Angst - Joker
Titel: Masks
Team: Ophelia
Challenge: Angst - Joker ( Inspiration) (Für's Team)
Fandom: Queen of the South
Charaktere: OFC, Teresa Mendoza, James Valdez
Sprache: Englisch
Wörter: 550
Kommentar: Mein R/I hat Angst und meine Angst R/I... Der Satz, der mich hierhin geführt hat, war übrigens "Mir hat schon lange niemand mehr vertraut."
Achtung: Erwähnung von Vergewaltigung (und Mord)
Sicarios came and killed your boyfriend, and now you own men like that.
Masks
“He raped me.” Teresa Mendoza took another sip of her glass of water. “That’s what they like to do, as punishment. He raped me and beat me half to death.”
Agent Sarah De Valle leaned over the table while her colleague next to her kept scribbling. “What happened to him?”
Teresa Mendoza looked straight at her. “He’s dead.”
‘I killed him’ was implied. She wasn’t stupid enough to say it out loud. The deal she had struck with the DEA might include all kinds of forgiveness for past sins, but there was no need to add to the list.
“Good”, was on her tongue. She was professional, so she swallowed it down, but it was probably visible on her face for a moment, because Teresa Mendoza smiled slightly at her.
They’re only at the beginning of her retelling of how a money counter from Culiacán could become one of the biggest drug kingpins (queenpins?) of Mexico and the United States, but Agent De Valle was finding herself more fascinated than she expected. Out of the designer attire she had chosen as her uniform, she looked like a regular girl from next door - pretty, but not overly so, in jeans and a flannel overshirt, with brown, wavy hair and a kind face. When she smiled, she didn’t look like a killer at all.
“That must have been rough”, she chose to say.
Teresa Mendoza smiled again. “It was.”
The door opened without a knock, and one of her men slipped inside. Not the older one, who looked like a nice uncle when you didn’t look at his tattoos too closely and called his boss ‘Teresita’, but the pretty one. Dark hair, leather jacket, always very serious. But even if he’d smiled he couldn’t have hidden his true nature. It was in every fiber of his being, the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he surveyed a room when he entered.
Teresa Mendoza had many sicarios in her employ, but only one professional hitman. James Valdez had a long list of suspected killings to his name and they couldn’t prove a single one of them.
However, they’d already begun to understand that one reason for Mendoza’s success was her ability to inspire loyalty. Many interactions with her employees they’d witnessed so far were friendly, familiar, even intimate. For a woman to lead a cartell was almost unheard of, but they called her jefa or patrona like they were proud to do so.
And then there was the fact she was giving up the business and no one had made an attempt on her life yet. But that might have also to do with men like this one.
He swept the room with his eyes for a moment, a habit he was most likely unaware of doing at this point, before stepping up to his boss in her chair, leaning on the table with one hand. “Teresa”, he said softly.
They talked quietly after that and she couldn’t make out more than bits and pieces, but it didn’t bother her. They had gone over this part of the plan quite a bit in the past few days and she’d likely hear more in the meeting following this interview. So instead she took the chance to drink from her coffee that had gone cold in the meantime, and shoved a few stale cookies into her mouth in-between sips. And watched them.
He stood close, but not too close, head bent down towards her. She was bracing her side against the back of her chair and looked up to him, attentive, but relaxed. And no doubt aware she was being watched.
Sicarios came and killed your boyfriend and raped and almost killed you, and now you own men like that, she pondered. What did that feel like?
The conversation came to a close just when she was taking a bite out of the last cookie. These are disgusting, somebody should really do something about that, she thought, and then, just when he turned to leave, she watched Teresa Mendoza slip up.
“James”, she said, reaching to grab his arm just underneath the beginning of his tattoo sleeve. He goes completely stills, looking back at her. “Te cuidado.”
And just like that, his face showed everything, all the love and devotion that had previously been kept hidden by a mask of professionalism.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly before turning away. She let his arm slip from her grasp without resistance, looking at the door until it shut behind him.
And just like that, she knew everything about this woman she needed to know.
Despite everything this business had taken from her, Teresa Mendoza still had something to lose.
Team: Ophelia
Challenge: Angst - Joker ( Inspiration) (Für's Team)
Fandom: Queen of the South
Charaktere: OFC, Teresa Mendoza, James Valdez
Sprache: Englisch
Wörter: 550
Kommentar: Mein R/I hat Angst und meine Angst R/I... Der Satz, der mich hierhin geführt hat, war übrigens "Mir hat schon lange niemand mehr vertraut."
Achtung: Erwähnung von Vergewaltigung (und Mord)
Sicarios came and killed your boyfriend, and now you own men like that.
Masks
“He raped me.” Teresa Mendoza took another sip of her glass of water. “That’s what they like to do, as punishment. He raped me and beat me half to death.”
Agent Sarah De Valle leaned over the table while her colleague next to her kept scribbling. “What happened to him?”
Teresa Mendoza looked straight at her. “He’s dead.”
‘I killed him’ was implied. She wasn’t stupid enough to say it out loud. The deal she had struck with the DEA might include all kinds of forgiveness for past sins, but there was no need to add to the list.
“Good”, was on her tongue. She was professional, so she swallowed it down, but it was probably visible on her face for a moment, because Teresa Mendoza smiled slightly at her.
They’re only at the beginning of her retelling of how a money counter from Culiacán could become one of the biggest drug kingpins (queenpins?) of Mexico and the United States, but Agent De Valle was finding herself more fascinated than she expected. Out of the designer attire she had chosen as her uniform, she looked like a regular girl from next door - pretty, but not overly so, in jeans and a flannel overshirt, with brown, wavy hair and a kind face. When she smiled, she didn’t look like a killer at all.
“That must have been rough”, she chose to say.
Teresa Mendoza smiled again. “It was.”
The door opened without a knock, and one of her men slipped inside. Not the older one, who looked like a nice uncle when you didn’t look at his tattoos too closely and called his boss ‘Teresita’, but the pretty one. Dark hair, leather jacket, always very serious. But even if he’d smiled he couldn’t have hidden his true nature. It was in every fiber of his being, the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he surveyed a room when he entered.
Teresa Mendoza had many sicarios in her employ, but only one professional hitman. James Valdez had a long list of suspected killings to his name and they couldn’t prove a single one of them.
However, they’d already begun to understand that one reason for Mendoza’s success was her ability to inspire loyalty. Many interactions with her employees they’d witnessed so far were friendly, familiar, even intimate. For a woman to lead a cartell was almost unheard of, but they called her jefa or patrona like they were proud to do so.
And then there was the fact she was giving up the business and no one had made an attempt on her life yet. But that might have also to do with men like this one.
He swept the room with his eyes for a moment, a habit he was most likely unaware of doing at this point, before stepping up to his boss in her chair, leaning on the table with one hand. “Teresa”, he said softly.
They talked quietly after that and she couldn’t make out more than bits and pieces, but it didn’t bother her. They had gone over this part of the plan quite a bit in the past few days and she’d likely hear more in the meeting following this interview. So instead she took the chance to drink from her coffee that had gone cold in the meantime, and shoved a few stale cookies into her mouth in-between sips. And watched them.
He stood close, but not too close, head bent down towards her. She was bracing her side against the back of her chair and looked up to him, attentive, but relaxed. And no doubt aware she was being watched.
Sicarios came and killed your boyfriend and raped and almost killed you, and now you own men like that, she pondered. What did that feel like?
The conversation came to a close just when she was taking a bite out of the last cookie. These are disgusting, somebody should really do something about that, she thought, and then, just when he turned to leave, she watched Teresa Mendoza slip up.
“James”, she said, reaching to grab his arm just underneath the beginning of his tattoo sleeve. He goes completely stills, looking back at her. “Te cuidado.”
And just like that, his face showed everything, all the love and devotion that had previously been kept hidden by a mask of professionalism.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly before turning away. She let his arm slip from her grasp without resistance, looking at the door until it shut behind him.
And just like that, she knew everything about this woman she needed to know.
Despite everything this business had taken from her, Teresa Mendoza still had something to lose.