Mask or Menace ☂ IC Phone Post

[numberthree]

INBOX Voice | Text | Call | Video | Surprise Me A flat computer automated voice comes on and states in monotone: "This is the voicemail box for Allison Hargreeves. Leave a message at the beep."

Luther

Diego

Klaus

Five

Ben

Vanya

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[irondad]

Allison. ( His assessment of her in turn is brief- cool, collected, and confident, reminding him of Nat, actually -an outline to be filled in at his leisure later. First impressions count, but no one puts their whole selves forward for scrutiny in the beginning, not even him.

His mouth quirks with wry approval for her remark, unruffled, not offended but pleased, punctuating his quick reply with a casual shrug: )

Party never stops. Shall we? Oh- ( So light, easy, ) Forgot to ask, any food allergies, preferences, vegan; yay or nay?

[numberthree]

[ He lets it ricochet off of him, without an answer. Or at least not a real one. But she doubts it's anything like a bomb, strapped to his chest, beaming out through the cloth of his shirt, showing itself off to the whole rest of the world. She'd really rather not be at three-thousand feet with a bomber.

Her life is overly complicated enough as it is right now.

Allison turns gamely enough, walking toward the plane at his side. Trying not to focus too hard on the stairs, the thought that she could turn around, unmake this decision before it's made. Before barriers are crossed, and doors closed, and borders crossed. Except it's not any other month, or week, or even year. Nothing about her feels like the girl who could just have stepped out to get them coffee anymore. ]

None of the above.