Plot: We’re both spies or assassins currently on the run from local enforcement after the job went wrong. Now, we’re both staking out in a shitty safehouse that doesn’t look like its been touched in a while. @indiestarter
Katerina’s nose scrunched up as she picked up a dusty jar of some pickled food, and she dared to open the thing incase the smell drew any unwanted attention their way. “You’d think with all the money a secret organisation would have, they’d at least hire someone to keep the place liveable.” The young Russian called over her shoulder, setting the jar down and wiped her hand on her trousers. “Don’t suppose you’ve had much luck?”
Absinthe snorted, wiping the dust off their fingers on their pants leg. “Why? In the worst case, most everyone else would be dead and we’d be so thankful as to not notice that most of this food is spoiled.” They sighed, discarding a bag of pretzels. It was better left unmentioned what had gotten into it. Welcome to the nuclear wasteland. Hypothetically of course. All they really had to do was wait a day or two for things to cool down. “No. I’m going to see if there’s beds . . . You can keep looking at the food.”
