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10.06.2015
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10.08.2015
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As cliche as it may be, Sean has made his way to the academy roof in the aftermath of their botched rescue attempt. He brought with him his cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and the badges of the fallen agents for company. He'd hand them over once the sun rose, no need to bother the director at this hour. The dead weren't going anywhere.
The bottle is already a third empty, several butts crushed beside him as a fresh one hangs from the corner of his mouth, Sean just stares out into the sky. He wasn't slept at all, having made his way here after the night mission's end. He sighs heavily while rubbing his forehead, so many thoughts running through his head.
Piper had been wandering idly through the school when she caught sight of Sean, who carried booze and cigarettes and seemed to only be going up. She hadn't ever met the guy, but booze in a school was enough to catch her attention, and most of the people she met weren't of the American drinking age (21? PAH. Ridiculous.).
She followed him up and watched him from the shadows for a while. He seemed to be lost in thought, but what about, she wasn't certain. She contemplated not interrupting him, but with how much he was drinking, she felt concern in her chest.
She moved towards him slowly, trying to make sure that her steps made noise. "Gonna kill that bottle by yourself or are you good for company?" The emerald beauty asked, leaning forward carefully and offering him a gentle smile.
"Legal, back where I come from," she said, moving to take a seat next to him. She could see just how upset he was and had no interest in pushing him. If he wouldn't let her drink, no problem. "At least share a fag, yeah? I'm definitely old enough for one of 'em, even in the States."
The Aussie smiled a soft sort of smile at him, trying to make him chuckle or at least relax a little bit. She didn't know why, exactly, he wasn't okay, but she understood the state of being.
Sean just watches her sit, not in the mood to challenge or even discuss the demerits of America's legal drinking age nor would he normally aid someone in bad habits. However he isn't much in the mood for such a discussion, especially while engaging in bad habits. He extends the pack of clove cigarettes toward the green haired girl, the lighter tucked in the side of it as it is nearly half empty.
"I'd be carefully with using that slang here, might piss someone off."
If that had been her attempt to cheer him up, it obviously failed. He takes another swing from the bottle and resumes staring over the grounds with glassy eyes.
She took a clove and a lighter, bringing it to her lips and lighting it up before bothering to respond. "What slang?" She asked around the cigarette, replacing the lighter and handing him the pack. She took a deep drag before bothering to remove it from her lips.
"Are you going back after them?" She asked with a furrow of her brows.
It was hard to believe that a group of agents wouldn't stand up against anybody. Paradigm seemed to train their field agents harder, to be stronger... How could they fail?
She couldn't help the snort when he said that, trying to cover it with one hand. She took the cigarette between her fingers to ash it.
"Oh, sorry," she said, sarcasm thick in her voice. "I just thought you were... You know... You seemed actually upset about this." She took a drag off the clove and shook her head.
He responds rather gruffly but otherwise not taking much stock in her tone.
"Before I became I agent I read all the archives I could to prepare myself. It all seemed like they were just flying by the seat of their pants with no plan, people dying all over the place. I thought with the new administration it would be different. That agents wouldn't be trudging into no win situations."
He chugs down a rather large swig of whiskey.
"Fifteen years later and it's just the same as what I read. Going in blind, people dying, and everyone and their mother having the drop on us. Doesn't sound like heroism to me... just sounds stupid."
He tosses the bottle over to her, very little caring at this point.
"Even almighty Director Allcott died before... no one's untouchable."
She caught the bottle and shifted it over to her side, hiding it from his view, without taking a drink of the whiskey. He was rambling, which was good. At least he was talking.
"And you did the same thing. You rushed in with no plan. And people died. You think this world will change if somebody doesn't try to change it?" She asked, careful with her tone and words spoken slowly.
Spinning the bottle beside her, Piper flicked the butt of her cigarette over the side of the roof, watching the embers disappear into the night. "So what are you going to do?"
She didn't wait for him to look at her or respond. She couldn't help but wonder if he actually didn't care... Alcohol was good at that. "You can either get this mulling over with and go ahead and jump off the roof."
She stood up, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and holding it tight, away from him. "Or you can go to bed, get up, and train. You know. Stop letting people down."
Sean doesn't respond, just a continued 1000 yard stare. That said, both options made little sense to him. The first, killing himself, did nothing for anyone and served no point or purpose. As for the second, most agents would probably respond to the challenge but historically no matter how much an agent trained when it came to adversaries in the field... they were always outmatched. It also implied that if he was stronger he could have saved the other agents lives, which is fundamentally incorrect. Those agents were dead before Silas, Arman, and himself ever showed up the first time. They only truly realized it a few short hours ago when their heads exploded.
The thought makes his stomach turn as he winces. He could, at the very least, take solace that their deaths were quick and likely very painless. Slowly he reaches into his pocket and retrieves the fallen agents' badges, eyes finally refocusing on the names and faces as the cigarette slowly burns toward his lips.