WE BE LEAVING; PACK UR SHITZ [no really]

[icecoldwit]

To say that everything had been a severe headache for the last several weeks would be the understatement of the year. Emma hadn't felt this uncomfortable since she'd been teaching five telepaths how to control themselves. This was just getting ridiculous. Japan had worn off, in Emma's opinion, and Emma's opinion was currently the only opinion that

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[watch_the_nails]

Victor snorted as he read the notice which had been tacked to his team's board. It was definitely written in her tone and not Stryker's; trust the stuck-up bitch to come out with an announcement like that. He could hear Emma's voice in every word of the instructions, cold and disapproving, and he tried very hard to ignore the fact that he wanted to hear that voice talking to him again in the way that she'd used to - saying his name, soothing him, making him feel useful, wanted. No. It was too late for that. He didn't need her, the whore.

Growling to himself, he began to shove what few belongings he did have haphazardly into his battered old kit bag; a couple of crumpled-up, blood-spattered shirts, an extra pair of trousers, his jacket. Other than extra clothes, he really didn't own anything in the way of personal effects.

He sure as hell didn't feel like leaving any time soon. Hell, the prospect of a good fight was enough to make him want to stay. But he knew well enough by now that if Emma wanted something done, then it got done, and damn any poor bastard who happened to get in her way.