Realistic or Modern 𝗜𝗡 𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗔 - 𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥

[mother of sorrows]

 

[mother of sorrows]

​

It is the anniversary of the young couple's death.

It's been a whole year. 12 months of questions, of tension between the two families; nothing has been solved, no killer found. The tentative peace is still holding on, with the no Adamski or Avancini ending it officially. It would take a fool to think this is trust - no, this is not allyship. This is two pack of wolves staring at each other from separate hills, waiting for the other to attack. Their peace is fragile at best, but it's still here.

They're joining together today, to remember the young family lost to the fire. A small gathering has been arranged at a private hall in the nicer part of town, reserved for this occasion. The members are expected to mingle, followed by a small lunch - and a formal ceremony, with a few words from the mourners.

Tension is heavy, even for a show of peace. Probably every member still remember the letter that arrived at each family's HQ only a month after the house fire, no return address attached.

'Somebody you trust has already betrayed you. The rest will follow,' it said. That's a warning, one that might be cashed in at any moment.

A bit disturbing to think the killer is still out there, is it not?

Details ;;

Time/Weather: 11:40. Rainy, 64 F.

NPCS:

Melissa Zhao. Sister of Louisa, here to mourn. Not an Avancini member, she nonetheless was a passing presence in the family. While not exactly friends with anybody, she often talked to Avancini members. Truly a sad sight she is today - an unnatural paleness is hiding beneath her skin, paired with dark circles under herred-rimmed eyes. She's standing by a corner, clutching a handkerchief - and fliching when an Adamski comes too close. She looks nervous - perhaps there's something on her mind?

Laz Novomest. Best friend of Andrej. A soldier for the Adamski, from a smaller family - a distant cousin to the main Adamski family. He's only recently came out of sick leave, swearing up and down that the Avancini have something to do with the couple's death. His arm is in a cast, accident during a job. He's by the drink table, looking like an angry hound - he's been glaring at any Avancini that enters for a while now. He looks in a bad mood indeed. Did something happen?

 

[mother of sorrows]

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  how he's feeling...

  
  
  
  

  things could always be worse.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what he's wearing...

  
  
  
  

  keeping it classy.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where he's at...

  
  
  
  

  private hall.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  open.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

emilio

the empress

It was a dark, rainy day in Saint's Heights.

Water poured from the heavens above as if deep in mourning, washing away what little color there is in this city. Fog, thick and gray, clung shyly to the streets even when the sun protested weakly from behind heavy clouds. Outside, the city bustled; the rich and famous watched from their mansions on the hills, safe behind fences and guards. The not-so-rich yelled, walked, laughed across the streets, always something going on in the entertainment district. The rest were at work or sleeping off a shift, tucked under blankets.

Another person died somewhere. Another person climbed to power unknown. That's how the ecosystem of this city worked - the ever-shifting structure here is as natural as breathing at this point.

The day was as dark as any day here, but Emilio would argue today is even darker if you're an Avancini.

It's been exactly one year since Andrej and Louisa have met their ends.

The anniversary came faster than Emilio expected; with the shock of Stephan still fresh in the air, the rush of taking over in the span of a night, and stress of trying to keep the Avancinis from falling apart at the seams, a year passed in the blink of an eye. These past months have felt like a fever dream, something to wake up from any moment now. It seemed unreal - Louisa was gone and so was Stephan, and all that was left in their wake was a gaping hole of dread. A member, alongside their boss, gone in the snap of a finger.

Emilio still isn't sure that he's fully accepted it. Stephan, the man who has led them for more than a decade, is suddenly shot dead. No assassin found, with not even a hint of who might have done it. Their enemies were many and without anybody knowing who did it, they would have to turn over the whole city to figure this shit out. Something they couldn't afford to do, not with the state of things as they are.

He remembers the call he got on that fateful night. The showing of the body. The funeral. And yet, some part of his brain fights still against reality; that Stephan isn't truly dead. That, at any moment now, he'll pad back into the office and ask if they missed him. That he'll give that painfully familiar grin to everybody. Pat Emilio on the head and say, 'I'll take it from here, kid.' And then things can go back to what they were, with Emilio being the right-hand man building his own foundation.

That moment never comes, no matter how much Emilio desperately longs for it.

He hasn't had the chance to ask the others what they make of this, yet. Of course they talked - some conversations more tearful than others. But they haven't really talked. About the terrifying, looming feelings they all have right now. About where to go from here, about fear for the uncertain future. It's not that Emilio is opposed to it, but the crippling weight of work hit him full force after he took over - and work always took first place with Emilio. He's hardly been out of his office, too busy with calls and bargains and sending hit after would-be hitmen aiming for his throat. That's a new change; suddenly, everybody decided Emilio is important enough to be killed. He's not quite sure if he should be flattered or terrified. Probably both in equal measure.

Taking over hasn't been easy, and he doubts the pressure will let up anytime soon. Sleep doesn't come often and even when it does, it's plagued with nightmares.

He woke up this morning with one of said nightmares fresh in his mind's eye - clutching his cotton sheets, pajamas soaked through with cold sweat as he sat upright in bed. It wasn't anything specific. Flashes of memories and vaguely anxious figures - him as a child in Cuba, nursing a broken leg and staring with empty eyes; knife-wielding shadows, laughing; Saint's Heights on fire, with him to watch helplessly.

'Great way to start the day. We love to see it,' he thought bitterly as he climbed out of bed, padding to the bathroom in the morning quiet to get ready. A flash of his face in the mirror startled him in his stride.

He looked like climbed out of hell itself. Not too far from what he felt like.

There was a distinct paleness under his dark skin, one that only came from too much stress and too little sleep. The dark circles under his eyes grow larger by the day, letting anybody know just how bone-deep exhausted he is. At least his eyes were sharp as ever, the black of them staring back intensely. His expression was startled, looking almost ghost-like in the pale gray of the just emerging sunlight - as if he just stumbled into the wrong apartment and found somebody standing there. A stranger in his own home.

Emilio stared at his own reflection thoughtfully, wondering just how to make himself presentable for the anniversary.

- - -

Being the right-hand man is not as glamorous as the movies make it out to be.

No, really. Believe Emilio has enough experience in this regard for his word to carry some weight. That's who he was for the Avancini until recently, after all. Emilio - some guy that just popped in town one day, somehow becoming the boss' most trusted member in a matter of few years. The older brother like figure for some of the members, making sure they stay out of trouble. The one shooting strict glances whenever somebody slacked off. The person resolving conflict, all while learning how to rule under Stephan.

That's what his reputation has been in the Avancini for so long, that to have it suddenly be changed feels like a sucker punch.

Not that Emilio didn't love power. No, everybody knows just how much he craved it - he made no secret of it, though the full extend of it is tucked close to his heart. Emilio might be young, but not young enough to show all of his cards. But as much as he dreamed of this moment, the reality was much different than he was ready for. There was never any formal celebration in Emilio's name - about the closest he got to that was a rushed meeting, when Stephan's body hasn't even cooled yet. His uptake was quick and violent, mostly filled with holding their enemies at bay. There were people more than ready to snatch the title from under his legs if given the chance, drawn to the power vacuum like sharks to blood. Hell, the first few months were filled with just staving off death and killing anybody who came in the way.

Much thanks to the other Avancini, of course. He's sure holding on to power would be much more of a fight if it weren't for them. He'll have to find a moment soon, when his schedule allows it, just to say thank you.

Today, though, was his first formal gathering as the new Avancini boss.

Talk about pressure.

Good thing Emilio is good at that. Keeping his nerve, acting as if there was nothing at all behind his cool mask. Say what you may, but it's something others haven't cultivated even after decades in crime. Even as the bundle of nerves in his stomach curled and protested, Emilio was insistent on not showing how badly he's being affected. Far it be from him to show weakness when meeting the Adamski.

If they thought him weak, there would be little to stop them from trying to devour him. A boss he may be, but a new one, and the position can always change hands if Emilio is killed.

The drive to the anniversary was silent as if he and the driver were still half-asleep. Blame it on the anxiety.

Even this - having a private driver, hiding behind bulletproof glass in an expensive car, having soldiers watch for snipers on roofs - is something he has yet to get used to. Accompanying Stephan to and from party felt completely different, even if it had the same look. Usually, he would have somebody with him - Salomé, Kiko, Shmuel. Somebody to keep his thoughts off the inwardly rising nervousness. But he didn't think to call one of them, not today - perhaps the silence as he watched the passing scenery is what he needed. Another person worrying over the possibility of being unconvincing, or a sniper aiming for his head, or the Adamski saying 'fuck it' to the temporary peace would drive Emilio up the wall.

The drive was over faster than he expected, lost in thoughts as he was. Emilio startled out of his thoughts as the car door was opened, a soldier opening an umbrella for him. He gave a firm nod of thanks as he stepped onto the pouring sidewalk, taking everything in.

The private hall was the image of Saint's Heights luxury; pale columns framed the white building, beautiful bushes and roses packed tight around it like sycophants around a celebrity. Bright light poured out of the tall windows, elegantly framed with gold. It looked like a giant persian cat of a building, lazily observing those too poor to even enter. He came just at the right time; not too early, not too late. A few guests have already started bustling in, with a handful making conversation outside.

"Here goes nothing,"

he mumbled to nobody in particular, making his way inside. A handful of familiar soldiers followed tightly behind him.

It was much warmer inside than in the harsh rain outside; crystal chandeliers and waitressing staff greeted him as he entered, one of them taking away his heavy coat. The soft sound of piano drifted over paintings of classical subjects and richly woven carpets, mixing with the sound of quiet conversation. 'The dining room will be ready soon,' a waitress with a too-wide smile told him, leaving him with only the drinks and snacks. Sandwiches and cocktails and small cakes lined the ornamented tables.

Emilio smiled at the familiar faces passing him by, the perfect display of cool politeness. A few of them were Adamski, and some of them of his own family. Guards from both groups kept watch at every corner, observing each other closely. He didn't miss the way their fingers twitched at the holsters of their gun, as if getting ready to pull it out at the first sign of danger.

Hoping to avoid any unpleasant conversations with shark-smile allies or judgemental enemies, Emilio perched in the corner, making his court by the cheese fountain. He pulled out his phone, sending a few quick texts to Kiko.

em:

i'm holding the cheese fountain hostage

em:

send help these ppl look like they don't know what taxes are

em:

or like, their grandfather's name is reginald ii.

em:

what if some lady called duchess von boochie tries to talk to me whAT DO I DO

em:

He tucked his phone away after that, smiling colorlessly at the ohter guests. Here's to hoping she'll be here soon.

In the meanwhile, he can always find somebody else to talk to.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

LOCATION: saint's heights jail

INTERACTIONS:
emi (brief, text mother of sorrows ); julien (being bailed out qunqun )

OUTFIT: keeping it trashy

PLAYLIST: here

the world -- kiko

for what do i ask forgiveness?

On most days her only source of light was a computer screen.

Completely consumed in darkness, not a single ounce of sunlight -- had there been any -- leaking beyond any unnoticed cracks between her black-out curtains. The air is always thick, damp, much like any other day; Saint's Heights was never known for its sunshine. In its urban sprawl, if one could call it that, was crime blanketed under several names most wouldn't want the unfortunate circumstance to find in passing; if not for the bounds the city had on Kiko, she would've left -- changed her name, moved countries, maybe even settled down if it came down to it.

But life didn't go that way, not for her at least.

In fact, she found herself in the bustle of it all -- the center, a hacker for the Avancinis (the only family she had, they treated her better than the Na Chiangmais). It wasn't her first career choice; no, she had aspirations, ambitions knocked down piece by piece, chipped away like rock. She wasn't opposed to it, though: there was power in her position, somewhat -- although she wasn't a crime boss, she made herself a nice, cushy spot next to the one that was -- if you looked past the two underbosses that, unfortunately, she wasn't quite fond of. She wasn't a friend, only another person in passing that happened to work with them. But she, for once, was essential.

The Avancini suffered at the hands of an unknown presence; a grim scene that shocked most, if not all of them. Nothing was ever quite the same, no matter how much people tried to return to normalcy. A once convivial atmosphere with a touch of tension became a heavy, burning feeling between people’s ties.

Dark, tired eyes took a peek around the dingy jail cell. A combination of iron and sweat filling the cramped space. In a far corner, the ticking of the clock -- she’d been counting the murder of minutes; time wasted away by keeping her in a godforsaken cell. “Free me, I did nothing wrong,” Kiko slid her arms between the cell bars, a rested forehead in frustration. “The bitch had it coming; you’re gonna look at me and tell me that I’m WRONG? I saw the donut first.”

Trouble always found her, no matter where she went -- be it intentional or not, Kiko was bound to find herself in the most unsavory situations: from flashing her gun out her car window in a fit of road rage to, only hours before being thrown into a cell, punching a soccer mom in the face over the last oreo donut she’d been eyeing within the first few moments she entered the donut shop.

Today was a day of mourning, although she wasn't too close with them, it was still touchy. Loss was an everyday occurrence, yet this one hit harder than the rest. And to top it off? Kiko could've been late, the product of her own irresponsibility and impulses-- she forgot to watch the time and keep herself out of , but how could she? No sleep, exhausted beyond belief, eyes red and puffy -- the only thing keeping her afloat was an iced coffee; the ice had already melted. A layer of water sat at the top, what was iced coffee was a diluted mess that she -- despite abhorring the taste -- chugged. Hangry was one way to describe how she felt, which explained her donut shop behavior -- though she didn't regret it.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You are so lucky someone’s coming to get me! The longer I stay here--” She gagged: what the fuck was that damn stench; the foul odor, one that she could not place, attacked her senses. Why the fuck does it smell like that? And why the hell is nobody else reacting? Her face scrunched up, nose pinched at the nostrils as she brought her fingers to them. Mortified, Kiko’s eyes frantically buzzed around, looking for its origin but to no avail. It was only a matter of time before Julien plucked her from that hellish place -- and she couldn’t wait.

In her pocket, her phone vibrated from the flurry of texts from Emilio -- she was lucky enough to keep her phone due to her connections, but that wasn’t enough. Her free hand grabbed it, bright screen burning into her eyes much like the stench.

em: i'm holding the cheese fountain hostage​

em: send help these ppl look like they don't know what taxes are​

em: or like, their grandfather's name is reginald ii.​

em: what if some lady called duchess von boochie tries to talk to me whAT DO I DO​

em:

​

kiko: no way, wait for me​

kiko: cheese shots?​

kiko: haha i’m in jail btw, i got u a donut tho​

kiko: don’t even worry about it sweethawt, i’ll be there in no time​

kiko: bro, it fucking smells like caca in here​

Word to the wise: keep your fucking mouth shut while you’re in jail. Of course, Kiko didn’t plan on giving anybody peace; "So y'all are just gonna ignore me? Forreal? It's like that? HELLO?" Kiko placed her face between the bars, rolling her eyes at the guards that, much to her dismay, just smiled and nodded. They were smug, for sure -- having more power over her just because of a simple uniform: she hated it. A firm reminder that she could be on top one day and pushed all the way down to the bottom in a heartbeat. But did anyone like someone being in charge? If she had more energy, she would've continued -- barking whatever remarks she could, but with the looming risk of Kiko being in there even longer? It wasn't worth it. At least, not for today -- a significant anniversary that rattled both parties.

Another hit of the stench seemed so wash away the worry for even just a moment, the feeling in her throat was heavy; squeezing itself to keep down whatever was in her stomach, which wasn't much; last night's sushi, watered down iced coffee, a few gummy bears, and a lot of alcohol. Last night was filled with scattered mental snapshots she couldn’t piece together all too well.

The smell seemed much stronger than it actually was. Hell, it wasn’t even there.

There was still no indication of where the smell came from, but Kiko knew she smelled it and nobody else did. And whatever fucked up hallucination this was, she wasn’t falling for it again. That’s when she realized it: fire -- soot -- burning flesh. God. Get her the fuck out of there and fast.

It was all too vivid.

Fires were a common thing in Saint’s Heights, or so it seemed; her family, Louisa, Andrej, and their poor child that met his unfortunate end in the worst way possible. The biggest problem with them both? There wasn’t a single morsel of a fucking clue -- nothing. No traces, no evidence, no idea who could’ve started them. She didn’t buy it -- the thought of it being their own doing. Kiko didn’t think anybody did, but she didn’t dare vocalize the different routes her brain went grasping for an answer that, inevitably, wouldn’t appear.

She gagged, body leaning itself against the cold bars -- dried blood flaking off of her fur coat. “I’m feeling pretty sick -- don’t think you want,” Kiko gagged again, “I don’t think you want me blasting chunks all over this cell. Unless you’re into that shit.”

There was a collective sigh, paired with other inmates hollering for her to shut up. Kiko just couldn’t, not in her nervousness. God. Her hand covered her mouth, body now hunched over -- and just like that, as if prayers were answered and the gates of heaven (or was it hell?) opened, there was the sound of clanking metal. Just on time. Kiko looked up, with sweat dripping down her brow; there was a subtle shake in her body, but it wasn’t obvious under the thick coat she was heavily clad in. Her eyes, although watering, were luckily covered by black sunglasses that pointed at the edges.

Kiko couldn’t show weakness; bothered by the trauma the stench set onward. “You got lucky Chiangmai, a friend came to get you.”

code by valen t.

 

[ravensunset]

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  same as always, not any better

  
  
  
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  private hall

  
  
  

A year ago, Louisa and Andrej died. Well, no. Perhaps that was putting it too kindly. A year ago, Louisa and Andrej were murdered.

Death is no uncommon thing. Neither is murder in their circles, but the fallout of this one was something else. Everyone might say, out loud, that they were mourning the loss of the three young lives. But the weight of this death came from the loss of a chance at true peace, their loss a symbol.

Today, their two families were joining together, the peace between them still held, a fact that Marzanna couldn’t force herself to fully believe, even as she was getting dressed for the event. For a year, she’d been holding her breath, expecting the glass shield to shatter, to release two packs of wolves down onto one another. Every day it held felt like a stroke of luck, a rare good dream.

But not today. Marzanna didn’t much care for these events, they were useless to the ones they were supposed to be for anyways, but she knew how important it was that the peace be kept today.

It had rained through the night. Someone a little more spiritual might say the weather was fitting, the sky hearing the mood of the two families and echoing it. In any case, it hadn’t helped her sleep, not on top of the stress of the impending day.

Marzanna was used to being tired, looking tired. It didn’t matter, so long as she looked more put together than tired, which she always did, between tight ponytails and carefully chosen items and the only makeup she ever wore being that to cover up dark circles under her eyes. She’d taken her time getting ready today; not too much time, of course, she still had to be there and be there early, this was as much an opportunity for asserting her place in the family as any other, but taken what time she had nonetheless.

She’d been deputy for a while now, although the loss of the previous one still rang strong throughout the family. Not just their loss, again, but their murder. Although she’d been raised to be the leader someday, and was far from unprepared, most of her time officially in the deputy position had been during the time of peace, something that both made the job easier, and harder to make an impression from. Her job was constant effort, organization, preparation, overseeing. But in terms of the Avancinis, it was a quiet, awful, unbroken tension instead of the danger of constant conflict and violence. For today that was alright. Today all that was needed was to keep the peace intact.

Marzanna’s hand was gripped tightly around the handle of her umbrella as she walked to the gathering, the raindrops bullets shooting against her nylon shield. The world was covered in a screen of gray, blurred out, until the private hall came into view, shining white and gold, as though it had missed the message of darkness and grief the rest of the world was given.

The luxury was nothing new to her. Her life was full of functions like this, the blinding glamour almost an earlier memory than the life of underground crime. The double speak, the manners, the need for everything to be perfectly in place, a perfect impression of their wealth and position. Of course, of course, this place had been set up not for them, but for the memory of Louisa and Andrej. And of course, this wasn’t for Louisa and Andrej at all, but to see these families together, to the perfectly mannered interactions to test the strength of their peace.

Marzanna put on a practiced smile before stepping in, putting away the umbrella, the warmth of the building embracing her entrance. It was a massive space, and people were filtering in, two families, yet no one happy to be there. The columns glistened with chandelier lights reflecting off of them, waitstaff was going around to offer drinks and small snacks while the dining room was still being prepared, in Marzanna’s eyes it seemed that everyone was holding their breath as if a single wrong one would set off a flame to swallow them whole. She glanced around for an approachable face, before the realization that everyone there was as practiced polite coldness as her, and that she wasn’t there for a chat.

There was no mistaking the tension in her muscles as she walked, always held just a little too tightly, as though unable to fully relax. Cautious, yes, everyone here was, but a little bit more than that. Taking a deep breath, she accepted a drink from one of the waitresses walking the place with a small nod and headed over to one of the snack tables, her eyes still watching the slowly growing crowd.

marzanna

the hierophant

open

@Uxie
@Uxie

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: Ugh.

OUTFIT: Something comfy with a rain jacket

LOCATION: Police station

basics

MENTIONS:
N/A


INT: Kiko miyabi

tags

TL;DR Whyyyyyyyy.

tl;dr

Julien

It was a rather dreary day for riding a bike, but Julien was the sort to do so to spite the weather whilst internally complain the entire time. He had two jobs today: Bail someone out of jail, and then go attend some ridiculous gathering in order to promote peace between the two mafias.

And it was, for lack of better terms, absolutely ridiculous. Everybody knew that the treaty was on rocky terms, especially after the deaths of Louisa and Andrej. Fucking shame, that. He was going to be on the Avancini payroll for life, but when they were around, he had a lot more free time on his hands. Now there was order to maintain. Peace to uphold. What a waste. Even worse was that some of the Adamskis were looking at him like he’d been the one to pull the trigger - set the fire. Like he’d kill two innocents, please. He only killed the people that he was asked to ki- okay maybe it was a semi-logical conclusion, but it was still annoying.

He didn’t really want to reflect on Louisa, and how she’d been actually a pretty alright girl. Death came, and death took. That was the natural order of things, but he'd been invited to go to the remembrance. And it was the kind of thing that one wasn’t really asked but more like “commanded” to attend… Unless something more pressing came up, that is. Which was why he was now riding his bike through rain in order to bail their hacker out of jail, the rain dropping miserably onto his head, and dripping equally miserably down his two-toned hair and carrying a backpack with a tarp wrapped around it for waterproofing with a change of clothes. Namely, a suit.

Kiko better appreciate how much misery was going into bailing her out. The thought flashed through his head as he chained his bike up. Being one of the best hitmen in the Avancini didn’t make him immune to a random bike thief deciding to steal a random bike unchained.

He tied his hair back before he entered the police station, best to look more like a hipster than a murderer when dealing with law enforcement, even if they were, for the most part, in the pocket of the Avancini. Deniability was always key. He ducked into the police station, his long legs allowing him to cross the threshold in two or three steps. Move fast and with purpose, like you belong there.

He was just a little bit surprised when he didn’t burst into flames upon stepping into the heart of police activity.

“Hey how’s it goin’.” Julien gave his best grin at the front desk officer, leaning casually against the desk, his deep voice full of a warm comradery. Keep it in the higher register, less intimidating, more friendly. Maintain eye contact, show you’re not afraid of them. “I’m here to pick up Kiko na Chiangmai.”

God he’d rehearsed that like… five times in his head before he said it. Tried to make it sound as unthreatening as possible.

The officer looked at him, then nodded. Went to go get someone else, and Julien followed with his eyes, the pleasant grin still plastered upon his face, though the second they were out of view, the smile dropped. Christ, that was difficult. When was the last time he smiled? Again, he was just a little bit surprised that he wasn’t burned.

It hurt his cheeks a bit.

Ah, there was the woman of the hour, escorted by a guard. He gave her a little head nod for a greeting, holding the door open for her like the nice person he was.

“We’re going to be late.” The hitman said, letting his voice drop back into its normal bass, all the faked friendliness gone now that they were out of the precinct. Also deciding to state the obvious. “Also I don’t have a car.”

That was said in an equally flat, matter-of-fact tone as he went over to his bike and unchained it. He was willing to walk with her, mind you, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be giving her his only means of transport besides his own two legs.

“... How was your morning?” He asked, his voice lifting from its deadpan straight forwardness to inject just a little bit of dry humor into the whole situation.

code by valen t.

 

[idiot]

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  how he's feeling...

  
  
  
  

  on edge and in the need of alcohol.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what he's wearing...

  
  
  
  

  black turtleneck, combat pants and gary's fancy blazer.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where he's at...

  
  
  
  

  the adamski mansion.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  texting salomé and augustus.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

val

the lovers

The abandoned warehouse's old bones creaked and groaned. A single fluorescent light dimly lit the scene before Val; a man was bound to a chair with a sturdy rope. The defeated man peered up, the harsh light spilling over his portly features and the clearly broken nose. It was a clean break, a simple fix, Val surmised. Luckily Val was courteous enough to take his expensive suit off, leaving him in his red, heart patterned boxers. The man's pale body was an explosion of yellow, purple and browns hues from Val's beating.

Val's latest visitor was a first-timer, Gary Rossi, a businessman in his early forties who was equal amounts of ambitious, greedy and fucking stupid. His insurance company not only swindled from the desperate but sold illegal weaponry that the Avancini family kindly loaned him. He had failed to pay them back in the allotted time which meant Val had to step in. Unluckily for Gary, Val hated insurance companies.

"You're a r-reasonable man, right?" Gary began, licking his chapped lips, "I have a big buyer p-planned for the weekend, I promise to have—"

"It doesn't matter, Gary," Val begun, his voice blunt and low, "I have an order to make sure you keep that promise."

Interrogation and torture were an art, one that Val took seriously. Similarly to an artist, Val had his own set of tools. A wide array of knives — neatly packed in a black suitcase — were settled in front of Val. Now, what would make you learn, Gary?

A burner phone rumbled on the table. A message from Salome. Mierda...running out of time, must hurry this up.

Val instinctively chose Dolores, a lengthy bowie knife. He had a habit of naming his knives. Dolores' name made sense when you translated it. Brandishing the knife in his steady grip, he ominously turned towards Gary whose eyes almost popped out of his head.

"P-please! I'm sorry," the pleading had begun. They all begged but Val rarely listened, taking a step forwards, "I-I have a family, a-a little girl," Gary stammered and Val stopped in his tracks. He must have realised the hesitation and continued babbling, "and a s-son, he is supposed to grad—"

"You think that makes you special?" Val interrupted, voice reverberating off the warehouse's walls, "that it makes you exempt from responsibility and pain?" He took another step forwards. Gary whimpered, tugging at the knots. Another step until he was situated between Gary's bare legs, his boxers saturated, "everyone has a family, you think you're the first to use that excuse?" Val lightly pressed the knife's razor-sharp edge to his pudgy stomach.

"Y-you have a family, r-right? Children?" Gary began crying, his broken nose sniffling, "y-you must understand!"

The pair shared a moment of silence.

"Oh, I understand..." Val's eyes were dark, voice grim as he dug the knife into Gary's flesh.

​

Slumped in the taxi, Val thumbed the keypad of the old flip phone to a contact labelled 'A', simply writing: Be there soon.

He then replied to Salomé's message: Have unfinished business. Pick me up in twenty. Val included an address that was a few blocks from his current destination.

His broad shoulders were strained in Gary's fancy, black blazer he decided to borrow. He had decided that having his harness which brandished knives was not a good look for a formal event. Gary didn't seem to mind as Val released him from his confines.

The event was for the anniversary of the death of a young family. Not just any young family, one that had a parent from both the opposing families — the Avancinis and Adamskis. Their love story was one that rivalled Shakespeare's classic, Romeo and Juliet. Val recalled the brief interactions he had with them — especially with Louisa who was one of the best soldiers the family had.

It was back when Stephan was in the power of the Avancini family. Stephan, Val couldn't help but dwell on his death. The man had pulled Val from the trenches and given him another chance at life. Without him, Val wouldn't even exist...

Val was certain that Stephan's death was connected to the deaths of Lousia, Andrej and their son. Eventually, he would find out who was responsible. Val would break his moral code just once when he found them.

"Here is your stop, man," the taxi driver announced. Rummaging through Gary's blazer he pulled out a bunch of crumpled notes and handed them over. Gracias, Gary.

Stepping into the cold, his gaze settled on the grand Adamski mansion. Oh Dios, que estoy haciendo?

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[LowkeyLovingLoki]

• .
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  how they’re feeling...

  
  
  
  

  smitten,,, like a fool
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what they’re wearing...

  
  
  
  

  top, skirt, shoes

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  where they’re at...

  
  
  
  

  adamski mansion -> private hall
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  idiot (val)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

august

the lovers

August was pretty sure they could plan an outfit better than anyone else in their family; certainly, better than anyone else in the entire Adamski mansion.

And yet, a funeral was where their talents seemed to end.

August didn’t own much black, and not much black that was PG-13. They’d accepted the fact that they wouldn’t be able to compile a full-black outfit, and that was okay. In all honesty, August wasn’t completely interested in all this funeral business. Someone had died, and that was objectively sad, but August felt no personal connection to the man or his family.

Of course, they’d go, as was their responsibility. But they hadn’t left with Marzanna, content on being a bit later, considering he had other things to do in the meantime.

And, punctual as always, those ‘things’ came through his window in the form of Valentino Mendez.

August barely spared Val a second glance as the man walked through their room. August was dressed now in only the black skirt which they intended to wear; it was pretty appropriate, they thought. It was long… although it went sheer at mid-thigh length, but it was the best they could do. They stood in front of a full-length mirror in front of their bed, holding up a pinstriped crop top against their bare chest.

“I wanted to talk about today.” There was Val, blunt as usual as he strode past them and sat somewhat awkwardly on the bed. Clearly he was nervous and on edge, not how he usually was around them. August granted him a single glance, noted that his knuckles were bloody and split open, and let their eyes drift back to themself in the mirror.

“This is the first time our families are meeting all together,” it was unclear if Val realised how that sounded as he continued, eyes not meeting August’s, “no one can find out, okay?”

August held a pinstriped, suit-style crop up to their bare chest, a black skirt that was sheer from mid-thigh down adorning his lower half. Most of it, anyway. They barely reacted to Val as they stared at themself in their full-length mirror.

“Do you think this is a funeral-appropriate outfit?"

August asked, completely ignoring the other man’s words.

”This skirt is the only black thing I own. I feel like Dad might kill me, though.”

Val huffed, eyeing August’s outfit. He stared for way too long, as though getting lost in thought. August’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Are you even listening to me?” Val stood up, realising they definitely weren’t.

“You really don’t understand how dangerous this is do you, mi amor?” Val’s voice was softened but August could recognise the anger laced within, “this isn’t some game. This could end with a bullet in both our heads.”

August finally turned towards Val, tossing the shirt on their bed. They reached out to grip both of Val’s biceps with their hands as if comforting him, unable to help but give his arms a quick squeeze.

“Val. I understand,”

they assured him with a small smile.

“I promise that I will behave. You’ll admire me from afar, for obvious reasons, and when someone asks me ‘who is that handsome Avancini captain?’ I will act none the wiser, and say ‘he isn’t really that handsome’.”

They gave Val a quick wink.

“For appearances’ sake, of course.”

Val’s tense body seemed to relax in August’s hands as they spoke, and August grinned purely from the sight of his small, genuine smile.

Val’s calloused hand rested on their cheek before he pulled them in for a kiss. August, of course, didn’t hesitate in kissing back.

Val headed towards the window and had one leg outside before turning to August, “I’m not sure if it’s funeral appropriate but you look hermosa, mi amor.”

A charming smirk on his face, he lingered there for a moment, clearly he didn’t want to leave. August didn’t blame him. The next moment he was gone.

August looked at themself in the mirror again, looked over at his pinstriped crop top, and knew that after Val’s comment, there was no way he could wear anything else.

***

August wondered if their disinterest showed when they entered the private hall. They felt eyes on them, but they knew that that was probably more for their outfit than for who they actually were.

It was nice inside, actually. August didn’t consider themself as someone overly posh or pretentious, but God, they liked luxury. As soon as they spotted the cocktails, they made a beeline, downing one and then grabbing another to slowly sip on for the rest of the… well, you couldn’t call it a party exactly, could you?

They made no secret of the way that they people watched, openly staring and gawking when they felt the need to. It didn’t happen that much - things were dreadfully boring so far, and their second cocktail was being emptied a lot faster than they’d initially intended.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AreSneksSly]

Nicola

interactions:

marley

mentions:

emilio

tags:

smolfluffball

mood:

relieved

location:

private hall

outfit:

jacket | top | pants | shoes | gloves

On the anniversary of Louisa’s and Andrej’s death, most were busy with work. Distracting themselves with menial and oftentimes bloody tasks. Nicola, on the other hand, awoke that morning with a splitting headache and a large red mark on their forehead, courtesy of their floor. Sunlight just barely squeezed past the clouds of smog and mist, yet somehow it managed to find the perfect path between all the buildings in the city, the clouds and Nico’s damn curtain to pour straight into their eyes. Blinking blearily, Nico had but a few moments of peace before a bat was bashed straight through their skull, cracking against their head and leaving a dent in their brain, making them realise that they were far too sober at the moment to function normally, not to mention extremely hungover.

Rising to their feet was no small task, especially considering their brain was in no mood to operate. At that moment Nico felt annoyance seep through their very being, alongside extreme weariness. They were annoyed at the world, annoyed at themselves, and annoyed at the sun for making their day just that much more miserable. It didn’t have to, but it did; and now Nico was suffering for it. With a groan they finally rose to their feet, though only with the help of their nightstand, and slowly, they made their way over to the bathroom.

Dark, dingy and cold was their bathroom’s vibe that dreary day. Nicola palmed the wall beside the door, before flicking the switch. They slowly approached their sink, before grimacing as they looked into the mirror. Two dark brown eyes stared back, framed perfectly by large, heavy bags underneath. Not only that, but their posture was slouched and their hair was unseemly. Nico was tired, that much was clear to them.

Sliding the mirror glass to the side revealed their bounty of stolen goods; medicine bottles and prescriptions not meant for them, neatly arranged in a line by order of how good it made them feel. The bottom shelf, on the other hand, was a lot more disorganized; stuffed to the brim with little bags of happiness. Those were for… special occasions. Idly, Nicola thumbed through their stash, taking bottles and packets before putting them back. In the background their brain worked away at their memories, trying to figure out why today was so important. And as Nico finally decided on one bottle they liked, it clicked into place for them.

Right. Today was Andrej and Louisa’s death-anniversary.

Gray seemed to soak through the criminal as they remembered last year. Back then they’d only had a few bodies under their belt and even fewer years in the Avancini family, yet they could remember the news screaming about two dead. No one seemed to react well to the deaths, least of all the Avancinis themselves. Nico knew of the Avancini-Adamski rivalry-- it’s what drew them to the Avancinis in the first place-- but they had no idea there was a marriage between the two, and they certainly didn’t know of any fucking peace treaty. They had said nothing, however, instead letting their anger simmer down. It was one of the few times they’d practiced self-control, and to this day they were grateful that they did. So when the couple died, along with their goddamn baby, Nico only felt mildly upset. Even then that feeling didn’t last though, replaced by euphoria the next day. It wasn't as if they were close by any meaning of the word; the couple probably wasn't even aware of Nico's existence. So Nicola felt no sadness over their deaths. Just... gray.

It truly was a shame, though; killing a kid was no laughing matter to them, least of all one that wasn’t even a year old. They could understand a toddler, those things were grating as all fucking hell on the ears, but a baby? Annoying shits only know how to cry and defecate; they were little more than a waste of time.

Colour traced the edge of their vision as Nico came to, pill bottle in hand. Popping the cap, they downed two capsules dry, letting the memories fade into just a pleasant fuzz.

Nicola spent the rest of the morning searching for something black to wear, though only after feeding Sharon of course. They were basically attending a funeral, so black was apparently expected of them. But much to their chagrin, the only black they could scrounge up from the depths of their closet was a thin, sleeveless sweater and black pants. Looking at themselves in the mirror showed a sleek body, but nothing somber. Nicola looked more like a young kid ready to hit the town than someone attending a funeral. Throwing on their gray leather jacket did help cover up their arms, but they still didn’t look like a mourner. And to be fair, they weren’t, but this was supposed to be a sad event.

Nico pondered wearing something white, just to see how the Adamskis would react, but when the face of a disappointed Emilio appeared, the thought quickly dissipated to the back of their mind. Glancing at their wallet Nico grimaced as a much different thought entered their head, this time one of buying a coat from the clothing shop two blocks away. If they showed up in a gray coat they would definitely blend in, that much was clear. But the little monkey in their brain, the one that clapped and shouted in glee whenever Nicola did something exciting, was screaming at them to ditch the coat and go with something eye catching.

Emilio’s stern expression and Nico’s little brain ape fought it out, like an angel and a devil perched on their shoulder. It was only when Emilio’s face morphed into a smile did the monkey go down, much to the disappointment of Nico. With a sigh, they grabbed their wallet with a frown.

‘Looks like I’m buying a coat.’

---​

A few minutes later, Nicola was standing outside the meeting venue, hand tucked into a sleek new coat. A lit cigarette stuck out the side of their mouth as they stared up at the hall, unamused, as the palace of white and gold stared back down at them with cold, unfeeling windows. Nico lingered there, pinned under the beast’s gaze. They twirled a shiny plastic umbrella in one hand, the other moving to take out the cigarette, though not before blowing out a plume of smoke. ‘Wouldn’t be proper and all that jazz,’ they thought to themselves, before letting the stick fall to the ground and unceremoniously stomping on it, making sure to rub it against the pavement. They stared back up at the building with those same, brown eyes. And with a quiet sigh, they approached the entrance.

The inside was, unsurprisingly, just as glitzy, glammy and pompous as the outside. Large, looming columns rose up from the ground, and glittering chandeliers that were no doubt worth thousands upon thousands of dollars passed overhead as Nico wandered in, looking like a lost lamb. Unfamiliar yet somber faces walked by, both of Adamski and Avancini blood. The hall wasn’t full by any means, yet Nicola felt like they were being suffocated on all sides. Pristine white morphed into dark red, columns turning to teeth and chandelier becoming solid and pink, as the very hall seemed to warp and disfigure into a cavernous, neverending mouth.

Nico shook the thought from their mind, but they could already feel the dread settle in. Their head screamed at them, telling them this wasn’t a place they belonged, and that they were better off blowing this place and it’s occupants sky high. Fitting in would be futile, their head whispered in a sly voice, their hand already twitching to caress their precious pistol. Unfortunately, this was supposed to be a place where Adamski and Avancini could mourn and whimper together in peace, even for a brief moment. So Nicola, like a fool, had ditched the gun in favour of a combat knife instead, tucked carefully under the tail of their jacket.

Classy as ever.

Nausea curled comfortably in the pit of Nico’s stomach. They decided that they couldn’t linger around the pungent Adamski blood any longer, and so they busied themselves with the task of searching for even the slightest hint of a familiar face to bother in the blending cesspool of Adamski and Avancini. To their delight, they found one. In one corner, tucked away from the group was a familiar head of dark brown hair, coupled with a face dotted in freckles. Target acquired.

Weaving through the warm bodies that stood in their way with a surprising amount of precision, Nico swam through the crowd like a shark hunting its prey, drooling at the mouth for any semblance of familiarity. Colour returned to Nicola’s face as they approached their target-turned-tutor, a smile twisting their scar. “Noodle boy!” they called out, chipper and seemingly oblivious to the crowd around them. “I never thought I’d see you in a place like this! What brings you to this den of wolves and hardened criminals, hmm?” Nico’s face settled comfortably into their familiar smile, wide and treading on the edge of threatening. To anyone else, it would look like a lion approaching a meek little deer; slobbering at the mouth and playing with their food. But both Nico and Marley knew that that smile held no malice; Nicola was legitimately excited to see the man.

THE TOWER

♡design by yourlocal-eboyy, coded by uxie♡

 

[smolfluffball]

[ Marley (#50c878) | Location: Private hall | Interactions: Nico AreSneksSly | Mentions: Marzanna, August, Milana | Mood: Musing, hiding, found. | Outfit: ❀ ]​

It had been a tragedy.

The happy couple had been something akin to role models to Marley. They were proof, to him, that one could achieve happiness, even if they were part of this life. They were proof that this sort of lifestyle wasn’t always full of darkness and death. They were proof that things could be okay.

Until they were set ablaze.

He hadn’t been particularly close with either of them, but learning about their deaths reminded him of how cruelly his parents had been murdered. He hadn’t attended the funeral a year ago because he simply couldn’t go. It was too much for him. He didn’t want to slip and fall into a dark place again. He was glad, in the end, that he hadn’t gone, because he didn’t want to hear about their baby, their innocent child, who had also been caught in the flames. That death was something he couldn’t even fathom. So senseless. So atrocious. So depraved.

He also hadn’t wanted to come to this memorial. He considered skipping it earlier, after he woke up this morning and realized what day it was. He almost did. It would be inconsiderate to do that, though. Both Anna and August were going, which meant he needed to go as well. He had quickly gotten dressed in whatever black he had handy and then, after taking his allergy medicine (the rain always bothered his sinuses), he left his parents mansion and took a car to the private hall.

The allergy medicine took a few minutes to kick in. He, thankfully, had stopped sneezing by the time he got to the front steps of where the memorial was being held. He thanked the driver for putting up with him, after sniffling, then left behind a hefty tip as he exited the vehicle. Maybe the guy could use the money to help sanitize his car, or get some food, or whatever. He waited for the driver to pull away before he looked up at the building. Impressive. He didn’t want to linger and look stupid staring at it in awe, so he went in with a group of unfamiliar faces also dressed in black.

There were so many people inside. Marley surveyed the room then decided to move to one side of the hallway, so as to not be in the way. Okay. Anna and August were maybe, potentially, already here, and Mila would be here soon too, but he could probably mingle with whoever didn’t look too terribly threatening . . .

Except they all looked threatening, and grumpy, and miserable. No one would want to talk to him, to some stranger. He didn’t want to talk to any strangers either. Especially not if they were an Avancini. Don’t get him wrong; he didn’t think of them as his enemies, at all. Most of them were just people who belonged to a different family, who all had different people they cared about and different morals and other human things like that.

But he also didn’t really want to talk to any of them. Most of them didn’t know about him, about who he was in his family, which had saved him a couple of times before. He did not want to risk any of them seeing him here and figuring out who he was. What family he belonged to. He preferred to keep his anonymity, his mystery. Whatever any Avancini’s thought of him, he preferred they think that, and not that he belonged to the family that they all hated. He almost couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten during the few encounters he had with some of them - they all thought he was a stressed college student, which, granted, he was, but seriously. He almost wanted to thank the bags under his eyes for helping him look exhausted even when he wasn’t really feeling that tired.

He looked around the room for somewhere to hide and spotted an unoccupied corner. Perfect. Yes. That would be good enough. If he wasn’t in a group or in the middle of the room, he’d be less easy to spot. Less easy to tell what side he belonged to. Talking with either Avancini or Adamski would be stupid risky, so he navigated the room carefully, keeping his eyes down. He passed several tables containing snacks and drinks, but he didn’t stop to grab anything. He’d feel more comfortable eating when he wasn’t surrounded by danger.

When he arrived to his corner, he decided it was his absolute favorite corner in the entire room. There were people blocking it off and he could just sink down to the ground and act like he wasn’t feeling good or mourning and no one would bother him. Honestly, if he did sink down to the floor, then he wouldn’t even be spotted between all the legs. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it for any messages, then heard a dumb nickname and familiar voice.

Oh no.

Oh God.

Not here.

He pulled up an easy smile as Nico approached and slid his phone back into his pocket, then offered a small wave to his friend. His friend, who didn’t even know who he actually was, as was evidenced by the question they just asked. His friend, who Marley knew killed several different people, who might kill him if he found out what family he belonged to. But he didn’t really think Nico’d kill him, right? Because he helped them learn important things, and they had animal playdates, and they were actually surprisingly close. No. They definitely wouldn’t kill him if they found out the truth. (Right?)

Better to keep it a secret, though. Far safer that way. For both of them, honestly.

Marley shrugged one shoulder and studied the room, as if looking for someone, then sighed and turned his attention back to Nico. “I was invited, Nic, but my date has abandoned me. I had no idea this place was full of dangerous people.” He pouted and averted his eyes. “If I had known that, I would have rejected the offer. But, hold on. Wait.” He looked Nico over, wide-eyed. “Are you a hardened criminal or a wolf? I feel like being a wolf is better than a hardened criminal, so I hope you are one of those. I’d hate to have gone to the house of a hardened criminal. But I guess it would be good, too, if you were a hardened criminal, so that you could protect me from all the other dangerous people here.”