keep your feet on the ground [meg!]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

It was a day where Callen was the only one in the shop - Dmitri was asleep upstairs after Cal had forced him there, he'd looked dead on his feet and Cal didn't have anything to do anyway - and Bay was out with friends - who had come and kidnapped her right after she said that she would keep him company in the shop, even though she didn't have to, and provide whatever level of entertainment she could come up with. The plants had all been watered by Dmitri that morning, and the shop had been cleaned by Bay the previous day. He was bored out of his mind, watching videos on his phone and trying not to lose his mind. It was a slow day - it was muggy and hot outside, and despite the shop providing just the right amount of air conditioning to keep the man happy, he didn't really feel like doing anything but going upstairs and laying on Dmitri's couch and watching whatever Bay had recorded, because daytime television sucked. No one was coming in to buy anything because they were all either in their homes, at pools somewhere, or throwing barbecuing in their backyards. He'd suck it up, however.

Summer had started off with a weird display of weather. He was sure that spring and summer had thought that they could switch just because they wanted to, because summer had started off hot but wet, rain and thunderstorms crashing through the city. He didn't like storms, he didn't like summer, he didn't like anything associated with this time of year, really. He preferred winter - with the snow, the scarves and hats and gloves, the wonderland feel everything had to it. He'd never been in love with holidays, but the Greys had a sort-of way of rubbing off on him during that time of year. They'd go all out, with the decorations and the lights and the presents, and he was invited too because, well, he was family, and he practically lived in their apartment, anyway. The feeling of the heat pressing against the door when someone came in, that then flooded the shop, made him flinch. It was so muggy outside, the air feeling heavy and wet - very weirdly summery. He hated summer. The man that had come in, with his girl on his arm, had a bad attitude. He didn't appreciate the "yo, can you get me some nice flowers for my girl? She likes pink ones." He also didn't appreciate the glare that he got from the girl when he asked them to be more specific.

He didn't have the patience for this. After hurrying them out of the shop as fast as possible, he relaxed against the counter, letting out a deep breath. He hated obnoxious people that came into stores and then treated the people that worked there like crap. If the situation had been reserved, he was sure that they wouldn't have appreciated the unnecessary bad attitude, just as he didn't. But he wouldn't allow himself to be so easily annoyed. In a few hours, he would switch the sign on the door from open to closed, and he would go upstairs, and Bay would probably just be getting home, and he could drag her into watching a movie with him and they could be lame and pop popcorn while Dmitri slept on. He probably wouldn't work up until four or five in the morning, maybe even three, because he went to bed too early. So when Cal went to sleep, Dmitri would just be waking up. Callen shrugged, either way he wouldn't be seeing Dmitri until the next day. He started to fiddle with his phone again, scrolling through his contact list aimlessly and pulling up the internet. He had to find a way to keep himself entertained - he didn't do well when left alone with nothing to occupy his hands.

T A G G E D ? ! meg!
W O R D C O U N T ? ! six seventy three
M U S E ? ! callen is uh ... a very special snowflake we'll just leave it at that
N O T E S ? ! hopefully this is a good enough starter? he's just difficult asyoucansee
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

It was a painfully hot day and Meg didn't think that she could take another moment of it. She was currently laying spread-eagle on the floor of her room of the residental building that the ex-CIA had. It was too hot to lay down anywhere else. Her bed absorbed her heat and threw it back at her, her chair was sticky and uncomfortable, so the floor it was. She turned her head and twisted her back up off the the floor for a moment, feeling beads of sweat drip down. That was not pleasant. Meg quickly laid back down and winced at the feeling of damp sweat coming through her shirt. It was too humid.

Dry heat, she could handle that fine, but today was sticky and humid, and no matter what she did, she could not get cool. Sighing, she rubbed her hands off on her shorts and then started to pull her hair into a bun. Although she didn't really enjoy the hairstyle (it was too severe and Meg felt as though it pulled at the skin on her forehead- never a pleasant feeling), it was the only way that she was going to keep the back of her neck cool. She winced as she touched her hair, feeling the sweat all the way through it. Other people, mildly more sane people, they were probably with their families with wonderful air conditioning systems or in pools. Meg would give anything for a pool or even a tray of ice cubes. A margarita would be nice, too. Margaritas were probably the woman's favorite drink. Icy, sweet, and alcoholic, what more could she wish for? She doubted her ability to be able to find her way to a bar without melting slowly, however, and becoming a puddle on the sidewalk.

It was a quiet day, at least, and she was grateful for that. She didn't have to be running around in the flower bay helping out, as everyone sans a few intrepid customers was at home enjoying that they paid their utilities bills. Meg's face twisted a little bit unconsciously. The apartment complex above the flower bay wasn't ever cool, except in the winter. She experienced a moment of irrational anger before sighing and putting her head back down on the floor.

The dark-haired woman finally mustered the willpower to pull her entire body off the ground. She hoped that the flower bay would be mildly cooler, anything would be better than the room she was exiting. Meg ambled down, and was immediately hit by a blast of cooler air. "Thank the Lord." she whispered to herself before turning her head and resisting the urge to jump as she saw that Callen was at the counter, looking just as bothered by the weather and as bored as she was. She walked over to him, leaning on the edge of the counter. "Did we forget to pay the damn utility bill and the air conditioning got turned off?" she asked dryly, tugging the strap of her tank top back up her shoulder from where it fell. She only knew Callen from sight, but knew that he was one of the co-founders of this entire gig she was in. Meg thought that it was probably a good idea to use her less caustic remarks and not swear, to show respect and all of that. Respect. The word made her cringe ever so slightly.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] Blargh, sorry this took so long. It's not the highest quality, oops. WC=581
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

Callen had snorted as she'd come in, viewing her as entertainment in a form. He'd accept what came his way. When Meg had been visibly relieved at the air conditioning, he'd raised an eyebrow. When she asked about the utility bill, Callen shrugged. "We couldn't cover it this month, we're not made out of money." And then he had a thought. "I have a fan I never use in my apartment, I can drop it off by yours once I close up shop later." He offered. Even though he couldn't stand the heat, he was almost never in his apartment. When he was, he could deal with the heat. Others, however, didn't have the luxury. Maybe they'd be able to afford building-wide air conditioning next month. Not all of the tenants paid rent - especially those that were unemployed, not able to work, or struggling to get back on their feet - and so some months they just had to struggle a bit to make things work. At least they had housing, Callen thought, but then again he was used to worse, and so his standards were a lot less than some of the others.

Another person came into the shop, quickly picking up a pack of flower seeds from a shelf, and putting it down onto the counter. He was a regular, and Callen had eyed Meg before making small talk with the man as he paid. Throwing the packet of flower seeds into a plastic bag, along with the receipt, he told the other man to make sure to keep out of the heat. Getting a nod in return, the man headed out of the shop. They were the easiest - the usual customers. They didn't throw fits and they didn't have bad attitudes - they were familiar with Dmitri - and usually Cal and Bay - and chatted with them as they went about a usual day's business. Callen liked routine. Always had, and today was no different. However, he turned back to Meg. "You're leeching, you know. The least you could do would be to help out. Water the plants. Somethin'." He said, but his tone and bright eyes showed that he was playing. Everything had been done in the shop already anyway, while he'd been searching for something to occupy his time and brain.

Cal didn't know Meg well. He didn't know many of the ex-CIA well. He knew them by sight, or by name. He could fall into easy conversation with any of them, because they all had a past and they all had a common goal that hopefully lead to some good in the future. He knew that things worked differently when you were all soldiers for something, men and women and children, as they'd once been. But they were people too, and relationships were weird when there were elephants in the room. There were very few friendships that he'd managed to maintain, people he'd managed to keep around, and since he didn't have a blood family to speak of, he got it. Then people like Meg walked in, and a simple thing like the misery of heat could have them talking. It was almost laughable, how weirdly simple things could be on top of everything difficult. He blamed the weather for his overactive brain - he didn't usually think so deeply on things so stupid, but he figured that as long as he wasn't saying it out loud, he wouldn't seem crazier than he already was.

T A G G E D ? ! meg!
W O R D C O U N T ? ! six oh one
M U S E ? ! he's hyper? so i guess that's a good thing
N O T E S ? ! hopefully this was good enough xD
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

Meg wiped off sweaty hands onto her tank top, making a face as she lounged against a wall next to some bright red plants. She wasn't sure what they were called- Meg only about very basic flowers that any person off the street would know. Roses, carnations, daisies, that was as far as her knowledge went, not counting poisonous plants- but they were quite lovely. The face twisted a little bit more when the man acknowledged that they were low on money, and indeed, didn't pay the bill.

"Damn," she whistled. "This is incentive for me to try and pick up another job." Meg breathed out a sigh at the thought of that. If necessary, she could probably find work in a cafe as a cashier or something, but her public face wasn't too pretty. Being a waitress and having to cater to the whims of a bunch of overeducated college kids while they were on break was not her idea of a dream job. The dark-haired woman didn't think it was anyone's dream job, and if it was, someone had a particularly low set of values (or, in retrospect, just needed money).

"Maybe it's a conspiracy," she snorted, continuing her train of thought. "Get the nixed spies out into the populace." The Irishwoman was joking, of course, but these days, she wouldn't put it past anyone to wage psychological warfare via utility bill.

Meg went quiet as someone entered the shop, choosing to enjoy the semi-cool (it was still hot, but not as hot as it was upstairs, so she wasn't going to complain) with her eyes closed. She was sure this garnered some odd looks, but couldn't bring herself to care. Customers could wonder all they wanted about the woman lounging in the flower bay in a red tank top and shorts. She wasn't going to move until she absolutely had to. Callen's voice cut through her musings, and she felt herself grin a little at his teasing words.

"Leeching and proud, thank you." she announced, but opened an eye. Meg leaned a little over and poked the soil of one of the red plants she had noticed earlier. It was wet and stuck to her digits. "This one's been watered. My work quota is done."

She winked at Callen, wiping her dirty fingers onto her shorts (her clothes were going to be disgusting by the end of the day, she bemoaned) and walked over to the counter. The other man appeared to be as just as bored as she was, so she thought that even for an antisocial person such as herself, a bit of chatting wouldn't kill her.

She didn't know anyone from the ex-CIA well, so talking to Callen and establishing anything (likes, dislikes, whatever, she thought dismissively) would be a smart move. Meg didn't like talking to people she didn't know, but why the hell not? Callen seemed like a perfectly fine person to talk to for the moment. Maybe it was the heat addling her brains ,or maybe Meg was just lonely. That was an internal laugh, there, as she snickered at the idea of being lonely. Meg was happy by herself, thanks very much. It was one of her flaws and good points, that she could function independently and be fine with that. However, people never really understood that, which didn't help their opinions of her. It didn't matter, though, because she was going to have a conversation willingly, and it was going to be awesome, dammit.

Her witty choice of words weren't as witty as she liked, but she didn't bring herself to care too much. "I'm Irish, I'm not supposed to be this hot," she complained, blaming her heritage and accent for how awful the heat felt.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] And we have Meg trying to be not snarky. WC=600
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

Callen couldn't hold back a snort. "Here, you either work none or you work two," he said. That's what it really seemed like. The ones that could work wanted to keep themselves busy, bury their minds in other areas when they weren't doing something for the CIA. They didn't want to be left alone with their thoughts long enough for them to drag them down. He got that. He bounced around, everywhere really, always looking for something to do or trying to keep himself busy. There was always something to do around here, and it saved his mind from sinking into unhealthy places. The ones that didn't work, couldn't. They couldn't handle it. He got that. There were days when he felt like he couldn't handle things, either, and right after he'd been kicked out of the CIA, he'd felt incapable of doing anything. Especially sleeping, something he loved to do.

"I think that they would have a lot more of a quick way of taking us out, if that's what this is. Something a lot quicker, probably, because even they don't encourage slow torture." He said, not really knowing if he was being sarcastic or not. Maybe his statement was straddling that grey line between sarcasm and meaning what he said. When she checked the plant, he raised an eyebrow. "Oi, the only reason that plant's watered is because I did it myself, your quota is totally not filled. Of course, Dmitri isn't going to catch me saying something like that, or I might get myself skinned." He said, and leaned against the counter in a bored fashion. This was better than being alone, but he still wanted to be doing something else. Something that would keep his brain from wandering. It was too hot for that.

Callen grinned. "I'm Irish, too. Trust me, the only thing that being Irish helps you do is hold your liquor. The heat thing is practically a myth. So is the liquor thing, for some people, actually ..." He said, and then shrugged. He started to fiddle with his phone again, absentmindedly. "Is it me or is this day going a bit too slowly?" He sighed, thinking aloud more than anything. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. He hated days like today, when the heat took over everything, including his brain. The Greys made fun of him for having a short attention span, but it was true. Callen naturally couldn't focus on things for long, had to keep himself doing something, moved from topic to topic even thought. It was just the way he was, how he'd always been. Slow days were like an itch he couldn't scratch, and even though they didn't happen often, they made him want to bang his head into a brick wall. Having company helped, but that didn't mean it took care of the problem completely. He was actually wishing for customers now, if only because the occasional insanity was refreshing on days like today. Though, if he had to deal with any bad attitudes, he might snap ... maybe customers were a bad idea. He started tap his fingers against his phone, then the counter, absentmindedly. Yeah, this day was definitely going slower than usual.

T A G G E D ? ! meg~
W O R D C O U N T ? ! five fifty seven
M U S E ? ! cal's being cal, let's leave it at that
N O T E S ? ! this post is actual crap, and i am so sorry. my brain is just, like a deep fried twinkie right now. next post will be better, i guarantee it
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

Meg let a wry smile cross her face at Callen's words. She had to admit, he was right. There were a few reasons for that, at the very least. The sudden jump from the work-intensive CIA, with their missions and training practically 24/7, to a more civilian-like life was painful for everyone in its own way. Some people felt useless, others felt angry, and still more felt betrayed, useless, just sad. Meg fell in a lot of those groups. She was just getting over the betrayal phase and just sort of infuriated, now, with pity for the children (that's what they were. Meg hadn't felt like a child for the eleven years she had served, but looking back, they were all kids) that were forced to go through the regime. The survivors got busy, as it was frankly painful to go through life with their experience and nothing to look forward to.

Other reasons were simpler, she thought. Money, for instance. "This would be two, then," Meg said, shrugging a shoulder. Being busy was more productive than being sad. It also came with the added plus that they might get air conditioning, and from the way the summer was going, that was going to be a really big plus. Being cool in the summer was always a good thing.

"True, but I'm sure they're pretty pissed at us, none-the-less," she muttered, a bit amused at his tone. Callen seemed a bit more funny (her type of humor, at least) like this. She didn't know him, and therefore tried not to pretend that she did, but he would have seemed like he was much more optimistic than what his words had. Of course, this was probably just an effect of the heat, but she'd take what she got. The co-founder was a source of entertainment, and a decent one at that.

Somewhat ignoring his first words of her "work quota" not being full, she grinned a little bit. "No worries, I won't tell the boss-man about your forcing me to work." Meg hesitated for a second at calling Dmitri that title behind his back to Callen, no less, but decided that it didn't matter. She'd have no issues with calling him "boss" to his face, either. From the impressions she had got, Dmitri didn't seem like the type of guy to get too angry about that type of thing, and neither did Callen. It was mocking in a polite sort of way, and that's just how Meg treated people. "Is there anything I should do, though? Fan you with palm leaves, maybe?" she teasingly waved the leaves of the red plant at Callen, smirking a little.

"Ugh. Amen to that, brother," Meg groaned, moving her hands so that she could lean against the counter a little bit more comfortably. Her hands stuck due to sweat, and slid with a squeak, to her displeasure. The slow day and the heat combined made the day seem as though it was slowly sinking into hell. This and the fairly laid back conversation she had been having with the man made her stop pretending (well, not pretending, more or less attempting to hide) the fact that she could be painfully sarcastic and or flippantly casual to any and everyone.

It had got her in plenty of trouble in her later teen years from the CIA officials, who apparently found it angering that a seventeen year old could tell them to do things that were anatomically impossible with no fear. In retrospect, maybe that's why they threw us out when we were twenty, we were too world savvy and a little bit too dangerous, she thought with a sigh.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] Polite, respectful chatting? Nope. XD WC=636
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

"Of course they'd be pissed at us. Good thing they don't know who they're looking for or where to look then, huh?" He asked, with a half smirk playing across his lips. He couldn't help it. The fact that the CIA could be so obtuse sometimes amused him more than he could ever put into words. The CIA had taken a long time to figure out that their missions were even being botched - over a year - and they were still searching for who was responsible. Fordham was quicker on the uptake, but thought that it was the CIA getting better at doing their job. Really, they were playing the middleman. It was almost stupidly funny, in the way that they could sit back once in a while and watch as everything exploded. They were almost invisible in some cases. Cal knew that wouldn't last for long, however, since both organizations were out looking for a third party. Maybe they'd woken up and smelled the coffee, or something of the sort. Cal wouldn't past one smart person getting everyone to get off their asses and think for a moment. The more intelligent ones, of course - they wouldn't want to lose men by getting them to actually use their brains and then hurting something in the process.

Cal looked thoughtful for a second. "Boss-man ... hope you won't mind me using that," he said with a wink in her direction. Dmitri disliked any comments towards his status, nicknames included, and who would Callen be if he didn't poke a little fun at Dmitri every day? It was his duty as a best friend/brother, one that he took very seriously, and probably enjoyed just a bit too much. When she asked if there was anything she should do, he paused and put on a pondering face. "Feeding me with grapes would also be an acceptable alternative," he said, putting on a posh accent. "Though if you really wanted to get some fanning action on, you'd need actual palm leaves. I doubt those tiny ones are good for anything but lookin' pretty." He couldn't help it, the image of the Egyptians - or were they the Greeks? - that sat back in their long chairs being fanned with giant palm leaves while being fed with grapes and other fruits while they got foot massages and surrounded by beautiful women had appeared in his head. That would've been a good life, he thought abstractly. Things must've been so much simpler then, in whatever period that had been. He'd never paid much attention in whatever class that was - history, maybe?

"You sure gave 'em hell, huh?" He asked, after a long look at her. "Not my place to speak, but I'm pretty used to speaking when I shouldn't," he said with a careless grin. His mouth could get him into trouble just as easily as it could get him out of trouble. It had gotten him far in the CIA, but it had gotten the crap beaten out of him in missions that had gone wrong and ended up in his capture. He didn't know when to turn it on, and when to turn it off. It controlled itself really, and he was just along with the ride. His brain worked the same way. He, however, could see a bit of himself in Meg. Though there was not much of an age difference, a year if any, he saw that her sarcasm gland was probably bigger than it should be, and he knew how that could easily work against an agent as much as it could help them. Being a smart-ass was a full time job, he could say that from experience.

T A G G E D ? ! meg~
W O R D C O U N T ? ! six thirty four
M U S E ? ! he just exploded iunno
N O T E S ? ! i don't think they could be polite or respectful if their skin depended on it, omg
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

"Nothing's changed there." she commented on the CIA's ineptitude. This was definitely a point of hilarity to Meg. If you screwed up one of their missions, they'd start running around and pointing fingers, causing much more damage to their own side than to anyone else. Fordham or not-actual-moles who were framed for a scapegoat were the usual ones the blame was put on. It was funny, that the CIA hadn't considered that the agents that they had thrown out coldly had grouped together. It made complete sense, as everyone would have a binding factor of varying degrees if hatred towards their "parent" agency. "I swear, it's sad how blind they can be, both Fordham and the CIA." It's like they expected us to sit and cry, or something, rather than do something.

To their credit, though, they were starting to suspect. That was going to make the entire ex-CIA's job that much harder, they'd have to start really being careful about information and which missions to botch. Meg had some faith in the decision making skills that Dmitri and Callen had, she had to, because she had learned the same as them how the two other agencies worked, but all in all, she'd prefer to know what tactics they were employing. It was another reason the CIA hated her, Meg preferred to call her own shots when she got older and more experienced. They liked their spies blind, and Meg came in doing 360 degree aerial scans of whatever situation they were putting her in since she was sixteen.

"Knock yourself out," she replied, smiling at the wink. "Feel free to tell him copyright Meg, 2012." It seemed as if she was right about her assessment with Callen. This definitely rose him up a few lines in her book. If he could take casual jokes at the (slight) expense of others, especially his friends, Meg could chat with him more often. She was sarcastic and poked fun at everyone. It wasn't personal, not at all, but if someone couldn't handle that, she was just going to leave you alone, it wasn't worth her time to be associated with you.

"Would rose oil be an acceptable substance for your back massage at four o'clock?" Meg asked with a mock curtsy, pulling at the material of her shorts like it was a skirt. "Or maybe coconut oil. Keeps the Irish skin nice and lily white." She was sorely tempted to reach out and pinch his cheek or something, but decided against it. She wasn't that comfortable with him, yet, and he might karate chop her arm off. Meg didn't want to get into a little scuffle just because of an awkward gesture. It was much too hot for even moving, let alone the motion necessary to fight. She wondered why she was even thinking about touching someone else she didn't know well's body willingly, and attributed it to the heat.

Meg grinned a little at him. "Hell and then some. They hated me the last few years," she said, feeling rather proud of that fact. Despite all of the punishment the CIA had dealt her (she was sure that they were responsible for setting off fire crackers in the middle of the night that triggered a major panic attack) for her "insubordination", it had been worth it. A few snide words, drop a title here or there, and the knowledge that it infuriated them that she didn't care that they practically owned her, and it was only a little surprise, that they had dropped her as hard as they did. She had been literally dropped off with a box of her possessions in the middle of the city after her twentieth birthday. Her last words (before she burst into semi-hysterical tears, but Meg was repressing that) were a cheery wavy to the driver and something along the lines of,"Tell the sirs and ma'ams I'm glad they worked out their daddy issues! It's been a long time coming!"

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] Yeah, they wouldn't last five minutes. WC=690
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

Callen nodded, and then shrugged. "They don't expect the little guys to fall into line against them. They think that they can use and abuse us, and then toss us away like yesterday's trash, and that we'd do nothing but sit back and cry about it. But that just goes along with their stupidity. If you're taught to fight your entire life, what do you do in reaction to anything? You fight. You'd think that they had enough wise asses on staff to figure that out," he said, moving his phone from hand to hand absentmindedly. "Fordham's a whole different story. They're just some arrogant s.o.bs that think they can get away with everything. That's different than being genuinely stupid." He said. Callen had run this through his head a thousand times. The ex-CIA hadn't been something that had happened on a whim. It had taken time, effort, and they were still working. They'd never stop working, really. Cal expected that he and Dmitri had it in their blood by now, that they had to win, that they had to accomplish something. Stopping wasn't an option. That thought was a lingering one, even on a hot day like today, one that was ever-present even if he wasn't acting on it.

Cal snorted. "I'll get you a patent for it." Cal wasn't a serious type, either. He never had been, really. There were few things that caused Callen to be serious, and he could probably count them using both hands, having a few fingers left. He didn't think that being serious was the answer to everything. Sometimes, he couldn't take things seriously, or he wouldn't be able to function. If everything was easy, if everything was light, he was able to cope better. Maybe not "cope", but deal. Manage. Try. He didn't think his coping mechanisms were good at all, he'd been told that more than once, but they worked, right? Isn't that all he could ask for? He wasn't really the demanding type, so it worked. When she made the Irish crack, he chuckled. "Coconut. I'm a tan clover - lilies are over-rated. Plus it smells better." He winked.

He snorted. "I can see why." The CIA had never liked Callen. He had never been afraid to bend a few rules. He did what he needed to get the job done. He'd never been the best moral compass, and thought that anyone that followed protocol to the letter must not have had too high of a success rate. If it came to anyone close to him, especially Dmitri, the words 'rule' and 'protocol' didn't even register in his mind. He did what he had to do, end of story, consequences be damned. He planned things out and he kept his head in situations, and he wasn't impulsive - per se. His psychologist had called it "controlled impulsivity" - his brain allowed him to be impulsive to a point, and he couldn't go past that point. However, Callen had made his mark by having a high success rate, and having a high success rate was something that was more valuable than a lot of things. The CIA wanted agents that could get the job done, that could do that and return alive. Since Callen had done both, he had been tolerated, his personality not accepted, but his field work appreciated. Never praised. The word 'praise' didn't exist in the CIA. You didn't get it from your handlers, you didn't get it from peers, you really got nothing. They were created to be weapons, machines, and what did inanimate objects get out of praise? Nothing. It was more than sick, in his [non-important] opinion. "They never liked me, though I had a shorter stay than quite a few of my co-workers," he said with a short shrug. He'd been in the CIA for four years, four years too many, in his opinion. However, there were some of them that had been there for ten years, some eleven, and he understood completely why they were the ones that stayed in their rooms and made minimal social calls. He would be close to doing the same thing if he was in their position, really.

T A G G E D ? ! meg~
W O R D C O U N T ? ! seven thirty four
M U S E ? ! i'm forcing it oopss
N O T E S ? ! five? try one? omg
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

Meg smiled a little and gestured to Callen, doing a little mock bow as if presenting him to a group of people for their appreciation. "Thank you, Mr. O'Connor, for being another voice of reason in this screwed up world." she was actually being half-serious, too. Even though it was good for the ex-CIA and all that the CIA didn't expect them to fight- and she supposed they had some reason; despite everything, it was particularly crushing to be nixed, or at least it was in Meg's case.

It was like the world was pulled out from under your feet, you had all of this training but nothing translated into the ability to get a job, you had no purpose. Meg was amazed that they didn't rule out the possibility of a bitter trained agent going against them. "If I was in their position, I would at least send out people to keep a freakin' eye on the recently nixed kids, I mean, Christ-" she stopped herself there, rolling her eyes. "Thank God I'm not CIA, then. It would mean a lot of crap for us if they let the people with common sense in higher ranks."

She nodded when Cal talked about Fordham, leaning a hand on the counter. "Yeah. Fordham, we actually have to be careful about, if they stop blaming the CIA for everything."

Meg's coping mechanisms were numerous, she was sure of it, but she tried not to think about it too much. Being generally prickly and anti-social generally helped her out, and so that was how she stayed. She didn't ever really like people too much, save a handful, and that handful who got past the cynical and or mildly violent tendencies were the ones she legitimately wanted around her as friends and allies. "Think you can get me a doctorate while you're at it? I've always wanted to have one of those little plaque things, 'Dr. Megan Butler, Ph.D'," Meg described, smiling faintly.

She snorted, actually snorted, at the quip about coconut oil. Callen was definitely an interesting one. "Tan? I wish. I just burn, like a freakin' vampire or something, if I don't use SPF eight million." Meg had learned that on a few nasty summer missions. Her handler had reluctantly helped her smear aloe vera on her back and shoulders and got her some pain meds when she got sun-sick, but told her that she should have known better. Being sun-sick was awful. She shuddered to herself at the memories that were dredged up. She never would have guessed that enough exposure could lead to both the worst sunburn ever and also to a fever and vomiting. Meg had gotten no pity from her handlers, even though she couldn't have been older than fourteen.

Meg had never done well with authority. Rules were more like guidelines, like a certain pirate in a movie had said. She found every single way to get through the rules that the CIA had set up, simply because she didn't like the pressure they put her in and to show them that she wasn't their toy. The second objective was a bit useless because in all reality, Meg had been their toy, and there was nothing she could do about it. Loopholes became her game, as did telling her officials how much she disliked them and their rules to their faces. Meg went through quite a few passive-aggressive stages, as well, which didn't endear her to anyone in the agency. The entire idea of an hierarchy and protocol and a way to do something didn't appeal to her. There was only so much that protocol could cover, only so many rules you could make, and she didn't want a supervisor looking at her every move and punishing her for things that were "unnecessary" but in the situation, completely necessary. Her success rate was high, but with the way she was dragged kicking and screaming whenever she was told to do something she didn't like (a few times quite literally, but that was when she was being a child, Meg thought a bit petulantly), the CIA only barely tolerated her.

"You weren't a good kid, either, were you?" she asked before he answered. She nodded, having expected it. Callen didn't seem the type to go with the strict "flow" of the CIA. She took a breath out, whistling a bit. "I was there for, oh, ten years. Trust me, you weren't missing much. Be grateful," she said wryly. Meg found it to be pointless to lock herself in her room, away from the world, instead throwing her efforts into a new purpose. Purpose was better for her than just sitting there.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] yeah. they'd have to be silent to last five minutes. WC=806
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

Callen snorted, and offered a bow of his own. "You're quite welcome, Ms. Butler. Thank you for recognizing and agreeing with a voice of common sense, it shows that you are also one." He couldn't remove the smirk from his face. He nodded when she said that she was glad that she wasn't CIA. "If we were in charge of them, and they were in our position, we'd hunt them down like dogs and keep them tracked for the rest of their natural lives. They wouldn't be able to pull off anything. However, that's not the case, and we have free reign. Let's be thankful for small mercies." He said. If the CIA grew a brain, any one of them, the ex-CIA would be in trouble. It was a good thing that they were too overpaid, some too overworked, the majority of them just over stupid, to figure things out. He wondered how the US had one of the best defense systems in the world. It couldn't have anything to do with it's intelligence agency. It had to be the army and military. That was just his opinion, though he knew that, while the CIA was stupid, they were smart enough to recruit good, capable people. Maybe that's why they hadn't had a breakdown yet, and were actually a semi-capable organization.

He nodded, fiddling with his phone. If Fordham stopped assuming that it was the CIA that was responsible for what was going on, then they were in deep trouble. Fordham was smarter than the CIA. They'd go searching, track people down, look for answers. They'd know there was a third party in play, and go looking. The ex-CIA needed to be a bit more established, dole out a bit more damage, before they could deal with having a major organization like Fordham on their asses. They didn't need to worry about the CIA. Not at the moment, anyway. Even if Fordham did find them, they wouldn't know where to go looking, and all the ex's would have to do was be a bit more careful in the field. It would also be a good thing if it was Fordham that figured it out first, if only because the CIA would spread their knowledge and use other resources to take them down, while Fordham would want to do it themselves. It would probably take longer if the latter were the ones looking. This had all been figured out. He and Dmitri had spent hours, throwing the ball back and forth, worrying about safety and their own capabilities among other things like efficiency and what they themselves could do to stay hidden and underground. "We do." He agreed simply.

He snorted when she said that he should get her a doctorate while he was at it. "I'm not that magic. Besides, I could barely make it out of high school, and that one was probably all up to the boss-man and his super brain powers," he said. "Having ones of those plaque thingies would be really cool, though." He said. He laughed when she said that she burned. "This is me when I'm not in the sun. I get a lot darker when I've been in it too long. That's why I don't usually hang out in the sun. If I use SPF-anything, I tan even faster. It's the exact opposite of everything Irish." he said with a smirk. He shrugged when she asked, repeating himself. "It's not that I challenged them. It's that I knew what I was doing, and if they thought I didn't, I went ahead and proved that I did anyway. I did what I knew I needed to do. I wasn't a good foot soldier. They didn't like that." He shuddered a bit when she said she'd been in the CIA for ten years. He couldn't imagine that. "I was there a bit over four." He didn't mention that he stayed past his twentieth birthday, even if it was for only a few months. He didn't mention that he'd only gotten that bit of 'luxury' because he and Dmitri had been kicked out together, and Dmitri was younger than him. He didn't mention any of that. They were co-workers, and they had the same goals, but that didn't mean that they'd get to share life stories as they cried over cartons of Ben and Jerry's. That wasn't how he worked. Instead, he pretended like even he didn't know that, that even he hadn't figured out that that was what happened and why it happened, and he shoved it to the back of his brain, because it wasn't something he liked to think about, much less say out loud.

T A G G E D ? ! meg~
W O R D C O U N T ? ! eight twenty eight
M U S E ? ! should be like a ghost in a haunted house, and appear more often
N O T E S ? ! which is impossible. if they lost their voices, it might be possible, though?
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

She laughed a little at Callen's "formal speech" as he mimicked her tones back at her. It was definitely nice to find a fellow person with a decent sense of humor in the ex-CIA. Meg hadn't really met anyone else who had a sense of what was funny that even vaguely corresponded with hers until she started this conversation with Callen. She was glad that she had actually braved the heat to move to the flower bay, both for the cool air and now for the company.

"Exactly. Keep an eye on the dangerous trained individuals who you just took a home and job away from-" she rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest with a soft snort of derision. "I'm definitely glad for the small things, sure." The CIA had its strength in knowing who was a good person to recruit. They didn't take people from bad backgrounds who would easily defect or cause them more trouble than what they wanted (of course, they couldn't predict the future. If they did, Meg wasn't sure that they would have actually taken her. Her success rate was high, but she wasn't the easiest person for them to order when she got older and wiser). Fordham had the entire brutality thing going for them, while the CIA was more of the subtle malleability type. They were good at being vicious little puppets, but their leaders themselves? She rolled her eyes again.

Indeed, if Fordham knew of their existence, at the moment, the ex-CIA would be a little less than royally screwed. She thought that for a few months, they'd probably be fine, they could still drop off the radar enough so that Fordham would just look to the CIA again to point fingers. If not, though, Fordham would be relentless in tracking down the rogues and crushing them slowly. Meg made a tiny face at the thought. Life would not be pleasant for them in that particular mean-time. Fordham was slower due to that they were more of a "lone wolf" agency than the CIA, who would use all of their resources that they could to track down the people in the flower bay. She wasn't sure which one she would really prefer, in the end. The CIA were more easily fooled, but if they were found out, revenge would be swift. Fordham was easily suspicious, but they could probably go under cover faster than they could find them.

"Hopefully it will never get that far," Meg muttered, trying to sound a bit optimistic despite herself. It was likely that eventually, one or both of the organizations would find them out, but they could wish. As soon as they packed up a bit more power, it was likely that they'd be fine.

Meg let out a soft huff of amusement as Callen referred to Dmitri as "Boss-man" again, telling her about high school. "I'm sure we can find some metalgraver who doesn't ask too many questions." Meg had been thrown into the CIA version of high school, which wasn't really high school, no matter how they tried to pretty it up. It was, as she would expect, spy-training school. She had to say, though, she expected Dmitri to be fairly intelligent, even if she didn't know him personally. It made sense that their leader would have plenty smarts, and it set her at ease a little to know that according to Callen, he did.

"Ach, that's unfair," she grimaced and smirked a little despite herself. "I got the worse part of the genes of Ireland. At least I'm not a redhead, they apparently go bald." The dark-haired woman raised her arms in a questioning gesture. She wasn't actually one hundred percent sure if that was true, she just remembered reading it somewhere. Despite the "allure" of red hair, Meg was perfectly happy with not having that particular gene. It called just a little bit more attention than darker hair did, and she did not live for attention.

Meg wasn't exactly for the entire sharing of life stories, but she did enjoy a good tale of pissing of the CIA. She was a private person and enjoyed her privacy very much, thank you, goodbye, but it still made her smile a little to know that the organization that seemed so very godlike and infallible when they were all part of it had its breaking points and could very well snap. It boosted her morale a little, and she saw no harm in that. Strengthened the in-group bonds, etc. "Yeah, I got sent on a leaky mission when I was sixteen and realized that they didn't always control everything. Typical situation where I got wise and used that against them, and they didn't like it." Meg shrugged, not adding too many other details. There was no point in reliving that awful mission. She still got nightmares, even six years later.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] Even then, they'd roll their eyes and gesture sarcastically. WC=841
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

When it came to thinking about anything happening to the ex-CIA, Cal didn't like to do it. He knew that he and Dmitri had to for safety measures and other practical reasons, but other than that, he didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about literally having no direction to go in. The ex-CIA gave himself something to work towards, to work for. He knew that he was doing something, something he considered good, and that was enough to keep him going. He didn't know what he'd do if he didn't have that. That was why they had started it, Dmitri and him, to not only better the lives of the children that would've been recruited, to make it so that they could have regular, normal, civilian lives, but also so that they would have something to do, so that they didn't feel like they had been left helpless by the CIA. That was the immediate feeling, that under water, drowning, I-need-to-get-above-the-surface feeling, and no matter what you did you couldn't get rid of it, at least he couldn't. Then he had shoved himself into shifts at the Flower Bay, starting up the ex-CIA, and he had a purpose again. It had been something. It hadn't been healthy and it hadn't been the best thing he could've done, but he knew that he couldn't ever be a civilian again. Once they saw that side of the life, they knew what lurked in the dark, it was impossible to just return to the simple mindset of the-authorities-can-handle-it. He didn't really understand how he'd had that mindset in the first place, especially with all of the issues he'd had even before being recruited to the CIA. "Hopefully."

"You know, thinking about it, I might actually know one..." he said, and rubbed at his non-existent beard in a thoughtful manner. Truth was, he wished he knew one, because having matching plaques that showed off their non-existent doctorates would've been kind-of cool. One day, when they were up in big offices, they could put them there and say that they got them 'back in the day', and feel all cool. He held back a snort. Who was he kidding. Big offices? They couldn't even get their building to have central air conditioning. It was good to dream, though, right? That was what people said, at least. That dreams kept you from going backwards, and all that crap. He didn't really know. When she mentioned her Irish genes, he snorted. "If you'd like, we could switch. But yeah, I've heard the same thing? Plus, redheads get called soulless all the time. Maybe it's a good thing that we escaped being redheads?" He chuckled. "I'd take being a redhead over being an easy tanner."

Callen was honestly surprised when Meg shared a CIA story of her own. A lot of the ex-CIA didn't like talk about their experiences with the agency, and he completely understood that. He didn't like doing that, either. He didn't like talking about his past in general, really, and wasn't afraid of using his smooth talking skills to turn the conversation around and back on the other person. He'd done it more times than he'd like to admit, and that was when he wasn't on any business - when he'd been in the CIA, and dealing with the ex's. "I was on an op where my partner was taken, and they wanted me to finish the op, instead of going after him. I basically took control of the op and lead the team to find him. I brought everything to a halt, basically, to make sure that he was okay." Callen had offered, before he knew it. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, really, he'd only been thinking about one of the times that things had gone so very wrong when he and Dmitri had been part of the CIA. He hadn't said that it had been Dmitri, however. He didn't want to breach Dmitri's privacy like that. He hadn't even meant for it to come out, really. He hadn't given details, and they were all a team, right? Part of the same organization working together to get the same goal accomplished. He didn't know why he felt a little bit guilty, however. He didn't even talk about things to Dmitri, really they just let things go like water under the bridge, or they connected wordlessly because after being like brothers for so long they knew what the other one was thinking, so something like that popping out of his mouth made it feel wrong, almost. "They don't like it when they're not in charge. They hate others getting the better of them. It's a power complex." He said with a grimace.

T A G G E D ? ! meg~
W O R D C O U N T ? ! eight fifty five
M U S E ? ! is coffee fueled, woo
N O T E S ? ! they'd literally sign and gesture at each other, omg.
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.

[MEGAN ALICE BUTLER]

( I D O I T E V E R Y T I M E Y O U R E K I L L I N G M E N O W )
&& i won't be D E N I E D by you
/ / the A N I M A L inside of you / / - - - - - - -

When Meg had been feeling particularly down when she was younger, she often thought about life as a civilian. It had to be easier than the CIA, she reasoned to herself. Civilians didn't have to worry about anything in particular. They didn't have to worry about dying on missions. They didn't have to go on missions, for God's sake, they went to high school and college and maybe got in trouble with the law once or twice, and they had simple lives with lots of grocery shopping. Except on her lowest lows, she hadn't wanted that. Meg fancied herself above all of that, a sort of protector of the civilians. She knew more, she was better than them, she worked harder, lived better. That's what the CIA enforced, anyways.

As soon as she'd been nixed, all of those ideas were crushed. She was left with a sense of disembodiment. Meg had been doing so much, and it was all just torn away from her (and from countless other agents on their twentieth birthdays). Purpose was trained into them and when that purpose, which she had personally been serving for a little over ten years, was ripped away, they were left floundering. Civilians did have it hard. They may have an easier time not getting killed, but all of the work that the CIA did was what affected them. They didn't have anything to do (which was a lie, really, but for Meg, there was nothing). The CIA left their former agents with nothing, no degrees, they were nonexistent. There were no jobs for the qualifications and shell shock the CIA gave.

That was the reason the ex-CIA really existed, she guessed, or at least one of them. They were trying to take down their former organization, and any other organizations that were using children for their work, but it gave purpose again. It gave the young adults something to do besides sit there and grieve, and it gave them a roof. Meg felt a corner of her mouth quirk up. Purpose was more important than what most people would give credit for.

"Sweet. That can be a complimentary gift, then, to all of our people. A fake Ph.D plaque." Meg snorted, grinning at that idea. They could plaster the apartments with the fake papers and corresponding plaques, and hopefully no questions would be asked by curious civilians. Meg entertained the idea for a few more seconds before dropping it. It was definitely amusing, though, and "Dr. Megan Butler" did have a certain ring to it. It wasn't as if they could even afford it.

"I'm not even a redhead, and some people call me soulless," she chuckled a bit darkly, rolling her eyes. Yeah, Meg wasn't exactly the kindest woman, and she would fully admit that she could get very grumpy if someone was annoying her enough (which was honestly a lot of people most of the time). She was known for her sharp tongue and her knee-jerk reaction to sass any authority figures, usually not to her benefit. It didn't mean that she was soulless, though. Any person who saw her with a cat when she thought no one was looking wouldn't ever say that she didn't have a soul. "I think they're just jealous of my creamy complexion, or maybe my boobs."

Meg found no issues in sharing stories of her past (even if she hated when other people went on "long rambles about something inane", which were usually short anecdotes when she was buying things from salespeople that Meg turned her mind off as soon as she saw) even if it was a bit dark. The CIA was in the past, no matter how awful it was, and by accepting that, she couldn't be too intimidated by it. No need to brood on unchangeable things. That's what someone said on TV, at least, and Meg accepted the line of thought. It sounded potentially effective.

Meg nodded at Callen's thought. "They wanted a bunch of puppets. Highly trained puppets, but they wanted to be able to make us dance for them." Meg winced and shrugged, pulling the strap of her tank top up when it fell down her shoulder at the motion. "I guess that's why they nixed us when we were twenty, that's when some of us started questioning it all. Before that, even." She didn't really want to get too in-depth into the CIA's mentalities and ideas because this was a casual conversation, and trying to understand a bunch of God-complex fueled people (there were so many words that Meg wanted to use, and people was a loose definition of them, in her eyes) just begged to make trouble. She supposed that they'd have to at some point in order to mess them up, but right now, she was content with putting it out of her mind.

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[/center]

-- tagged:[/b][/i] Callen!
-- outfit:[/b][/i] Tank top, shorts
-- notes:[/b][/i] omg if they'd ever met each other in the cia... WC=828
-- lyrics:[/b][/i] Animal - Neon Trees
-- credits:[/b][/i] LikeAStariNight @ Caution 2.0[/size]

[CALLEN MICHAEL O'CONNOR]

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND WHEN YOUR HEAD'S IN THE CLOUDS WELL GO GET YOUR
SHOVEL AND WE'LL DIG A DEEP HOLE TO BURY THE CASTLE WELL

When Callen had first been recruited to the CIA, he'd thought it was fantastic. He'd thought that he was going to be helping people, and in his sixteen year old mind, he'd thought he'd be saving the world. He'd get all the Bond girls and he'd get to wear a fancy tux and shoot automatic machine rifles and jump out of sixty foot tall buildings only to land on a helicopter, to be swept off into the night like a mysterious hero. Safe to say, none of that had happened. The more he'd thought about it, when he'd still been in the CIA and figured out that the way he'd imagined things wasn't the way they were going to go, he'd started to think back to life in high school. He'd been on top then, but Dmitri hadn't. He wondered what would've happened if they'd stayed. He wondered if Dmitri and him would've still remained friends, he wondered if he would've been able to lend a hand in protecting his best friend against the bullies that tortured him on a daily basis. When he'd been kicked out of the CIA, he'd figured out that whatever would've happened then would've been better than this. He wished he'd never been recruited. Callen didn't think about the misery of being in the system, or anything of the sort, because the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' had never been more relevant until that very moment. Now, he didn't really know what he wanted, other than what was in front of him. He didn't think to the past because there was nothing he could change, and torturing himself would get him nowhere.

"Hey, my contact is good enough that it won't look fake. No one but us will be any wiser," he said with a wink. "Civilians are gullible enough to believe whatever they see, as long as it looks real. It'd be perfect." He couldn't help but snort at her 'soulless' comment. "I've been called soulless before, but the people calling me such were being hypocrites, so I never took it to heart," he said with a shrug. When higher ups in the CIA called you soulless, it was almost like it was a joke. They were soulless themselves - grey, bleak people that never seemed to show any emotion. Maybe that's why they handed out the ops, and people that could actually act human carried them out. Then again, Callen was of the opinion that they were all robots, and so he didn't think that it would be too easy for a robot to act like a human. Wasn't that why they were a whole different mechanical species? "... Your creamy complexion, or your boobs. Seems legit." He said, unable to even sound serious.

Callen couldn't bring himself to talk about the past. He was almost physically incapable, really. There was too much that had happened, too much that he'd buried, to go dredging up. Maybe it was because his life hadn't exactly been a piece of sweet apple pie before he'd been recruited to the CIA. Maybe it was because he just felt like he would be getting nothing accomplished talking and reliving things that had already happened, that he couldn't fix, that he couldn't change. Callen had always been a proactive person, and that meant that he just kept moving forward, because if he didn't, he'd get stuck. From there, he'd only go backwards. He couldn't allow himself to do that, no. So he didn't talk about it. He pretended like almost all of it hadn't happened, that it was all one really, really long, elaborate, nightmare. That was easier. It didn't induce real nightmares. "The thing is, when it comes to highly trained puppets, we have brains of our own. Isn't that what helps us to be so highly trained? It was only a matter of time that someone stood up and said, hey, we can work together to make sure that this doesn't happen. We can get justice. But as usual, they add two and two up to make five, and miss the real answer completely." He sighed. It was good for them, however, but sometimes it just made him want to bang his head against something hard. "I didn't question anything until after Dmitri and I had already been kicked out. It wasn't even a thought in my mind. I guess that was a bit more than naive." He said. Then, he hadn't had even the slightest reason to think about leaving. Everything had seemed good in the beginning, and even when the look of things had been sullied by reality breaking and entering into his positive outlook, things hadn't looked as bad as 'you're only going to be here for four years'.

T A G G E D ? ! meg~
W O R D C O U N T ? ! eight forty five
M U S E ? ! is everywhere and nowhere at the same time
N O T E S ? ! lmfao omg, that would've been so interesting. talk about explosive.
C R E D I T ? ! graphic credit goes to tina bby ! of caution two point oh. lyric credit goes to paramore with their amazing song brick by boring brick.