lauraxvardhamana

[lauraxvardhamana]

▬  Sobhita Dhulipala

[lauraxvardhamana]

sachas​:

THE MANOR / THE EIGHTEENTH OF JULY / @lauraxvardhamana

Contempt with the day sours Sacha’s mood; there’s no hiding their annoyance as they leave the East Gallery. In fact, they’re the first one out the door, splitting as soon as the votes have been cast and counted. Sacha is second to only Jack, who is admittedly an obvious choice ( the person the Dominion votes for themself, even ). Of those that name Sacha, votes from other allegiances don’t bother him at all, unlike the ones that come from within Death. What kind of ‘thank you’ is this, all his personal sacrifice and donated funds only to be met with fingers pointed in his face, accusing him of treacherous things he hasn’t done…but perhaps dreamt about once. Or more than once, but Sacha tries not to enjoy the fantasies too much, if for no other reason to save himself the heartbreak of his subservient reality.

One vote in particular irritates him beyond what is probably reasonable — Laura nearly laughs as she names him, and Sacha seethes in response. Her icy words are a shrill ring in his head, one that repeats until he can’t sit still anymore. Content to roam the grounds rather than stick around in the shared room, Sacha drowns out the rest of the tumultuous world with AirPods in ears, on their way to brood about the garden for a change. Turning a corner past the kitchen and dining areas, he stumbled upon an all-too familiar figure, appearing to be busied by something: it’s Laura, lazily cleaning her assigned wing of the manor, if you could even call the half-hearted work cleaning. He feels hot blood rush to his cheeks, anger colouring vision and face as he sees her.

Impulsively, he approaches her, grabs hold of her wrist and pulls her further down the hall wordlessly, leaving no room for argument. They make a swift turn around corner into a butler’s pantry, outfitted with marbled countertops and rows of cabinets likely filled with someone else’s silver and china, the perfect setting for two angry bulls to duke it out. Sacha finally lets go of her wrist upon entry, unaware or apathetic about how forceful he is. He storms to the far corner of the long, narrow room, preferring space between them. “The fuck was that in the gallery?” he spits, holding angry gaze until their eyes meet, somehow unable to take the tension. Shaking his head, he quotes her words with ire: “‘Sacha is quite sensitive when you slight them?’ Throwing me under the fucking bus doesn’t exactly do you any favours there, Laur.” Despite the truth to it, they hate being reminded of their own weaknesses. “You weren’t fooling anyone with that fake dusting shit, either.”

•

One minute Laura’s cleaning or, rather, pretending to clean, and the next she’s being dragged down the hallway by Sacha, foul mood stinking up the entire corridor as he yanks her into a butler’s pantry. She glares at him, annoyed at being manhandled, annoyed because she knows he’s pissed ( and, really, that had been the point ), but she’s not the only one who’d accused them. Not the only one who’d doubted him. Though, of course, she’d made her remarks with purpose, looking at him with a smug smile as she uttered his name.

Her expression shifts when he speaks, quoting her back to her, eyes gleaming with the small victory of knowing she’d gotten under his skin as she leans on one of the countertops. “In case you’ve already forgotten, I’m not the only one who did, Sach.” But am I the only one who got under your skin? The only one who lingers there? Prickling at the back of your neck? Are you annoyed or are you hurt? Be hurt. Be hurt. Because that was the point of this now, wasn’t it? The point of them? Who will land the blow first, who can drive the knife deepest? Who can peel back the skin and dig into the marrow of the other, into their essence? Their game hasn’t ended yet – it couldn’t, because Laura would never be able to admit she lost. So she’ll force him to concede, or do everything in her power to make concession his only option.

“Besides, am I wrong?” Painted lips tug at the corner as she pushes off the marble countertop, drawing a slender finger across the smooth surface as she slowly walks in their direction, counting on him to move once she gets too close. She refuses to be prey, refuses to let their presence, the way the air hums between them, deter her. “You get upset when someone refuses to play by your rules, love, and if they beat you and your own game…well,” she glances at him, head canted to the side, jostling loose long locks of hair from behind her shoulder. “All bets are off.” It’s not a question. They react with vengeance, and a part of her likes the thrill of not knowing what that will always look like, his response ever changing. A part of her likes the thrill of not knowing what Sacha might do if pushed. If she crosses the line. But Laura doesn’t just yet, stopping short half a meter away from them, amusement crossing her expression. She glances down at her attire before meeting Sacha’s gaze again with a raised brow and smirk. “would it be more believable if I wore one of those little French maid uniforms?” She wouldn’t even be surprised if there was one floating around in this old manor. 

[lauraxvardhamana]

sxint​:

Location: The Manor, room twelve. Date:17|07|21. Closed: @lauraxvardhamana.

Saint, for the most part, had remained quiet. An allusive soul, craving for peace to balance the chaos and destruction that clings to his life. And although it’s foolish to think he may not deserve this, the bad things that are born from a life lead in criminality, he also can’t deny the unshakeable narrative that his maman’s departure etches into his chest. More so, in the comparison of what he’d felt when it was his sister who was taken, snatched in the night and stolen along with his meticulously guarded warehouse, its noticeably less painful. Shockingly, in someways, and in truths he’d dared to speak, not even to himself, Gabrielle’s sudden vacancy doesn’t choke him, but almost, it allowed him to breath. As if the heel digging on his throat had at long last removed it’s pressure, and there were no longer this need to perform, or be perfect, in the hope that the hoops he jumps through would reward him with the praise of an uninterested god. 

Although, it’s not to say he’d wished her gone. He doesn’t, not really, and if his Horseman’s survival depended on his bated breath, then Saint would adapt to survive at the lower frequency. Permit deities to feast on his passions in order to keep War alive, in order to keep War strong. She’d linger on his mind then, cling to his conscience and the reflection he see’s in the mirror. It’s odd, really, how he’d never noticed the similarities in his features to Gabrielle’s until she’s gone. The same shaped lips, the same sharp and narrow gaze that even in it’s resting state had seemingly been searching for suspicions. She’s with him still, even now, embedded into him, buried like a rose thorn that skin traps and encases by healing over then singing in pain. But now, as the sky fades from blue to black, night crawling in and capturing the British countryside in a star-filled night that the city in all it’s light pollution could never quite offer, Saint only wishes to sleep. 

He’s yet to go to his allocated room, carrying a gym bag full of his clothes in one hand, he turns the door handle with the other, and enters. Still empty, he thinks, green gaze looking at a vacant bed as he sets his belongings onto his preferred mattress, (the one located closest to the exit). With the hood of his hoodie pulled up, he sits down, his back pressed against the wall and focus now centred on a book that splays open in his palm. Only for his attention to draw upward as the door swings open, and his room mate to finally announce themselves, with long dark hair, and a pair of shoes that Saint can’t help but find hauntingly familiar. A frown sits on his face, puzzled, and waiting patiently for the other to turn around and offer any greater hints of their identity. 

•

Laura isn’t happy. Not only has Death been forced into a truce, but with Uriel gone, she trusts the other gangs even less. Duplicity is second nature to all of them and without their leaders, Laura’s already fragile trust in the truce cracks even more. It’s not made any stronger when their Seraphim bring them together, opening the floor for accusations, reasons given for names spoken until four are left as the primary suspects. She thinks it’s a fairly reductive process, a game of clue in place of action, without consideration of a potential external force. What she doesn’t say when it’s her turn to speak is how skeptical she is that any of them have actually done it. Maybe, instead, they’d made such a mess of their playground these past few months, that the authorities were finally stepping in. She thinks it would make more sense than self sabotage. But her opinion doesn’t matter. And, at the end of the day, the four would be dealt with and if it wasn’t their doing, they’d all find out soon enough.

She makes her way to her room, annoyance pricking at the back of her mind after her encounter with Sacha. Apparently, it wasn’t funny to throw around accusations she didn’t mean. You know, Sacha is quite sensitive when you slight them. Believe me. So the fact that Uriel overlooked them for Jack as Seraphim...well.. But she had meant her words. They were quite sensitive – the fact that they’d accosted her after the meeting serving as evidence. Laura wouldn’t let him get the best of her, though, pausing outside the door to take a breath. 

The Power comforted by the knowledge of a knife tucked away in her bag as she turns the knob, pushing open the door. Pivoting to shut it behind her, Laura adjusts the strap of her small overnight bag before turning to face her roommate and pausing. Not quite frozen in shock but a wave of surprise hits her before a smirk forms, tugging at the corner of her lip as she makes her way to the bed opposite Saint’s. Heels promptly kicked off as she collapses unceremoniously onto the bed, amusement colouring her tone as she glances over at him. “You know, if you’d wanted to see me again, you could have just called.”  He’d ghosted her and while it rankled in the sense that she preferred to be the one doing the ghosting, there’d been no love lost for Saint Warden who, she supposes, will have finally realized her involvement in Death tonight. 

[lauraxvardhamana]

- I like working, ma. - So work! When have we held you back? You’re a trained secretary. Manage our properties. What’s the need to work outside? If something goes wrong, it will be really embarrassing for us.

MADE IN HEAVEN (2019—) Rewatch ❈ 1.01 “All That Glitters Is Gold”

[lauraxvardhamana]

her laugh is contagious, and a high pitched, genuine giggle finds its way into the microphone of his phone.

EMIL: oh! yeah, one sec. i'm putting you on speaker—

they bring the phone in front of their face, switching on the speaker option before navigating away to find laura's messages.

EMIL: oh shit. oh shiiiit. the red one is stunning, like, i'm deeply upset right now that we are not the same size. who made it? but also, the detailing of that blue burgundy one is out of this world. is that lace? oh, no, mesh.

EMIL: this is a difficult one, babe. i think we're gonna need a cocktail, or two.

LAURA: Yeah? I love that one but I was leaning toward the latter. Right? It's fucking gorgeous. Valentino, lovely – hasn't made a dress I don't adore yet.

LAURA: I'll bring both and then we can figure out shoes and your outfit.

[ She sighs slightly, nodding despite Emi not being able to see her ]

LAURA: I know, I know...we'll manage. Hopefully Uriel will let us in on whatever the plan is sooner rather than later.

[ She hates being in the dark but is trying to trust their leader despite the feeling of betrayal that sinks deep inside of her at the very notion of a truce. ]

[lauraxvardhamana]

SACHA: It's nothing personal. And like you said, it's better this way.

[ A brief pause, Sacha a strange mix of pleased and embarrassed — rare, almost entirely new territory. ]

SACHA: So you've been keeping track of them, hm?

[ A semi-false laugh into the receiver, meant just to piss Laura off. ]

SACHA: It's okay to be jealous, Laura, I understand. I'm sure it's hard to be reminded of what you missed out on.

SACHA: You're lucky green suits you.

[ She's annoyed, irritation prickling at her as she exhales another puff of smoke and scoffs. ]

LAURA: Not at all, you've just never been one for subtlety is all.

[ It's a lie, but if it bothers him, all the better, Laura thinks as she sighs, boredom filling her tone. ]

LAURA: I don't do jealous, Sacha. And I didn't miss out on anything. I got exactly what I wanted, or did you forget?

[ She hopes she's pissing Sacha off, bringing up the fact that she'd used them whilst they'd remained ignorant, blinded by lust and whatever else they'd deluded themselves into thinking they felt for her.]

LAURA: Anyway, thanks for the chat. You'll have the paperwork by tomorrow. Have a nice day, love.

[ Laura hangs up, tossing her phone on the table unceremoniously, face scrunched up in displeasure. She's not jealous. ]

[lauraxvardhamana]

SOBHITA DHULIPALA Photographed by Aviraj Singh (2021)

[lauraxvardhamana]

[ Who else would describe Sacha's intensity as something as menial /nagging/? Her apparent lack of intimidation is partly why his fickle interest in her flares up again from time to time. ]

SACHA: Fine, whatever. PAs are replaceable, where you work makes no real difference to me.

[ Perhaps a lie, though even Sacha isn't sure. Either way, there's a stack of CVs on their desk sent in by hopeful production assistants, all eager to get their foot in the door at Pale Horse — while Laura slid easily into the job thanks to her /personal/ connections in Death. The mention of the doe-eyed secretary has Sacha shift in their seat. ]

SACHA: Yeah, I've noticed. She's not very subtle about her feelings. It's too bad small and nasally doesn't really do it for me.

SACHA: Not that who I fuck is really any of your business anymore.

SACHA: Look, just bring me whatever internal transfer paperwork you need me to sign and we can be done here, no hard feelings.

[ She takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales, making a face at his flippant words. ]

LAURA: Rude but okay. Thanks.

[ She can't help the annoyance that tinges her tone at Sacha's dismissive words, but reigns it in expertly at the mention of the secretary. ]

LAURA: Really? You don't seem very picky these days.

[ Her words are sharp and judgmental as Laura recalls all the Angels ( and people in general ), Sacha had flirted with in front of her, seemingly losing all selectivity when it came to irritating her. ]

LAURA: Anyway, I'll have them on your desk by tomorrow to get the process started. I'm glad there aren't any – I'll be out of your hair soon enough anyway, don't worry.

[ It may take a few weeks for her CV to be reviewed by a new department but with the process starter, at least there's an end in sight to having to work with Sacha. ]

[lauraxvardhamana]

EMIL: my god is it good to hear a voice i like.

they sigh audibly into their phone, tucked between their cheek and shoulder.

EMIL: lau. babe. do you know me at all? you think i'm gonna be stressing and crying over what to wear the day before i have to wear it? you won't catch me slippin' like that.

EMIL: nah but please come over later, i wanna hear your thoughts. and i absolutely want to help you pick something, you'd be doing me a massive favour so i don't, like... start crying about all this shit again. i think i'll be done here at like 7 ish, so mine at 7:30?

LAURA: My bad, Emi

[ She laughs softly before picking up a bag in her closet, considering if it would look good with any of her current dresses or if she'd need a new one ]

LAURA: Just sent you some dress options. Can you look? I'll bring the ones you think work best

LAURA: And don't you dare cry without me. I need a drink, or twenty tonight.

[ In truth, she doesn't feel like crying so much as screaming over the news of the Truce, but she doesn't say that either. ]

[lauraxvardhamana]

sunisarueng​:

with. – @lauraxvardhamana​ where.– sunisa’s apartment (hackney) when. – june 8th 

Black licorice hangs out of the side of Sunisa’s mouth, thumbs working against the joysticks. In front of her, Ellie has been bitten by the thirtieth clicker on her current play through. “Oi, y’fuckin’ lavvy head.” Slumping into her chair, she takes a deep breath, tossing the controller to the side. Grabbing the licorice, she tears it away from her mouth, molars coming down to chomp off a piece. Chewing thoughtfully, she barely registers the sound of a knock on her door. 

“What’s wrong with the fuckin’ bell?” Sunisa says under their breath, grabbing their phone. Tapping into the notification that she’d been too focused on the video game to hear, she sees Laura’s face from outside. A self installed security system that would do no good against true threats, but at the very least give Sunisa a head start, aids them in deciding whether or not they want to pretend to be home or not. 

Laura, however, is a welcome figure in her studio apartment. Sunisa lets out a heavy sigh as she gets up from the couch, licorice hanging lopsided out of their hand as they walk over to the front door. It takes them about thirty seconds to unlock their door, several bolts and chains acting as a labyrinth. Pulling it open, she nods at Laura. “Hiya.” Sunisa glances over their shoulder, making no move to begin the act of cleaning up clothes strewn across their floor. “Come on in.” 

Retreating back inside, they take another bite of their licorice. “Lock up behind ya, thanks.” Plopping back onto the couch, they gather their knees to their chest, the last bite of their licorice staining their palm a dark purple. “Comin’ to make sure I didn’t burn anythin’ down?” 

•

Sadness is a strange thing. Sometimes it hits you like waves crashing into rocks, violent and brutal. Other times, it feels like a steady stream, trickling by, a constant presence but nothing jarring about it. And other times, it’s a void, one Laura can get lost in unless she clings to something else – conquest, money, vengeance, wrath. Friends. Friends. She has those now. People who might not know her entire story but understand why she does what she does, and why she’s part of Death. Part of a cause bigger than herself.

And in her time since joining, she’d formed a bond with Sunisa, for many reasons but especially because they seemed to understand better than most, that sparkly things only filled a void only for so long. In that, there was kinship and in that kinship came a sort of affection for the other, like they were a younger sibling to Laura. Not replacing Victor, but helping fill the void he’d left in her life. So not only did they work together, Laura passing off security codes to the thief once she was tired of a conquest, the time they spent together came with an easy comfortable. The ability to relax.

She shrugs off the light jacket she’d been wearing because of the rain and holds up a take out bag with a yellow smiley face on it. “That and I got pork buns. Figured you haven’t eaten.” Laura glides over to the couch, flopping down onto it and wrinkles her nose at the black licorice on the table. “Haven’t eaten anything good because that is vile, Suni.” Said with affection, though, as she pulls out the plastic container, fogged up a bit with steam from the fresh buns. She withdraws two pairs of chopsticks, handing Sunisa one of them and pulling hers apart with a snap. “What game are you playing?” Victor used to like video games. He’d tried to get Laura to play but she’d never had time. Never found time. Just add it to the large pile of small regrets she has in regards to time spent with him.

[lauraxvardhamana]

[ He chuckles into the receiver. Sacha doesn't really believe Laura is interested in any lasting personal growth, but admittedly, he has a stubborn desire to hear Laura say he's the reason she wants to transfer. To know he still manages to get under her skin will be a small victory of it's own. ]

SACHA: Wow, that was convincing.

SACHA: /Boo./ Where's your sense of loyalty? Most people stick to their hiring department for at least six months. Poor Laura, what's scared you off so soon?

[ The idea of Laura working with talent directly somehow seems annoyingly fitting. She's certainly better at talking beauty and gossip than taking direct orders from her superiors. ]

SACHA: Well, maybe it's for the best. My assistant was getting quite jealous of how much time we were forced to spend together.

[ The hair on her arms rises at Sacha's laugh and she presses her lips together in a thin line, annoyance prickling at his prying, like it's not already obvious why she wants to switch. ]

LAURA: I just think I can do better elsewhere is all. Nothing's scared me off. That'd be silly. Besides, it's not like you love working with me either. So it's a win-win. You no longer have to nag, I no longer have to pretend to listen.

[ She evades their question, forcing them into the spotlight to admit that it was hard to be in proximity to her on a daily basis, even a bit. Still, the mention of their assistant causes something ugly to twist in Laura and she shrugs, lighting her cigarette and clearing her throat as she feigns nonchalants.]

LAURA: Angelina is in love with you, that's why. She probably thought we were fucking or something, which is obviously not the case. [ Said only to see if Sacha would react. ] But you should probably let her down easy already if you're not interested.

[ Laura frowns, going silent as an unpleasant thought occurs to her. ]

LAURA: Unless you are?

[ She clears her throat. ]

LAURA: In which case, a change in departments works better for everyone.

[lauraxvardhamana]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 : 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐫𝐮����𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥

Laura wears a Valentino dress to the New Truce Ball, with rich patterns and delicate details throughout. Carrying a simple gold YSL clutch, she also accents her look with a bronze-gold mask and dark red lipstick. While she’s not happy to be at the ball, Laura is not one to pass up an opportunity to get dress up.

[lauraxvardhamana]

[ He can't help but laugh softly at her small hesitation. This is what they are now, sat uncomfortably on the same side, all the unspoken conflict of the past lingering in the air. He lets her talk for awhile before finally answering, sounding disinterested. ]

SACHA: So, you're sick of running errands for all the high-strung Pale Horse producers. Can't say I blame you.

[ They can put two and two together to realize it's a way out of working in such close fucking proximity to their ex-fucking-whatever. Sacha sighs into the phone receiver, mixed feelings bubbling up. ]

SACHA: What department? A lot of the creative offices are full of tight-asses, you shouldn't waste your time.

//

[ She chews the inside of her cheek, now rummaging through the bag on the kitchen table beside her for a loose cigarette, coming up empty with a huff just as Sacha speaks. She makes a small sound of amusement. ]

LAURA: I think I'm supposed to say "I'm looking for more opportunities to grow" or something like that.

[ Really, she wants the opportunity not to interact with him on a daily, frequent basis. Post-Thames, her thoughts have been all over the place and she hates feeling like that. Hates feeling uncertainty every time they ask her to do something. Is it indifference or is it professionalism? Is it actually work related or a convenient outlet for spite? She can't tell anymore. ]

LAURA: I think every office is full of tight-asses, Sacha. [ Said with a smirk as she finds the cigarette and moves to her living room and the sliding door there. ]

LAURA: Hair and makeup possibly. Or one of the assistant positions with talent.

[lauraxvardhamana]

[ The name on Caller I.D. prompts a sickening mixture of emotion from Sacha, something like half-annoyance and half-guilty gratitude. Perpetually angry with Laura for how she once manipulated him, beating him at his own fucking game, he's weirdly thankful to her, too, now that she went and saved his life on the Thames. He doesn't owe her anything, nothing at all... except perhaps a thank you that he still hasn't given, too stubborn to show any real emotion. In their mind, allowing her the privilege join Death in the first place should be thanks enough. ]

SACHA: Hi.

[ A brief pause. He's still suspicious of everything she does — rightfully so considering she once cloned his credit card. ]

SACHA: Depends. What do you want?

[ She doesn't know what she expects when they pick up the phone. When they answer and their voice is curt, devoid of any warmth she'd grown accustomed to hearing before everything came crashing down. Laura rarely regrets anything, but she's never regretted getting caught more. The illusion had been shattered and things had remained on thin ice with Sacha since, Death or not. She clears her throat. ]

LAURA: Believe it or not...your advice.

[ She doesn't mention the Thames or Death's boat or that night, and doesn't quite know if they even remember what happened. She picks at the petal of a plan on her window sill ]

LAURA: I'm trying to move departments and apparently it's policy to have a supervisor provide a letter of recommendation.

[ She pauses. It's a big ask, especially considering their past, but she's a good worker, and she's not stepped out of line once since joining the PHM family. ]

LAURA: Is that something you'd be amenable to doing?

[ Production assistant was fine, but it took too much of her time and she didn't exactly fancy working in such close proximity to Sacha every day. The position she wants isn't open yet but she's hoping to have everything in order by the time it does. Allegedly by the end of the month, if the work rumor-mill was to be believed. ]

[lauraxvardhamana]

[lauraxvardhamana]

― Margaret Atwood, You are Happy

[lauraxvardhamana]

LAURA: Have you decided what you're wearing to this super best friends forever truce ball?

[To say she's bitter about the recent turn of events is an understatement, and she knows Emil feels similarly. But without any means of comforting each other, she turns to the only other thing she can think of – an excuse to dress up.]

LAURA: And if not, do you fancy meeting after work to figure it out?