Information

Talryn has a minion!

the Fion

Talryn
Legacy Name: Talryn

The

Reborn Tigrean
Owner:

Paula

Age: 7 years, 8 months, 3 weeks

Born: July 28th, 2016

Adopted: 1 year, 8 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: August 6th, 2022

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 43
Strength: 107
Defense: 107
Speed: 108
Health: 108
HP: 108/108
Intelligence: 37
Books Read: 37
Food Eaten: 18
Job: Ticket Taker

CREDITS

Profile template (c)

helix (get yours here);
Free background from Wallpaper Safari;
Adopted from

purring;
Story by

Pureflower!

When a culprit isn't available, I'll settle for the solid "thwack" of a foot or fist against the sandbag.

I've got to let the angry out somehow. Therapy is a total joke. Stress balls aren't made of stern enough stuff to hold up to these wrists of fury. The day I willingly sit and do meditation breathing exercises is the day Darkside freezes over.

I shouldn't let all the scumbags of the world work me up the way they do. The logical part of my brain knows this. Unfortunately, the angry part tends to be a lot louder and more demanding.

I want to bring them all to justice. Every last one. There's too many who get away because of a technicality, too many layers of red tape to cut. When somebody does wrong, they need to be brought to justice here and now. That doesn't always hold with the "rules" laid down by a bunch of stuffed shirts.

I don't dare give my honest opinions out loud. I learned that lesson day one.

Hence the beat-up-looking bag that's currently weeping sand in eight places. On an average day, there's usually two or three weeks. This is not an average day.

That promotion was mine.

Whatever. I'm not letting that little cream puff get to me. Not today. Not when I've got date night waiting for me.

Other agents entering the gym to do their workouts give me a wide berth. Maybe it's the fact that my face looks like I've been eating lemons, no matter what I'm feeling inside. Maybe it's the fact that I've wiped the floor with every single one of them when we go hand-to-hand. Or maybe every single one of them knows that I was cheated. Some of them were probably in on it. Sweet-tempered Yuaei with her cupcake-smelling perfume and her goody-two-shoes attitude every time a senior agent comes within five miles of her desk.

I don't believe her story about locking up the great sorceress Jeannetta for a second. Not one second. She swears it was all luck and skill. I say she used a suppressor...despite those things being highly illegal. That pathetic excuse for an agent would stoop that low...but no one will ever believe me when they have that walking cosmetics add to drool over.

She comes walking into the room in her rose-pink workout suit with a satin towel draped over one shoulder. She's talking and laughing with several agents from her class, all of them fawning on her every word. She barely spares me a passing glance, though my face lets her know in no uncertain terms how much I'd love for her to be the perp at the end of a long chase.

Admittedly, the elevator buttons and doors I meet on my way to my apartment meet with more force than is strictly necessary. None of them is broken. Slightly cracked in one case, but not broken.

As usual, half of my clothes end up in a heap on the bed. The dress I settle on isn't exactly worthy of a Saggitarius charity event but it's passably decent. Shouto is more interested in my body than what's covering it. Not that I can blame him...and he does take the time for little things. Holding the door, ordering the dishes he knows I like and giving me his full attention when we dance.

Seeing his radiant smile when he answers the door? It almost makes up for the day I've had.

He takes me to my absolute favorite restaurant. The chilled champagne and oysters with crusty bread await us at our usual table. The way he thinks of every little detail...he could melt a heart even harder than mine.

He doesn't suggest a movie or a night at the club. As always, he can sense what I want is a night in watching crappy movies and being held. His lips are soft on my neck as he lets my hair down from the usual bun. He doesn't rush. He is the embodiment of patience and sophistication.

I pretend the corner of a paper bearing the mark of a certain notorious gang is not peeking out from the stack on his coffee table. It's a game we play. I'm well aware of his "secret" life, though we never discuss it. He makes it a point not to plan anything directly in my line of fire when I draw street patrol duty.

We play a dangerous game, one that always keeps me hungry for more. He tames my inner tiger, transforming her into a purring kitten. I soothe that massive brain down from its constant flirting with a mental meltdown. Each of us is what the other one needs.

If love is what destroys us both in the end, so be it.