hstarke

[hstarke]

Hans scoffs into his drink, grinning against the glass. "Hear that a lot in New York City," he says. "It's always whores, or coke dealers."

Don't, the shrug all but says, ask me how I know.

"Is that a no on the cigarette, or—?" He lights his own, in the meanwhile. And whilst watching Selim from behind the flame, that odd feeling of familiarity strikes again. Mannerisms, a guard seemingly alway up. "Did you ever serve?"

selim snorts as a response. the chances that halloween costumes had been chosen by means of practicality rather than creativity were high; after-all, in a costume such as the one hannes was referencing hiding weapons and drugs seemed awfully difficult. although he's thinking it, it remains only a thought. "it's as if everybody in this club took the spooky essence of halloween seriously - unlike you, i was starting to lose hope in that regard."

a quick shake of his head; an amused chuckle; and then his decision - would he continue playing the role he was in when he met the banker? or would he simply allow himself to blend in with the people he wished to know more about? "i'm never off the clock." selim admits. "even when, technically speaking, i am."

[hstarke]

"You're not in Australia anymore, though," he says. "If you're going to be spending your money here, then you need to be protecting it here. It's as if you left your bodyguards back home, too. How would they look out for you, if you're not there?"

Stella's musings bring that boyish smile back onto his lips — like he's caught red-handed being the best student in class. "I'm a financier. Wall Street. I do wealth management, specifically." He meets her eye as if to tease, Can you tell? "...And I don't do anything for free."

──a pearl of laughter fell from her lips at his response; Stella knew more or less how things worked, despite not being the one handling those at the family company, or any of the ones she had recently acquired, to be frank. “that’s why he insists he handles those back in Australia,” she laughed once again —he always nagged her to make a donation, yearly, and she did mostly around Christmas, and had a specific organization she donated every year too, always the same amount of money. “I should have taken him with me,” she joked as if she had a clue how it worked; all she knew how to do was make more profit, find products people would want to buy, make the right investments. “it sounds like you know your stuff, huh…” she mused, looking at him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. “you always offer advice so eagerly for free?” she teased.

[hstarke]

No babysitters for him — Hans didn't believe in them —, but a partner who was more than glad to spend time with their little one while daddy got one, or two, or many drinks with friends after work.

"Yeah, tell me about it." The suit and tie feel restrictive, but he's not ready to undo any of it yet. "How you doing, buddy?" His phone is placed on the bar counter, screen facing down. "Sleeping through the night yet?"

starter for @hstarke

Levi did not consider a lot of people friends, he was someone that kept to himself. He did not hang out with people much, he rarely had this much free time nor the energy to hang out with people. He was often drained after a long shift at the hospital and he spent his remaining energy being there for his son who always came first. A lot of his few friends understood especially since they themselves were often busy. Tonight was one he had been looking forward to and was excited about. He had found a babysitter for the night and he was off the next day so he had texted Hans and decided to grab drinks with him.

Levi had a beer in his hand, nursing his drink when he saw his friend and smiled. "Been awhile," he spoke with a smile.

[hstarke]

The 'yes or no' game: Do you want your son to work on Wall Street?

Want is a very strong word, here. If Hans knew he'd have any expectations about what his child was going to turn out like, then he wouldn't have become a father to begin with. He and his husband were raised by truly rotten men who had very specific ideas of what was acceptable for their sons to become, and they both know too well as to repeat that pattern.

He wouldn't mind it, either way. So if he has to cheat his way out of a yes or no game, let this be the one question he does it with.

The 'yes or no' game. — TRISTAN | RAHI | HANS | JULIAN | LEE | ANA��S

[hstarke]

So, Hans thinks, heir. In hindsight now, he could see the traces of old wealth all over her.

"It doesn't make you a bad person," he laughs. "But — pardon my French — it makes your banker a fucking idiot. Donations are the easiest way to get a tax write-off." Nonchalantly said, in between whiskey sips. "It's the best of both worlds: you protect your money, and look like the good guy to everyone who doesn't have a clue of how it works."

"You don't even need to care about starving kids — throw 100k at them, and you're hero of the week." Most importantly: "A hero who'll keep 20% more profit than everyone else." Beat, as he sets his glass down. "It sounds like you need a better financier."

And, silently added, you're looking right at him.

──there was something interesting to her about the younger man; a wit, a cunning, scheming little aura he exuded that was laced with charm and charisma that was often uncharacteristic for American men. she was finding their interactions very interesting, to say the least. a smirk formed on her lips at the response; she had expected no different, of course. the following words made her laugh a little; Stella was very much keen on her luxurious, lavish lifestyle that she had once been denied and had longed for —this was a time of her life she’d like to pretend never existed,

“a bit of both…” she responded, truthfully. “I have shares in my family’s business and I have expanded in other areas on my own…” she liked taking risks, and even more so when they paid off and were successful, “but does it make me a bad person I don’t plan to make any grand donation tonight anyway?” tone of voice dropped to a whisper as she admitted this.

[hstarke]

"Very much so." Because he can smell influence like a shark does blood, and seeks lavish proximity like a moth craves a flame.

Hans returns her toast, and ties it with another sip of his whiskey. "As if a peasant could even make it through that door." Blue eyes find hers again, in a manner that says, Which means... "Heir? Or self-made?"

──the blonde turned at the sound of the voice, a smirk forming on her lips upon meeting his blue eyes. “is this a more subtle way to say I told you so?” tone teasing, a flirtatious drawl laced through her words. excusing herself form her currently company, she turned to fully face him; gaze shamelessly drifting from his eyes to his suit, slowly met his eyes once more. “you were looking forward to seeing me again?” she clinked her glass to his, took a small sip as she winked at him, teasingly. a pearl of laughter fell form her lips at the following words. “so generous of you, I reckon..showing up for us mere peasants…” she laughed.

[hstarke]

@astraearinehart setting: upscale event; charity fundraiser gala

With little effort, Hans spots her across the room. Golden hair, and a timelessly debauched smile. Much like his own.

"What'd'I'say?" Approaching her, Hans recalls his prediction — a snapshot of some weeks back. "When I got the invitation to this thing, I knew you were getting it too." Beat. "How's that for charity?"

[hstarke]

Just as his lips part in shock, Mathias's finger comes to press against them. Playfully, he bites it.

"You fucking sicko," Hans whispers. A thousand questions run through his mind, though most are quickly discarded. "I knew it." He didn't. "I knew—" That you're too rotten to exit life quite this early. That privilege is reserved for only the good, the young, and the goddamn boring. "—That you'd hang out longer."

He shifts under the sheet, holding it higher above the two of them. God forbid this whole ordeal fucks with his hair, of all things.

People will think we're making out.

"Shit," he scoffs, "get on your knees, why dontcha? Give 'em something to really talk about."

He waited for Hans to join him under the sheet, wondering what it looked like to an outside viewer. But then it was just the two of them, and Mathias suddenly wasn't a dead man anymore. He smiled at Hans, then put a finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone" he said.

He couldn't think of anyone Hans could even tell in the first place. But he didn't need rumors starting to swirl, because not everyone would be quick to write them off as false. Someone was bound to believe it.

At least now he could feel another weight off his shoulders. Playing dead was easy when there was no one who would miss him. It was much harder for Mathias to pretend when he was sure there were people mourning him.

The both of them were really close under the sheet, and Mathias gently placed a hand on Hans' chest. "You can't stay under here for long, people will think we're making out".

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah," Hans scoffs, "that's not what I'm saying, and you know that."

Not that they couldn't know that he would tip her in one-hundreds, either — most of said co-workers were precisely the men he was sharing those Lusty Leopard tables with. But there was a code, an unspoken rule, that none of such late-night ventures bled into — well, here.

"I'm getting an almond milk latte, Lux. I don't need to be discreet."

⸻ Elizabeth hadn't stripped for months, in fact, she was retired now, and doing other work. Still, even if she is not working, doesn't mean she wouldn't bump into her former clients. Sometimes New York seemed like a big city, but in moments like this it feels small. ❛ Why? People from your work can't know you have a son? ❜ A beat. ❛ Y'know, if you want to be discreet, you're failing in it. ❜ And no, she did not move back.

[hstarke]

be honest can money buy happiness?

You're asking a banker, Hans thinks in smug silence. If he were being honest or if he wasn't, the answer would be the same.

"Yeah, it does." Whatever way you frame it, he's the poster child for it. If he'd never made his fortune, he wouldn't be living the reality that he does today. A fulfilling job, a happy family, and a damn nice home. "And if you wanna be happy too," he has to turn it into a quip somehow, "I'll just need your name on the dotted line."

send me "be honest…" with a question your muse has been dying to ask mine — TRISTAN | HANS | LEE | RAHI | JULIAN 

[hstarke]

Wall Street paints the background picture of a sun-bathed afternoon, and Hans readjusts a tie set against a sharp suit, as he waits for his coffee. Typing away on his phone, and then not.

Footsteps become louder, and louder, and closer. He looks up and watches as a blonde approaches.

Lux.

If Hans looks startled, it's because he is. Good were the times when strippers didn't approach clients in public — under broad fucking daylight. And mentioning his son, of all things.

He eyes their surroundings, searching for co-workers or other known faces.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" Beat. "Stand back. Jeez."

⸻ After dropping off the twins at the daycare, and finishing her daily exercises, she felt an urge to take something sweet to drink. It'd take a long while for her to be able to pick her infants, and Stella was nowhere to be found. Either she fled to Australia, which wouldn't surprise her or she was up for no good. ⎯ She went to the coffee shop and requested bubble tea, and blueberry muffin, which was her favorite. As she waited for her request to be finished she was surprised to see him. Hans. The last time she saw him, was in a city event with his son. Part of her wonders if he would ignore her or talk to her. ❛ Hi Hans. How's your little dude? ❜ ( @hstarke)

[hstarke]

🎀 Who would my muse sleep with if nobody ever had to know

"Who's asking?"

(also, answered here.)

sex+romance headcanons! — TRISTAN | HANS | LEE | RAHI | JULIAN 

[hstarke]

🎀 Who would my muse sleep with if nobody ever had to know?

Most often, secrecy has little appeal to him; half the reward is bragging rights, or the tipping of a power lever. The only way he wouldn't want anyone to find out, is if he would be somewhat embarrassed by it or if it would negatively impact how people see him in one way or another.

sex+romance headcanons! — TRISTAN | HANS | LEE | RAHI | JULIAN 

[hstarke]

They stop early on, somewhere in the sidelines of the otherwise crowded dancefloor. His fix is taken by means of a house-key off his chain; a better set-up would come only later at night, at a much calmer environment than this.

Far from a private setting, yet private enough.

Hans pulls the white sheet out of the way, and then over his head — climbing underneath it with the same trouble-making flair as he used to do with women's skirts.

Face to face at last, and the sheet drowns out the noise somehow — allowing only select light beams to shine through its cotton threads. Pink, blue, and purple shades bathe their faces from every angle.

And there's no mistaking, it's Mathias whose eyes his own had found. His breath, shared, and hot in this enclosure.

Mathias shrugged and followed Hans to wherever he wanted to go. He could understand the reaction. Most people stayed dead in the city, and there was a whole article in the paper about it too. Mathias should have been dead too. He just got lucky.

He walked by Hans side until they were somewhere less crowded then stopped. He wasn't going to remove the sheet while he was in the building, that was dangerous. But instead he lifted it slightly and gestured for Hans to look beneath it, just in case he needed to see things to believe it.

[hstarke]

The ghost inches closer to him, but it's not close enough. A blank slate to go off of — no mouth to trace, no tongue to follow as it bends and curves.

"I can't hear you, buddy." Ever the actor, it's played off as an ambiance issue, not a disability.

He steps back, downs what little drink he has left, and reaches into a pocket for something different. "I'm gonna take a walk." A white man's code for a snow storm, really. "You should come."

And take that thing off your face, Hans thinks, while we're at it.

The mention of Hans' son had an effect, Mathias could see that plainly. Such a small detail to mention and yet it did so much. Because in another life, their meeting years ago would have been different, and then perhaps Mathias wouldn't be hiding under a sheet while the rest of the world thought he was dead.

He just looked up at Hans through the cut out holes where his eyes were. Death came for everyone, that much was clear, but it sometimes didn't stick. Mathias wondered if Hans ever questioned it, or accepted it like everyone else. A part of him hoped it was acceptance. Mathias was smoke that slipped out of everyone's grasp.

He put his board down, and then got close to Hans so his words could only be heard by him. "I would never joke around about death, Hans. But based off your reaction, it seems like I really did haunt you. Do I count as one who got away?".

Mathias stepped back and picked the board up again only to draw another smiley face.

[hstarke]

"So you liked me," Hans says again. Because no one's ever neutral about him, this much he knows. Love or hate, those are the extremes.

The moment Henry's mentioned, something in the air shifts. He can no longer take this as face value. Undeniably, some aspect of his brain had been altered when he'd become a father; a simple name becoming the magic word in conversations such as these.

Who could he have possibly introduced to his son, his mind starts spinning, that would waste their time with such theatrics?

It isn't that Hans didn't care. He'd drank more than he should have the night that he'd found out; he'd numbed his mind with more substances than just the one. He didn't attend a funeral or visit a grave, but he'd thought of him over a line or ten.

Not an issue of feeling, it isn't — but belief, as Hans's skepticism makes it so that in his world, ghosts don't visit, and they don't come back from the dead.

"Yeah, cut the shit. This isn't funny." Of all people he'd mourned, only one had been recent enough to ever be around his son. Hans searches for the ghost's eyes — a hard task under the shifting lights. Blue, he thinks, a mirror to his own.

Hans shakes his head. "Fuck you. Fuck off." How high am I? "No."

I didn't hate you. Because liking was a strong word that Mathias didn't give to just anyone. He also refused to inflate Hans' ego more than it already was.

I think I was he wrote again. He was surprised at how easy it might actually be for him to fade into nothingness, to start over and away from everyone else. No one would miss him too much it seemed.

You introduced me to your son, so that must've made me very special.

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah — I'm always sure," Hans says, matter-of-fact. "Made a whole career out of it." Success in New York City comes not only from talent, but the innate ability to see one, two, three steps ahead. "I know how something's gonna go by just looking at it from afar." It takes a lot to still be a shark, in shark infested waters.

"Hm. Ten, eleven. Something like that." Precisely that.

As for the accent, he nods, "It sets you apart. A lot of beautiful blondes in NYC, and you strike me as someone who wouldn't like getting lost in the crowd." Beat. "Am I right about that?"

──a smirk. “you sound so sure,” the playful drawl of her tone made it quite clear that she only meant to tease the male. but he had gathered her attention already and she is not one to shy away from a conversation she finds some potential in —whatever that may be, if it keeps her engaged she is quite pleased for the time being. and so far in the night, she has found New York has a lot to offer to her in terms of…entertainment.

angling her body so she could better look at him, she hummed against the rim of her glass at the response —perhaps she would be more lost if she hadn’t lived in this place for so many years before. “how many years did you serve?” she questioned as she looked at him, up and down at her leisure; he did not strike him as someone who was still in service. “I am not,” she nodded, a smile forming at the observation, laughing a little at the following words. “I am from Australia.” she offered. “it’s the accent isn’t it? could perfect the American accent even after living here for almost ten years in the past,” she joked.