[ Kidnapping may not be in his wheelhouse and it technically isn't in hers, either, but that doesn't mean she hasn't committed it. In fact, the last thing she remembers about her time in Los Angeles before waking up on Thesa involved shooting a man with a tranquilliser gun, stuffing him into the boot of her car, and interrogating him in the cellar of her friend's mansion with a touch of light torture (scare tactics, honestly, it was so mild); it wasn't even on anybody's orders, it was entirely her decision.
But because it was her choice to capture Rufus Hunt, it meant she had ownership of the situation and its consequences. Here and now, with only Cree's word to go on and rumours about the target in question, it doesn't sit as comfortably with her. She's gotten in hot β boiling, really β water in the past about being a spy on somebody else's behalf with the belief that she was doing the right thing. She still does, here, but sometimes β
Did he just say cutting off her trousers? ]
Eggsy Unwin, [ she shoots back with entirely mocking affront. She even holds her glass of liquor with an indignant air. ] Such talk, and with JB in the same room to hear it.
[ The dog in question likely shoots her the same look as his owner. This is how she coped the last time she was shot in the leg, wasn't it? Dry humour and cheeky remarks. She huffs out a breath in lieu of a laugh and downs half her drink in one smooth swallow. When she speaks again, it's with a little less levity. ]
It's all right, I'll manage. [ She sits up straight, setting her glass down on whatever surface is nearest, and goes about opening that kit. A pair of scissors and she'll cut a wider slit in her trousers so they can work properly (she doesn't undo the makeshift bandage yet). She looks at him before she starts, reaching out to touch his forearm, voice softening a fraction. ] What about you?
no subject
But because it was her choice to capture Rufus Hunt, it meant she had ownership of the situation and its consequences. Here and now, with only Cree's word to go on and rumours about the target in question, it doesn't sit as comfortably with her. She's gotten in hot β boiling, really β water in the past about being a spy on somebody else's behalf with the belief that she was doing the right thing. She still does, here, but sometimes β
Did he just say cutting off her trousers? ]
Eggsy Unwin, [ she shoots back with entirely mocking affront. She even holds her glass of liquor with an indignant air. ] Such talk, and with JB in the same room to hear it.
[ The dog in question likely shoots her the same look as his owner. This is how she coped the last time she was shot in the leg, wasn't it? Dry humour and cheeky remarks. She huffs out a breath in lieu of a laugh and downs half her drink in one smooth swallow. When she speaks again, it's with a little less levity. ]
It's all right, I'll manage. [ She sits up straight, setting her glass down on whatever surface is nearest, and goes about opening that kit. A pair of scissors and she'll cut a wider slit in her trousers so they can work properly (she doesn't undo the makeshift bandage yet). She looks at him before she starts, reaching out to touch his forearm, voice softening a fraction. ] What about you?