look pretty. a simple set of instructions, & that was that. here he lingers, vodka martini in hand, dripping condensation down the side of his palm, beady eyes flicking absently over the undulating crowd of bodies before him. upper lip curls in distaste, hidden behind the rim of his glass as he takes a slow, unimpressed sip. “ how dreadfully dull. ” a passing comment made to the nearest warm body, dead-eyed gaze flitting to his left to his unwitting companion before scanning the room again. he's been here five minutes & he's already so terribly bored. “ they must know we're best employed elsewhere, not milling about a ballroom making nice with oligarchs. ” a disgruntled complaint — a fussy toddler with a toy taken from his grasp, moments away from a tantrum — motivation to stay on his best behavior dwindling by the second.

#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / threads.#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / prospero eskander.#𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎. / the governor's ball.#not the siblings vibe ...

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1nfernals · 17 days

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lavender & silk, darkened & flattened by the lights going out. zeliha, in her concentration, a twist of the wrist to bring the flute of champagne closer to her lips, stained dark-cherry, immediate in how she glances around the room. tension of a different kind trickles down her shoulders. even so, otherwise, she remains unmoving — as is best. in situations like this, one must evaluate the premises before making an apt decision. the last thing she needs to be, in these days, is impulsive. the pulse may flutter in her throat, but that does not equate making a decision. & sometimes, choice is made for her. as it is, here, when hazel eyes lock with familiar ones. two snaps of a magnetic, polar-locking into place. his approach; her stance.

her intake of breath, once he stands beside her, alerts her to the state of his sweat & cologne. these hyper-awarenesses cannot be blamed on any cybernetics. the sole one she wields is the one she rests the majority of her weight upon: a chrome-sleek, clear-cut depiction of what happens when you take an unnecessary risk. all risks she has taken are necessary. don't you remember? familiarity breeds uncertainty to her. at the same time, she is relieved. her right side angles towards his left. the nickname of days that happened before these leaves a trail of goosebumps on that same side of her neck, as if he whispered it against her. he didn't. "your guess is as good as mine." despite the flicker, she keeps her lips as still as possible. "but it's far too convenient. i was already distrustful of how coming to this was required." caustic. silver, teardrop earrings swing with her shift of weight. "what do you think? there's a perfectly good perspective from here. unless you're in the mood for skulking."

𝙻 𝙾 𝙲 𝙰 𝚃 𝙸 𝙾 𝙽 : GOVERNOR'S BALL 𝙵 𝚁 𝙾 𝙼 : AGENT PHOENIX 𝚃 𝙾 : AGENT STEELHEART, ( @1nfernals )

that was quick. the switch between the celebrations and the sudden panic is so quick that if kit wasn't so well-versed in this line of work, he would surely get whiplash from it. the applause cuts off in an almost comedic way the moment ceo kang leaves the stage, large lights shutting off, giving way to eerieness. reds, blues, and whites reflect off designer clothes, jewelry; some of which kit's also wearing himself. the artificial shine to his face, the shimmery eyeshadow, the smoky eyeliner. the glamour of it all seems to vanish instantly. a glance at his phone relays a message that does not surprise him with the way lights have shut off, but it's more than enough to flip that switch in kit's mind as well, slipping into work mode, eyes flitting around to see, to pick up anything important. his gaze stops short at the sight of a familiar face, their eyes meet up despite the lack of main lights. kit moves slowly on his feet, as if nothing was wrong, near the table with the drinks, then next to her side. being next to zeliha again, in a situation like this one, brings up more memories than he has the time to think about. it's been way too long since they have done this. since they have simply had a chat together. there will be time to talk and mull over all of these, to pull her aside and ask where the hell she had been. instead, for the moment, he finds it easy to slip into that rhythm they have ( had ? ) with each other on the field. once within earshot, he stands next to her, his right side brushing against her left. "zel." nickname slips perhaps way too easily, dark eyes continuing to scan every possible movement he can. "do you have any further information about... all of this?" quiet enough that only she can hear. "what's next? should i scout the area?"

#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / threads.#𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / kit chaichana.#𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎. / the governor's ball.#it was great !!

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1nfernals · 19 days

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⊠ ɪᴅ . . . ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ ›› [ hazal filiz küçükköse / 37 / nonbinary / they + she ] mercy headquarters is pleased to officially introduce ZELIHA YILDIRIM. they have been apart of the organization for one week, serving as A HEAD AGENT OF SENTINEL ARMAMENTS and has been assigned the codename AGENT STEELHEART. it's worth noting that their file indicates they have not undergone the solaris treatment and DO NOT HOST A MUTATION. according to our dossier, the agent exhibits a combination of RESOURCEFUL and STRICT traits, fitting for someone reminiscent of major kusanagi motoko ( ghost in the shell ). prior to embarking on any mission, the find solace in listening to the song “initiation” by CROWN THE EMPIRE.

𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲𝚂.

full name: zeliha yildirim.

nickname: zel.

age: 37.

birthday: january 16th.

zodiac sun sign: capricorn.

gender + pronouns: nonbinary + they / she.

orientation: greysexual.

birthplace: safranbolu, karabük, turkey.

languages: turkish, english, russian, spanish, italian, french.

accent: mostly faded into a short monotone ; some words still are accented.

occupation: head agent of sentinel & weapons armaments, employed for 11 years prior to this assignment and promotion.

augmentation: cybernetic left leg replacement, hip-joint downwards.

family: two younger sisters, mother, father, paternal grandparents, an all-black cat named minik.

𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂.

hair: brownish-black, blunt-cut at the middle of their back. nearly always kept in some kind of braid, knot, or ponytail.

eyes: hazel.

piercings: earlobes. rarely wears jewellery, only on formal occasions. navel, hidden.

tattoos: ( right arm / shoulder ). nearly always covered.

mbti: istj - the inspector.

moral alignment: lawful neutral.

+ disciplined, analytic, resourceful.

- intimidating, easily detached, strict.

character inspirations: major kusanagi motoko from ghost in the shell; zatanna from dc comics; emily prentiss from criminal minds; river tam from firefly; roy mustang from fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood; elektra natchios from daredevil.

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺��𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳. ( cw: blood, injury, depression )

you were not born for this life ; yet, something within you, as eldest, was doomed from the beginning. the necessary evil of carving out a path to greatness, where all your ancestors before you never had the chance. a young girl, living rural in your village near the black sea & its permeation of salt-water through to your pores, this was a simplicity you yearned to never surrender. yet life dominoes, butterflies its effects & you are not immune to being swept up in the currents. hard work in your academics was to make your family proud. the higher marks you brought home, the more relief you saw in your parents' faces. you strayed sometimes towards that which was more creative & less lucrative: acrylics like your grandfather, poetry like your cousin. though not stifled, they were not as eagerly devoured. you know that the world is difficult out there. especially now. you had never heard of anything like solaris, mercy, nor sentinel ; you knew only the sun, the sand, & the safety of your home. & then, regardless of your innocence, it came to you.

studious, focused, & aching for relationships and friendships that you never let yourself have ( don't get distracted ), you navigate through your university years abroad with a particular vengeance. you know the formulas to get better marks, the networking social systems to gain better opportunities. your tactical outlook on life drew the recruiters into your inner circle. it began as someone in a suit who sat in on your bio-chemical engineering class ; simple as that. it ended with you, being handed a card & told that your greatness did not have to stop there.

you had always ran amok outside, understood how to barrel through different terrains. you entered the organisation as a field agent, determined to prove yourself. was this not the path of success? learning multitudes of information, how it overwhelmed you at first. how you yearned for the quietness, but yearning solves nothing. you place your emotions in a box ; you grew into something steel-coloured & refused to let the home-grown flowers escape from your ribs. taking on assignments no one else would — until, once more, the assignment took you.

you have no memory of it. only that the world spun & that you smelled salt & that it was coppery blood in your mouth. you awakened to people asking how you felt. you haven't thought about your feelings since you were twenty-five & thought that you could fall in love, have this career, & do it all. your power was taken from you ; you refuse to have your dignity compromised. they gave you the best leg you could ask for. installed it right at the hip joint. is that what happened? you still can't fucking remember. you tried not to, but so entrenched to your physicality had you become, that this removal-of-self sent you spiralling. your mind seemed disconnected, the world kept spinning & you remained still. going back to your roots, studying the cybernetics & weapons you once built & trialled yourself, held no persuasion for you. you floated. you hurt. you wept for the first time in years. it tasted like the salt of the black sea.

then, you became necessary again. your expertise, opinions, strategies, & time have been well-spent. your success is still immediate. with the need for the brand new weapons division, you were brought out of your sea & your shell. stares do not make you wither. you will not be moved, bereft, or ignored. you can stand alongside the rest of them, even though now it's in a different way ; & this way is a testament to how you are made of steel. literally. it makes you chortle to yourself without mirth. you can look in the mirror, you dress well, you remain untouchable. you try not to be cold to those who are alongside you. this is difficult. all you have ever truly craved is to be close & you got too close ( were you protecting someone else, you can't remember ) & it took something from you. still, you will not abandon your post nor your fellow agents. you are here to solve the matters at hand with the experiences you have been given. & the longing can rot within you.

#mercyorg:intro #𝚉𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙷𝙰. / dossier.#:olivianod:#blood cw #injury cw #depression cw

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