Winter's Ashes

Cosmic Punishment for Drinking Away Your Problems is Swift and Unpleasant

ASH
The dress itches. It's too tight around the chest, but unfortunately it's meant to fit like that, apparently. Or so I was informed by the woman who dressed me. She insisted it was to cling to my entire torso, curvy as it is.

At the moment, I'm cursing the lady under my breath as I examine myself in the mirror hung on the hotel wall. I glare at the back of her head in the reflection, determined to somehow communicate with Satan and convince him to send at least one demon to pester her. Unfortunately, I have no name to go with my foul language; no one knows names in a world like the one I live in.

Mere mortals would call me an assassin or a spy, but I would call myself the Devil's advocate. I'm the alluded-to threat HYDRA uses to... encourage... compliance. And this evening was the time to prove why.

The gun isn't heavy in my hand; I'm all too used to its weight. On the other hand, the blood on my face seems to weigh more than anything I have ever had to carry, despite the fact that it comes from someone so small. Suit, as I had elected to call him, addresses the senator.

"You knew what our wishes were. You knew how well you would be compensated. So why, exactly, did you decide these wishes were not worth your time, senator?" His tone is soft, conversational, but his posture is anything but. Not even as Suit pours himself a drink from the senator's brandy table do his shoulders relax.

I think I'm the only one who really notices though. The senator is too busy crying over the still, crimson-stained form of his daughter. So much red for only one bullet. Suit sips, then turns and flings the crystal glass against the far wall, shattering it.

This prompts the senator to look up, eyes full of tears. Well, if he had really loved the girl, he would have done as he was asked. He was informed of the consequences of obeying and the ones if he did not. Now, he had to deal with them. His own fault.

I sigh, bored. Sushi for dinner? Or pizza? Decisions, decisions. Suit's harsh, demanding voice fades as the scene does.

The sight narrows my vision, the trigger firm against my finger. I breathe in, and out, in, and out. Then, I squeeze the trigger. I hear the glass window break from ten hundred yards away and the bullet thunk into the body of a woman in a purple dress who is up on her toes, mouth open to whisper behind her hand to another woman in a white dress.

Pity, it's a gorgeous dress. And now it has a hole in it. And the white one with red specks (well, now there are red specks) is pretty nice, too. I sigh as I unscrew the silencer. I'm going to need a dress like that for next week. I'm going to see a senator about "unfulfilled obligations." Ooh, sirens. I'd better get out of Dodge...

These dreams really aren't that bad. They showed the uglier side of me, but I would take that over my training days. One never does appreciate the nuances of pain until one has had the pleasure of being trained the way I was.

"And with that thoroughly unpleasant thought, I should probably take a shower." I say as I roll out of bed and stand on the wood floors of my bedroom. The floorboards squeak as I walk across them, something I've always loved. They serve a dual purpose; one, to alert me of "unwanted" guests, (read: frickin' nutsos coming to kill me), and also they remind me of the floors of my aunt's house in LA. She had an avocado tree in her backyard that was great for climbing. On the other hand, some of the floorboards have had bloodstains on them that I mostly got out, but are still kinda discolored. I say it gives the house character.

The warm water in my shower is relaxing, and lulls me into a state of calm that almost convinces me to ignore my phone when it starts beeping. Almost. Instead, I reluctantly turn off the water and dry off, only just managing to catch the phone before it goes to voicemail.