SMILE + Angst prompts #1 Joran, Nino, Reed

# “I don’t like that smile.” “Then I doubt you’ll like what’s coming next.” - Joran

While you, or rather your body, is safely hidden miles and miles away from Elazar, as soon as your head hits the pillow, the chase begins anew.

It’s a surreal experience that you never quite adjust to, no matter how many times it occurs. Your muscles relax, your consciousness drifts off, and then, it’s like waking up from a nap in the middle of a lecture. 

Someone shakes you by the shoulder, disappearing out of the classroom before you can get a good look at them. White shirt, black jacket. A teacher? The lesson’s over, though, and the noise in the corridor outside grows from an excited murmur to an unleashed cacophony. Must be lunch break. 

It all feels so natural that you only realize you’re asleep when you leave the building, intent on buying yourself a snack from the vending machine by the entrance. But there are no vending machines in sight, and it’s not your academy. It’s an amusement park. Literally. All that’s missing is, well, people.

The dream locations merge and intertwine with a bizarre ease. It’s hard to pinpoint the change unless you really pay attention. And now, you do. The street solidifies under your focused awareness, and though you traverse it for a long while, it leads you nowhere. 

When you look back, everything behind you is engulfed by dense fog. It would be peaceful, if not for the vague sense of unease that intensifies when you hear a noise. Whistling. 

The white clouds around you morph into tiles. Tiles morph into walls. You’re enclosed, and the harrowing tune grows louder and louder. He always does that. It’s like he’s announcing himself. Either that, or he’s crazy, just as they say he is.

Your first instinct is to run - there’s even a corridor opening itself for you on the right - but you stand your guard. If there’s anything you’ve learned throughout the weeks, it’s that your fleeing accomplishes nothing. Only one of the two agents wants to catch you. The other, well...

“Don’t you get bored with that?” you ask into the empty space, and predictably, the tune cuts off. 

“Not really.” The response comes from right behind you, not at all from where the whistling was slowly creeping in. It sounds just as conversational as your question had been, even though the agent looks rather blasé. “I get paid by the hour.”

“So you’re playing with food, is what you’re saying.”

“Does that make you the main course?” Joran huffs, brushing his gloved hands over the lapels of his jacket, as if to smoothen the nonexistent creases. “Or the dessert?”

“...Are you going to capture me or not?”

“Are you that eager?” Joran’s brow jumps in surprise. “Look, if you want to run into my arms so badly, then I won’t stop you. Be warned, though, that if you do, I’ll have no choice but to hand you over.”

“Then... you won’t catch me yourself.”

He shrugs. “I’m not much of a runner.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He always pops up from the shadows, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Sometimes, you catch him with a magazine in his hand. Talk about an efficient chase, huh? “Wouldn’t want to get that hairstyle of yours mussed up.”

“I’m glad we agree.” Leaning against a tiled wall, he glances at his silver watch. His placid expression warms as the corners of his lips turn up. Uh oh.

“I don’t like that smile.” 

“Then I doubt you’ll like what’s coming next.” 

As if on cue, the dreadful sound of an alarm horn pierces through the air, sending all the fine hairs on your body standing at attention. The corridor on your side widens invitingly. 

“Run, rabbit, run.” As he says that, Joran vanishes from your sight, body first, sunglasses last, like a fucking Cheshire Cat. It makes you snort, but his quick reappearance wipes the amusement off your face at once. “No, seriously. You’re forgetting I’m not working alone.”

Oh, right, shit—

“You there, stop where you are and surrender!” 

—and there’s he is, agent number two. He doesn’t seem half as willing to compromise as his colleague. Tough luck.

Waiting no more time, you duck into the corner, hearing the tiles slap behind you as the passage closes. Nice, Joran bought you some time, but you can’t count on him to cover your ass forever. 

Another passage opens on the left. Your new way out.

The chase continues.

# “A smile a day keeps the doctor away.” “Yeah… I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.” - Nino

You wake up with a headache, which, in and of itself, isn’t that surprising. The couch underneath you is comfortable and doesn’t squeak when you snuggle your face into it, stalling the moment of your full wakefulness. 

It does come, inevitably paired with slight nausea. Your joints pop painfully when you blindly feel for your phone. Your hands come up empty, and that forces you to finally peel your eyes open.

You’re facing the floor— Ah, no, the ceiling. They’re both equally glassy, and the sudden vertigo makes it that much harder for you to reorient yourself in space. 

Another bender. Had to be. Your mouth tastes like the inside of an ashtray with a hint of... blood? Well, shit happens. More often than not when your best friend just can’t stop himself from—

Hold on. The bar is too quiet. It’s dark enough outside to suggest that the establishment should be thriving. Instead, the silence is stark. 

Another thing that’s out of the ordinary is the lack of the stench of booze in the air. If anything, you can discern a hint of lemon. A fizzy drink.

A fizzy drink? 

...Oh, shit.

As you shoot up into a seated position, more than just the last twenty-four hours return to you. 

You recall the orders you... happened to ignore, the botched (in result) mission, and the— Ouch, yeah, the right hook that might have just rearranged your guts. You also remember Nino’s face when she found you in that alley right before you lost consciousness. 

Right now, she’s looking at you impassively, with no trace of feelings, good or bad. She’s sitting on the chair on the other side of the office, holding an empty, crumpled can of an energy drink in her hand. Lime flavored. Eh, close enough.

She glances away from you, though only to check the time, and then, her gaze pierces into your face once more.

“H-hi there.” 

She doesn’t respond, but she looks straight at you in acknowledgment, as if urging - or daring - you to continue. You do. You’ve never been one to stop yourself. 

“So... Have you been waiting long?”

“Is that a roundabout way to ask me how long you were out?”

“Uh. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Half an hour.”

“Oh. I’m... I’m surprised Fortin’s not here to detain me for breaching the terms of the contract.”

Nino’s eyes squint at you. She has a knack for calling you a dumbass without even opening her mouth. 

You know for certain that she’s not angry, though, not truly, because if she was, something - or someone - here would already get punched. Repeatedly. 

Not that you’d know it before you saw it happen. Contrary to most people, Nino’s first stage of anger isn’t revealing. She looks more alert, at best. Then, her eyes brighten in what one might mistake as interest. 

It might actually be interest, or pure excitement. After all, she knows someone is about to get their ass handed to them. And she likes to watch only slightly less than partake.

Right now, however, she’s perfectly placid. 

“Relax,” she sighs, throwing the can into the trashcan as she stands up. “Fortin isn’t coming. Maverick is.”

“Maxie? Why would he— Ouch.”

Nino pauses by the desk to throw you an unamused glance. “...You were saying?”

“Ahaha, yes, thanks for calling him,” you say, watching her retrieve a first-aid kit. “You called him, right?”

She scoffs, refusing to entertain your anxieties. “He’s not a Seer. Though knowing you, he should have expected you to—” she cuts herself off, then shakes her head. “I’d take you to a hospital, but...”

“Yeah, no, thanks for, uh, not doing that. I don’t want to get sued.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dropping the first-aid kit on your lap, she takes a seat by your injured side. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up before Maverick comes.”

“...”

“...What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what are you grinning for?”

“Ah, a smile a day keeps the doctor away, you know?” 

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.” 

“But there might be some truth to that rendition.” 

“Yeah? Then try to smile your way out of this,” she says, slamming a band-aid over the shallow scrape on your forehead. 

“Ouch, Nino!”

“What? You’re not smiling. And I think I see Maverick’s car.”

“You’re so, so, so cruel.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a— Ugh, never mind.”

# “You just had to smile back at them, didn’t you?” “What else was I supposed to do? Ignore them?” - Reed 

Walking towards the largest - and most packed - table at a bar always made you feel some type of way, even back at the Academy, when things were different but simpler. Still, you know without looking that this is where you’ll find Reed, engaging in a conversation or five, always the social butterfly, no matter the time and place. 

The establishment’s attention is, predictably, all on him, despite the large, almost daunting, size of the room. Even the bartender is watching intently as Reed sips his apple cider mocktail through a red loopy straw. When he’s done, he bites on the plastic edge and grins. 

As for you, who swerves on the line of anonymity and disregard, stepping into Reed’s limelight feels physically grating. It doesn’t make it easier that Reed’s eyes find yours above the crowd almost instantly. 

For a split second, his cutting smile mellows into something gentle, more familiar, but the expression blinks away as quickly as it has revealed itself. Underneath the easygoing warmth is an ever-present layer of cold calculation now, and even though you know it’s not directed at you, it makes your skin crawl. 

“My date’s here,” Reed jokes, excusing himself away from the table over a chorus of ‘stay a little longer,’ and ‘have fun.’ He makes a token attempt at paying his tab, only for the bartender to put it on the house. “Thanks. See you later, guys!”

Reed makes his way to you almost lazily, still chatting on and off with the other patrons as he goes. Some of them are quite famous around here. It explains why you needed Reed’s invitation to enter. It’s a good thing you remembered to bring it with you.

They don’t know you here - not that people know you anywhere else -  and no one would be able to use your presence against Reed as a threat or leverage later. The underground scene is cutthroat, you’re well aware. Reed receives as many bribes as he does threats, after all. 

You should be glad that you’re not putting him in jeopardy, right? Even when he loops his arm with yours, the excessive closeness doesn’t put a target on your back. For the people here, you’re just one of the many. You can see the mock pity painted on their faces as Reed escorts you out, looking like he’s fulfilling some sort of obligation. 

If you couldn’t smell the fresh scent of joy mixed with the apple-cinnamon traces in his breath, you, too, would believe that this is all you are for him - a task.

“You’re late,” Reed whispers, squeezing you teasingly. Now that his back is turned to the majority of the bar, he lets his true emotions show, dispelling your earlier worries. “I was dyin’ of boredom out there.”

“Uh-huh? You looked perfectly fine to me.”

“I always look perfectly fine, tesoro. I meant inside. I was shrivelin’ up,” he assures, reaching his free hand toward the giant doorknob. 

A patron, dressed to the nines, beats him to it. They hold the door open to let the two of you pass. Their eyes, though, never leave Reed’s. The peppery stench of lust makes you gag inwardly, and it grows worse when Reed flashes a grin at his ‘helper.’ 

“Thanks.”

“D-don’t mention it.”

You’re used to this, you really are. Reed doesn’t mean anything by it, especially now, after being badly burned by his so-called friends. And it’s not like you have any claim over him, to begin with. You’re just friends. 

Besides, you are the sole person he genuinely relies on. It’s mutual because you only have each other in this fucked up world. You have all the parts of him that matter... 

If only that knowledge stopped you from wanting even more of him.

The cold, harsh air outside does nothing to calm you down. Even Reed’s exaggerated shivering refuses to brighten your rapidly deteriorating mood. The glimpse of your - unremarkable - reflection that you catch in the bar’s window is the final nail in the coffin. 

“You just had to smile back at them, didn’t you?” Contrary to the friendly grin that tugs at your lips, your thoughts are barbed, ill-considered. But in the safety of your head, it’s free real estate, isn’t it? 

“What else was I supposed to do? Ignore them?” Unfortunately, it’s only when Reed’s nonchalant voice responds that you realize your wayward mouth led you astray, or he fished out the scattered thought from your mind himself. Either way, he snorts, waving off your whining. “They work for that new model agency, you know? It’s an easy in.”

Oh. Right, of course. It’s all business with him, you knew that. The relief that courses through your chest is staggering. It’s embarrassing, really. 

“Wait, was that your... client?” Reed grimaces around the last word, casting a wary glance backward. “Did they do somethin’ to—”

“No! And, I’m not sure now if it’s the same person,” you lie and keep going with it. You can’t tell him you were jealous, can you? Who does that? “Maybe I mistook them for someone else.”

“Yeah? I’ll steer clear of them, then. Just in case.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep your voice light... and the giddiness out of it. 

It only makes you feel all that shittier. 

# + 1,  promptless Joran: 

As the dense layer of smog rises over the evening sky, the shadows of the alleyways deepen, becoming palpable. 

The narrow alley you wander into takes on a murky, greenish tint from the red neon sign that flickers ‘QUICK LOANS, LOW INTEREST,’ and whatever else scam the local moneylenders are known for. 

It’s not a large ‘company,’ though. Their office carries its old age poorly - the rust-stained walls are nearly crumbling, and you’re pretty sure the generous layer of moss growing in the cracks is the only reason the building is still standing. 

The location screams ‘suspicious’ way too loudly to be a front, and from what you’ve heard, the deals they carry out here are legally bounding... not that law ever stopped anyone from operating in Elazar, of all cities.

Still, this is about the last place you’d expect to see an agent coming out of, but here he is, Joran, in all his glory. It seems you’re not the only one who got lost in the forever-expanding streets of the shopping district.

“Selling your soul to the SPD isn’t as lucrative these days, is it?” you snark the moment your eyes meet, tilting your chin towards the almost fading sign. Your jibe gets the opposite reaction than you intended. Joran blinks at you, slowly, almost pointedly, then peers down at his nice designer suit and leather brogues. Ugh. “Never mind.”

“I was here to see a friend,” Joran says as he retrieves his car keys from the pocket of his jacket. As always, there’s not an ounce of hurry or care in his actions, just mild amusement mixed with boredom. “In case you were wondering.”

“You have friends?”

Joran chuckles. From the way he shakes his head exasperatedly, it’s clear that he’s not laughing with you, but at you. “It must come as a surprise to you,” he starts, smiling so widely his teeth are showing, “seeing as you don’t have any.”

Ugh, bastard. “And whose fault is it? If I didn’t need to hide—”

“You think that’s the issue? You, having to hide?”

“Obviously? I’m a delight to be around.” A startled snort bursts out of Joran faster than he can cover his mouth. “See? I made you laugh.”

“You say that like it’s a feat,” he huffs. Still, his eyes crinkle at you from behind the rim of his sunglasses. “Do you want a ride?”

“Huh?”

“Why so surprised? Your company is so delightful, I want to prolong it.” It’s his turn to snark, but his offer seems genuine, seeing as he waves you over to a silver car parked further away in the alley. “Are you coming, or did you come here for a loan?”

“No, I was...” 

“Scouting? Well, don’t tell me. The less I know, the better.”

“Yeah? Great. Works for me.”