i swear,
i'm only cryptic and machiavellian
cause I care.
Agent Lucy Byrne is damn good at her job. She's meticulous, she's cautious, she's stoic and she's so darn smart. But when case upon case begins to remind her more and more of a buried time...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
~🪐~ SEVEN SECONDS Season three, episode five. (3x5) ~🌧~
LUCY BYRNE HAD A FLAIR FOR PATTERNED TIGHTS. Cropped sweater-vests and essentially anything with ribbons on it, she also had an affinity for. She held strong feelings for her ruby flats that stemmed far deeper than simple adoration (she became immensely sour any time they got dirty) and she liked all things bows and glitter (no wonder her and Penelope got along like a house on fire).
Nude colours, modest wear and all things office attire, she thought one thing: ew. Which explained the disgruntled twinge of her normally somewhat doey-eyed face as she stared at herself in her bedroom mirror. She envied Garcia for her ability to weave around the uniform laws of the BAU.
How will people know I'm interesting if I look as exciting as a white-painted wall? Boring, she grumbled, wading her sequin-encrusted brush through her hair, delicately placing a thick black hairband on top. Lucy fawned over shiny shoes, but these black heels, along with the black pencil skirt, she could already envision herself paddling her way about the bullpen of the BAU, much like a penguin.
She click-clacked her way into the bathroom of her dingy one room apartment (she decorated with love as much as she could, but not even that could bring life to such a soulless place of living), and stared in a mirror once more. Bags to carry shopping for a family of ten, the purplish tint below her eyes seemed to have darkened throughout the night. Or perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. But, still, she smeared concealer beneath them, and padded over it with pink fingers.
A lipstick application later—she had recently purchased a one in the shade 'lady danger' which appeased her—the sound of her ringtone (Gavin DeGraw's I Don't Want to Be — her and Penelope avid members of 'Team Jake', JJ an almost indifferent admirer of Lucas. That's a minor ew on Lucy's part) bounced off the walls of the white-tiled room.
"My Luscious Lucy-Loo, you better get your perfect little A down here toot suite, it's absolutely freezing!" The buttery-smooth voice of a one Penelope Garcia rang through, a very welcome wake-up call. With a phone at her ear, she weaved her way through her apartment, glancing out the window as she flung the curtain of her living-room open, the sun glaring down on her. Penelope always seemed to be cold, no matter the weather.
"Aye-aye, cap'n. I'm on route," she grinned sweetly, teeth always on show when Penelope was near. Snatching her keys and her bag, filled heartily with what was necessary and a bunch of useless nothings, she flew out the door.
Car-rides with Penelope were never anything far from comfortable. Amy Winehouse's 'Tears Dry On Their Own' flooded the car, while Lucy applied mascara to her lashes, her bag in her lap, the clutter within clacking together as the car bumped along the road. Most of the ride consisted only of little chatter and humming along with music that played.
