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[madhatmercury-blog]

wolfsbaneward‌:

Now, the thing is - this is what he does.  This is where he lives.  And offering to share that skill with another person didn’t happen often.  In fact, it had - never - happened before.  Had it not been for the fact that Merc was a poison and it was in all of their best interests if each of them had the tools and the wherewithal to get out of a sticky situation - that offer likely would have remained null and void.  He had - hoped - she might actually share some of his enjoyment, his enthusiasm.  That he might even feel a little better with her holding some more protection.

“Tons.  But far be it from me to bore you with those.”

His own lessons with guns had been harsher.  More brutal.  Not a cool basement with a patient, guiding hand.  Taking life wasn’t a glimmering facet in the diamond of existence.  Each and every one left a stain - darker and darker until there was nothing but blackness.  He doesn’t regret.  But there was enough blood on his hands to drown a city.

“Knock yourself out.”

The reply returns with a grin of his own, but it’s sharper.  Lacking in any humour.  Bane turning and heading back for the stairs.  If she doesn’t want to listen, she doesn’t want to learn.  So this is a waste of both of their time.  

If she wants to piss all over what he does - and does best, fine.  It’d be the equivalent of him taking her tech and installing Windows Vista OS with a nyan cat combo background then tossing a bowl of chicken soup into the harddrive - or comparing her skills to a Sims hat mod designer.  Sass and fun is one thing, but that… That was just fucking insulting.  He might tease her about screen addiction but he never, ever, belittles it.

“After all, what the fuck do I know?”

"Oh, Clay.”  She never threw their given names around, especially in the warehouse, not without reason.  It was an unspoken sacrilege, a breach of a contract she signed with her blood and loyalty instead of a pen.  But the sentiment of the moment had flipped on a dime and the weight behind her meaning of two otherwise simple words needed to translate.

She was at fault, entirely, but she would never concede that ground out loud.  She’d been distracted by a memory; one that once upon a time had been a pleasant one, but now that the other party was gone, it soured in her mind’s eye.  That, in turn, had made her snippier than usual, more sarcastic than her natural demeanor.  Normally the attitude wouldn’t be worthy of an apology, but how she felt about Bane wasn’t normal.

Her apologies generally worked best in actions or gestures, at least in past experiences they did.  Which is why after the name left her mouth she was traipsing after him with more of a skip than a walk.  He had the advantage of much longer legs and a stubborn(er) head on his shoulders, so she caught him with a foot already on the bottom step.  Her hand wrapped around his and tugged it off the railing

“Let’s start over.”  Her tone inflected like it was a statement, but her eyes asked it like a question.  She didn’t make any other effort to move him from where he stood, but her hand didn’t move either.

“Come on.  If I get shot and I had no way to defend myself, Night would whoop your butt.  Also, I’d probably haunt you.”

[madhatmercury-blog]

streiknine‌:

“There’s proper stabbing and then there’s just throwing your arm around and hoping, Merc,” Striker couldn’t help the little smile that twitched onto his face at the complaint. He knew Merc didn’t like to be corrected, but this was important — he didn’t want her to be wildly swinging a blade and being ineffective in it. The piss poor attempt at stabbing for his hand had sparked the lesson, even though they were right around the same age, Striker felt that he should teach what he knows… and there were few things he knew better than the feeling of a blade going through flesh.

Striker blocked the jab — barely grabbing onto her wrist and twisting. Merc moved a bit faster than he’d expected. The sharp blade nicked the loose fabric of the navy dress shirt tucked into his trousers, cutting about an inch slice into it. “It’s not your aim, it’s just annoying having them fall off my face when I move that fast.” He let out a low laugh. “That was good though. You’re faster than I remember. Were you just not trying to stab my hand with your pen?” He was teasing.

Pulling out his shirt, finger finding the newly made hole in it, Vincent let out a small huff. “I’m going to have to sew this, y’know. This is one of my favourite shirts.”

It was very hard not to be a little smug at her moves, especially when she was getting backhanded praise for them.  A sideways smirk and the tiniest, proud, head bob snuck out before she managed to stifle the emotion back down to normal standards.  She was, by no means, any of the Poisons’ equal when it came to physical deadliness, but landing a blow (even to an innocent piece of fabric) was something to have some pride for.

Besides, it’s not like she actually wanted to stab him anyway.

“Of course I was,” she laughed, planting her hands on her hips and shifting her weight to one side.  “Because you deserved it.  If you’d just asked for the Milk Duds you could have had some.  But instead, you just took them as if they were community snacks, and you should know by now I don’t do community snacks”.

She reached out, sticking her own fingers through the hole and wiggling them, a silly noise escaping her lips as she did so.  “You’ll live.  I’ll buy you a new one.  I’m sure I can find that exact one and it’ll all work out just fine.”  Her eyes narrowed slightly as she retracted her hand, and instead, used it to point at him.

“If you take your glasses off every time you move super fast, but you need them to see...

“How do you murder people so good?”

[madhatmercury-blog]

lithiumlegacy‌:

where: the lab, tattoo parlor when:august 13, round ten who: @madhatmercury

With a flick of his thumb, Raleigh watched as the neon open sign in the parlor’s window shut off, darkening the street considerably. He didn’t turn the lock yet, however, expecting more company despite the late hour. Mercury had responded to his text with her usual flair, more than lured in with the promise of weed. Truth be told, he was looking forward to her arrival for more than just business, interested to know what had happened at the Gala from her end of the event. Raleigh had a ravenous curiosity and Merc satisfied him constantly with tales of drama and woe within Dertosa. If some of that information got back to H, Raleigh was only doing his duty and passing on the need to know. 

Tucking his lighter into his pack of cigarettes, Raleigh tossed the box onto the counter. Nodding at one of the remaining artists cleaning his station, he busied himself with shutting down the office for the night. Counting the drawers didn’t take long, Raleigh was tucking the cash into the safe when he heard the front door announce the arrival of another person with a soft ding. Shutting the reinforced door and clearing the code, he was strolling into the front once more. 

At the sight of the hacker, his mouth curved up into a slight grin. “I think that might be record time, Merc. Did you run here?” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Matt.” Raleigh spoke next to the remaining artist. Seeming relieved with the dismissal as all double shift pulling employees are, it didn’t take long for Matt to roll out the door, tossing a goodbye and a smile for Mercury over his shoulder. “Think you have an admirer too.”

Allie didn’t care for being summoned.  Not because she was a Poison or because she felt herself somewhat above anyone else, she simply didn’t care for moving to someone else’s schedule.  That, of course, was why she left her old life behind.  Only one person left in this world was allowed to boss Allie around without the fear of getting any lip back in return, and that person was currently incarcerated in a municipal penitentiary.

However, when the text message had illuminated her screen, it felt less like a summons, and more like an enticement.  That didn’t bother her nearly as much.  She loved being bribed.  Especially by cute boys with quality merchandise and a penchant for trouble. And, all that aside, she was right around the corner anyway.

The quaint bell announced her presence before she could, and she marched right up to the counter with a grin beaming on her face.  She deposited her ever-present backpack and headphones before hopping up onto the counter and crossing her legs like she owned the place.

“I don’t run.”  She said matter-of-fact and offered no more explanation than that.  “And I have a lot of admirers.”  The follow-up garnered a little more of a devious sentiment, as her eyebrows raised a few times in succession.  “But I’m way out of his league, and I came to see you.”  She held out both hands pushed together in a cup shape, pouted her lip and tilted her head.  She thought she did an awfully good Oliver Twist impression if she did say so herself.

“Please, sir, can I ‘ave sommore?”

[madhatmercury-blog]

thusnarcissuswept‌:

be the trouble you want to see in the world one day after the gala closed to @madhatmercury

Sunglasses on, Starbucks in hand, pristine yellow cotton fluttering in the breeze, Julian drifted down Dertosa’s streets on one of the gaudiest of all their purchases: an electric longboard with, no shit, a flame decal. What better was could there be to cross town than fly by all the snooty elite without a care in the world? Besides, it was faster than bothering with traffic. Slurping through their straw, they tucked around turns and corners on their way to the Jade District, where someone was woefully coffee-less and waiting for them. Though, perhaps she didn’t know she was waiting for them, but she was. Everyone was.

The streets grew less pristine as they continued on, and soon enough they curved around the familiar, run-down, totally not inhabited at all warehouse and slid right up to its back door. Juggling drinks and phone and keys, it took them a minute to actually get it open, but then they cruised into the building’s main room and hit a graceful stop under the dead center of the roof.

“Ciao,” they called into the rafters, affecting a cheerful singsong to aggravate their own headache. “Mercutie, you’d better be home, ‘cause guess who’s saving your life on this fine day with your favorite? I brought a Snickers bar too, I’m pretty sure. Unless I ate it last night and forgot that too.”

The persistently bright morning sunbeams were making the lilac sheets she used as curtains illuminate the whole room with a purplish glow.  No matter how hard she tried to remain asleep, it didn’t appear to be in the cards for her.  Being out late was hardly anything new for her, but the fact she’d chose the noble route of tucking Winston into bed and making sure he had enough water and a stable trash can beside it instead of crawling into said bed like he’d been drunkenly begging her to was.  In retrospect, she’d ultimately regretted the decision, but it was hardly worth focusing on now.

She rolled out of bed, her overly fluffy unicorn slipper socks pulled up as high as they could go.  Fishing out one of Bane’s long sleeve gun brand tees she’d stolen weeks ago (something that looked like a barfing red dragon emblazoned on it) she slipped it on and belted it around the waist making somewhat over a makeshift dress, despite the sleeves going far past her hands.  It screamed comfort, though, which was the mood she was going for. Retrieving her abandoned laptop and tucking it under her arm, and slipping the oversized headphone around her neck, she made her way downstairs, where someone was already waiting.  Thankfully, with caffeine.

“Narcy!”  The cheerful exclamation echoed against the tall ceiling as she raised her free arm in excitement and descended the metal stairs. “You best not show up at my crib without candy, boy, you know the rules!”  She ditched the computer on the couch as she passed it, skipping right over for her hug, kiss, and coffee.  “Speaking of last night, where the hell were you?  I thought Night had made it pretty clear it was like, a mandatory thing.  Plus that shit’s right up your alley.”

“Also, what the hell is that atrocity you've rode in on?"

[madhatmercury-blog]

ofxgrabba‌:

where: the forbidden vices when: mid-afternoon who: @madhatmercury

Donnie was all about having a good time, and with the familial connection to the club he should’ve loved the place; but despite it being a club, to him the place was a little too PG.  All they really offered him was some drinks and the cleanest lap-dance he could’ve gotten, so compared to what he used to do in LA, this was nothing. But still, he could appreciate the vibes that the place gave off and with free entry and drinks, he’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.  So that’s exactly what he planned on doing on an afternoon where he didn’t have much else to do.

He was seated at the bar of the club, ready for his third re-fill of his now-empty glass Hennessy, his head nodding along to the beat of the music.  He took a second to look around the place — to really take a good look of that place that technically should’ve been his.  He wouldn’t have minded running the place, and with all the things they lacked, Don knew his Midas touch would’ve come in clutch in a place like this.  It would’ve been poppin, morning through night, if he had taken over.  But it wasn’t in his stars; he had been destined for greater things.  Greater things that he had single-handedly ruined, but that was besides the point. 

When the bartender had refilled his glass, Donnie slid over a hundred dollar bill.  He didn’t have to; he knew it, and the bartender knew it to but it was the principle of the thing.  You always treat the people who serve you well — he had known that from when he was little;  Momma Lewis had raised him right.  He heard a seat get taken to his right, and when his gaze turned to see who it was, his plump lips twitched upward to tease at a smile.  “Hey you.” Donnie said, his dark eyes trained on the woman before him.  It was Allie; his first, and arguably only real girlfriend he had ever had.  She looked fuckin’ beautiful, the years they had spent apart clearly doing her good.  Too good, even.  “Now you know you can’t be doin’ that to me.”  His words were laced in a playful tone, one of the only ones she had ever known; their relationship had been an easy one, lacking in fights but nothing else.   It was only right their first interaction after all those years lost reflected that.  Plus he was a flirt, whatever. “I’m only just getting comfortable and you gon’ show up lookin’ like this?”

It was rare Allie showed her face in Vices before the sun went down, but after all the hectic crap that had gone down at the Gala, especially with Night...gone...for a while, it was hard to sit around the warehouse idle and bored.  It had been far too quiet, even with her music echoing off the iron and concrete, so she opted towards entertaining herself elsewhere.  Someone was bound to be at Vices worth talking to.  Plus it gave her a reason to dress to the other kind of max that contrasted the elegantly conservative style she’d donned the night before.

It was decently crowded for an afternoon bunch, but Bomber didn’t linger by the door, as usual, his shift starting much later.  So instead of chatting up the bouncer for way too long, she hopped down the steps inside and headed straight for the bar.  She waved at the bartender who started pouring her drink before she got all the way down to a seat.  Allie had been so focused on kicking off her good night that she hadn’t done her usual scan of the room and fell into a seat next to the last person she’d expected.

His voice made her freeze, despite the warm and playful tone of it.  Surprisingly, she recovered from the shock of it faster than even she expected, flashing a smile to match his own as she turned to face him.  It was amazing how different someone can look when you’re right beside them as opposed to watching them dodge cameras on TMZ.  

“Don’t start.” She laughed despite the way her eyes rolled.  Her drink arrived and she thanked the bartender with her credit card so she could open her tab for the evening.�� “Getting comfortable?  Does that mean you’re sticking around for a while?”  She stirred her drink with the little straw and eyed him hesitantly.  “That’s normally your style.  Isn’t Dertosa a little bland for your tastes, now?”

[madhatmercury-blog]

salvatin‌:

she makes him smile amuses him with her bluntness, with the honest disdain for the event. isaiah always enjoyed her company, today won’t be any different he figures. he spins her, pulls her back flush against his form. ‘ I am no heartthrob. ’ what a lie and they both knew it, she knowing him well enough to have seen him with one woman or the other on his arm. it’s an open secret he supposes and perhaps why she had pulled him towards the dancefloor in the first place. wait what? his steps falter, briefly so but they do enough for her to notice. date-ditched flower? no, his date wasn’t bought, wasn’t a flower his date for the night was lennon, a barista down at pulp kitchen. brows furrow, confusion etched across his features, no. the statement had been a generic one, hadn’t been directed at him, had it? alas he had lost her moments ago, she’d wandered off not too long ago. not that that mattered to him, but he hadn’t taken out a flower had he? was just another girl that expects money or drugs from him? go figure with his luck that is probably what it was—- no, no she wasn’t, he refuses to believe that. he drops the issue, tries to at least, focuses on the dance once more, leading her properly again. ‘ I will take it as a compliment. ’ he remarks, returning to the previous topic of heartthrobs and whether or not he was one. 

‘ oh please, dreadful conversations with the old folk who regard everyone who doesn’t come from old money as beneath them? why wouldn’t I enjoy that? ’ humour ‘ I can think of quite a few things I’d rather do than being here. ’ leaving being quite high on the list.

"Uh huh.”  She mused doubtfully, spinning gracefully back into his grip without missing a beat.  Modesty was a rare treasure in a town like this one, but that didn’t mean Allie couldn’t mock it whenever it cropped up in a literal bearded Michelangelo statue that actually enjoyed her presence.  That itself was even rarer and she’d cherish it as long as he let her.

He fell quiet, pensive almost but about what she couldn’t begin to guess.  She found that during their short time working together, he wasn’t the idle gossip type (that had always been Pey’s purview) so she never wanted to push when he got lost in himself.  She chose instead to focus on the music and enjoy the simplicity of the dance.  This sort of dance was not the norm for Toxins like them, in fact, it was a miracle so many of them had made the invite list in the first place.  She was sure they’d make up for it later at the afterparty at Vices.

“Oh, you better,” she smiled as she regained his attention.  “It was certainly intended as one.  In fact, it makes it even better to see you all suited up like this.  Everyone looks so nice, I don’t even recognize half of them.  But maybe that’s the point, who knows.  

“But, don’t worry.”  She moved the hand that rested on her shoulder to pat his chest affectionately.  “This crap-party will be over soon, and we can all retreat back into our holes of shadowy comfort.  That’s when the real party starts.  Assuming everyone can keep it together that long.  You up for an afterparty?”

[madhatmercury-blog]

 handscanheal‌:

“Yes, ma’am. Pool. I could be an underground legend and you wouldn’t even know it,” he said with a playful smile. “I could go by…Uh, the 8th Wonder, or somethin’. For bein’ lucky with an eight ball.”

Winston found himself caught up in her laughter like a summer tide and he laughed with her. He pressed the tip of his chopsticks into his upper lip, colorless pinpricks against his mirth-dyed face. Truth be told, he had been just surprised as she was when he discovered he had something of a knack for billiards. It had been a little difficult finding the time to make a split shot between work and play, yet somehow he had managed it relatively unscathed. Except for that one time Milton accused him of cheating, but he surmised that had to do with clinicals more than anything else…

His shock almost had him being unsightly and talking with his mouth full. Although his brows shifted up in unspoken exclamation, he hurried through the rest of his food just so it wouldn’t interrupt him when he talked to Allie.

“Never played?” He finally said, able to take a breath from his food. “Nah, then that just wouldn’t be fair at all to you.” At her drink comment, his tongue ran over his teeth to find a rebuttal. She wasn’t wrong. Not by a long shot and he nodded in mock-defeat. “My kind of ambiance? Shoot, I’d go anywhere. It’s all new to me.” He followed after her and offered a lopsided smile as he fell in step with her. “It’s about the company anyhow, right?”

His awareness of the city became more vibrant when he was with Allie, like werewolf sight in an old game he played. The small, hidden things that he had come to treasure. He might as well have been a tourist when he showed up, pockets filled with frayed sightseeing maps. After a walk or seven with Allie, they hadn’t really done the city any justice. When they came to the hidden door, he had nearly missed it until she guided him.

“Oh, me?” Of course, you, Winston. “An Old Fashioned ought to do me just fine,” he said as he looked beyond her into the bar’s smoky shadows. Maybe it was the prospect of pool or maybe it was just who he was with that had him not worried in the slightest. Dertosa hadn’t done him wrong yet. “I’ll go on and grab us a table, looks like there’s one in the corner.”

Lo and behold, there had been one, and he posted himself against it with a slight lean. His scrubs felt a little out of place and for a few minutes, he considered whether or not the bar had souvenir shirts. The thought didn’t stick as he grabbed two cues and a chalk before settling back into his lean, finding calm in the mindless motions as he waited.

Ordering an ‘Old Fashioned’ ripped back many unwanted memories of Allie’s father, but she tried her hardest to ignore the onslaught.  She distracted herself by chatting with the bartender, one who a face she recognized but whose name escaped her.  Perhaps all hole-in-the-wall bartenders were actually the same person and that’s where the familiarity stemmed from.  It could even go as deep as an AI conspiracy, but now she was diving in a little too deep.

“And what for you, hon?”  The aging woman asked, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she disrupted Allie’s thoughts.  A place like this wouldn’t have her favorite cocktail like the Vices would, so she stuck to the sweetest simple thing she knew in the form of a cranberry and vodka.  It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.  She was here for an entirely better reason than the drinks, anyway.

She weaved her way back to where Winston had disappeared and grinned at the way he was lit by the soft yellow glow of the hanging billiard lamp.  “One very stereotypical drink for the doctor...” she started as she reached him, setting his drink on the side of the table where felt met wood.  “...and one overly boring but delicious drink for me!”  She giggled into her glass as she sipped from the thin black straw that’s more meant for stirring than consumption.

“So, how does this all this work?”  She gestured with fingers widely spaced on her hands, making a circular motion over the green table.  “I know there are the stick thingys and you use ‘em to push the balls around and stuff, right?  Into the holes  Heh, balls into a hole.  A man totally invented this game.”  She laughed a little too hard at her own joke before setting her drink down beside his and claiming a stick from his grip.

“Okay.  Show me how to do the thing.  Let’s do it.”

[madhatmercury-blog]

wolfsbaneward‌:

“The ‘righteous’ were the ones who proclaimed that sexually liberated women were the ones in the wrong… Historically patriarchal delineation of appropriate behaviour to oppress and control the masses either by societal means or religious connotations of ‘sin’.  To whit – Sex is wrong, sex is bad… but, only if you have a pussy.”

Another grin.  Because while most assume that ‘wilderness guy’ is doing well if he manages to utter a few ‘grunts’, that’s actually… Not the case at all.  A silver tongue was only part of the package, words meant very little unless there was some substance behind them.  Of course, they could be used to his advantage at times, but with Merc he doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s not as dumb as a plank - as most others like to presume.  He straightens up from that sweeping dip, holding her steady on his arms with a final comment –

“Don’t seem entirely fair.  Does it?”

One broad hand settles at her waist, almost spanning the width of her slender frame - but it was the truth, he did care, they did care.  There is, however just a slight shrug, one she’d feel under her hand as they moved, slower now –

“S’up to you.”

She can take from it whatever she wants.  It’s not exactly a secret that seldom few toxins ever made it to the ripe old age of retirement.  That their lives were strung and tangled with those trusted few for whatever grace of time they managed.  He wouldn’t – stop – caring, no matter how pissed she got.  However - in so far as it’s her duty to be a pain in the ass - that gives him a green light for a tease of his own.

“Still don’t change the fact that you’re dancin’ with me - not him.  What’s the matter, Merc - feelin’ like playin’ the role of a floozy yourself?”

The desire to roll her eyes as far back into her head as they would go as if she was mimicking a satanic doll was a strong one.  She knew she was getting back exactly what she was dishing out, but that didn’t make it any more tolerable.  Instead, she resisted the urge, opting for a much more subtle eye-roll that would read more as a general annoyance than anything.

She knew he’d know better, though.  So what was the point?

“You. Wish.”  She punctuated each word with a sharp jab to his chest with a pointer finger, a level of confidence that might just mask the red flooding her cheeks and the drop of her eyes from his face.  “I already told you why we’re dancing, so don’t start.”  He was well past starting, though, and she knew from extensive experience that it’d be hard to get him to stop.

“If I was in a floozy mood you wouldn’t be my first pick.  Too much competition.  Unlike you, I don’t care for hunting; figuratively or otherwise.”  She finally looked back up at him, her smugness returning from her slight falter.

“But that’s a big if.  I’ve already had way too much to drink for a fling tonight.  I’m already a handful and whatever’s in that punch has just amped it up.  So if you do come home alone-- cough, doubt it, cough-- be prepared for some entertainment.”

[madhatmercury-blog]

She is as c l e v e r, as she is p r e t t y 

[madhatmercury-blog]

ofxfrenchie‌:

In addition to the Poisons’ “new” leader, Mercury was probably one of Frenchie’s favorites of the sanction. She found to be a little too serious sometimes, and while she respected their work ethic and general decency, sometimes they weren’t as… lively as the Drink was accustomed to.  Especially not after Anthrax’s death. Despite this, Mercury was a little less uptight, though she was still well-mannered and diligent in her work, and Frenchie always enjoyed the woman’s company.

A light laugh escaped her, though the sound was lost in the music — too soft in contrast to the deeper bass.  “Their shit probably even stinks more than ours does.”  She quipped, twirling around as she danced, her chin lifting to motion at a group of drunken elite standing by a nearby table.  There were three men and a woman there, nursing their glasses of champagne as they probably discussed boring business.  The woman, blonde and probably in her mid-forties was no-doubt married to the man on her right — chatting up a storm to the man across from him.  He was too busy talking about God knows what, that he didn’t see his wife, just inches away from him, subtly feeling up on the man to her left.  

Frenchie’s dark eyes darted back to her dance partner, continuing to dance around as she continued.  “Probably not, but I’d love to see you try.  I’ll definitely have to hear that later when I can actually hear it.  Which reminds me, what are your plans for after this?”

As distracting and enticing as Frenchie’s moves were, especially among the more conservative dancers in the crowd, Allie found it difficult to not follow her gaze.  The group she was eyeing was no more or less distasteful than any of the other’s in the room, though admittedly and begrudgingly, Allie couldn’t place them.  She memorized their faces and the not-so-kosher behavior so she could look into it later.  It might just come in handy.

Her dance partner’s voice in her ear snapped her back to attention, dragging her from Poison work mode back to reality.  Her smirk grew again, leaning forward just so, trying to make it easier for Frenchie to hear.  “That depends.” she mused, tossing her arms across the swaying pair of shoulders opposite her.  “On two things.  One being if my date can come up for air from hospital hell.  The other being what are your plans after this?”

The very last thing Allie wanted to do after this was go home, especially with the fact that the rest of her little gang seemed intent on being all business at this damn thing.  They never get to go out as a full group, let alone all glammed up, and yet somehow, they all seemed perfectly content to just working. So boring.

“Who’s even running Vices right now if you’re all here?

[madhatmercury-blog]

rebelliumhq‌:

Considering the fact that his current conversation was dry enough to be literally dehydrating ( or maybe he was just getting too reliant on drinks to get him through these events ), Nick couldn’t have been more pleased to see the Poison who’d hooked him, not even bothering to give an excuse before shooting off into the crowd with her ( after an admiring glance down at her heels, how the fuck did girls move in those? ). “Y’know that was a captivating conversation on property value you just interrupted,” Nicky called teasingly over the music as she led him onto the dance floor, “I hope you can really move to make up for it.”

Head cocked to the side as he sketched out the tempo of the music, an approving smile stretched crookedly across Nick’s face as the band finally choose to go more upbeat, “Alright techie, you know how to Samba?”

“I will pay you ten thousand dollars right now if you can tell me just one tiny thing about the Diamonte District’s property value and inflation rates that actually makes sense.”  She didn’t break stride as she tossed the snide comment and accompanying smirk over her shoulder, raising both eyebrows to the ceiling and pursing her lips.

They settled into an open slot on the dance floor that cleared at the change of song, the upbeat and eclectic rhythm seemed to ward off some of the more conservative couples that had been doing whatever lackluster swaying they probably considered ‘dancing’.  Allie called it lazy rich people shit.  It was probably a little of both.

“I know how to do a lot of things that might surprise you, Nicky-boy.”  An exaggerated wink followed a dramatic spin to face him, grabbing his hand and shoulder simultaneously. “You’ll find I’m far more mysterious than you even hope to be.

“Why, do they teach dance classes in the Garden?  Wouldn’t put it past your boss, actually, now that I think about it.”

[madhatmercury-blog]

nghtshvde‌:

              On her third champagne, the Alchemist stood as she paroled around the dance floor, particularly for any suspicious behavior. In some way, she felt like a helicopter parent, especially when her eyes landed on people she knew— Poisons in particular. It was so insane to Night how well the others blended in, Striker, in particular. He always looked like the weird one in a crowd— in a well-meaning way, of course. She then came to a halt as she finished the remnants of her glass, placing it on the table beside her. Arms beginning to cross, she pauses when Mercury comes her way, startling the Poison. “Mer?” She managed to get out, greeted by an arm yank to the dance floor. “Wait! No, I can’t!” She whispers frantically, pulling back.

Her determined momentum faltered when Night’s restraint kicked in, causing Allie to falter on her feet just so.  A pout immediately replaced her everlasting grin, a default response deeply ingrained in her whenever things didn’t go quite her way.  Some habits never died.

“Can’t?  Or won’t?”  She asked, incredulous eyebrows raising as she tilted her head to the side, her grip still soft but present on the Alchemist’s arm. 

“I know you think you can’t have fun when you’re working but you look miserable.  Don’t you think it’s more suspicious if you’re floating around all begrudged and alone?”  She finally let go, taking a step back from Night and eyed her up and down a couple times.  “Not to mention, you look uncomfortable.”  She tsked lightly with a half shrug.  “You should have let me dress you.”

“Why can’t you?  Give me a good reason, not a lame one!”

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wolfsbaneward‌:

“I promised no unnecessary murder… If that hadn’t been the case, I might have shot half the people in here for their lack of personality alone.”

But - if someone decided to upset Merc, he’s fairly sure he’d deem that as ‘necessary’.  And while they move, a small space clears around them on the crowded floor - perhaps some sort of innate survival instinct… Easing away from those who they sense as a predator.  Or perhaps some of them are just a little smarter than then general conversation in the room gave them credit for.

“That right there is reason number one –”

A small squint as she taps his nose, a pause, then leading in a different direction - but he can’t quite help the self-indulgent smirk at her impersonation.

“ – Referring to be beautiful, intimate, visceral, art of sex as ‘sticking it in’.  And its 2018, Merc - I’m pretty sure that sexually liberated women have shed the term ‘floozy’.”

The music builds, approaching the end of the current song.  A tantalising trip of tempo to which they move, and as it hits the final note - he turns, takes her weight on one arm and dips slow and easy toward the floor.

“Don’t get pissed because we care.  Get pissed when we don’t.”

"Floozy is still a thing, I pinky-promise, no matter what year it is.  You, in your sex-addled brain, have just chosen to pretend that their dickthirst is righteous and self-driven.”  The hand on his shoulder raised in self-defense as she was dipped backward in his protective arms. It was very hard not to match his dastardly grin (especially a few drinks in) while appreciating the dramatics that tied to the climax of the song.

Another song began, this one more serene and slower paced.  Many of the surrounding couples broke apart and dispersed at the change of mood, leaving the dancefloor sparsely populated.  Regardless, she made no move to leave.  She always enjoyed the present company, no matter how irritating he was choosing to be.

“Can’t I just get pissed at both?  That seems like the most fun option.”  She’d long since accepted the fact that she’d become the baby sister of the group, despite not being the youngest, but that hardly meant she was ready to concede to the notion out loud.  Plus, being a pain in the ass came with that trope, right?

“I also reject the idea that it’s caring and replace it with the idea that its meddling, but, yanno.  Whatever you wanna call it is just fine.”

[madhatmercury-blog]

salvatin‌:

feet drag heavily across the floor, unwilling, unyielding, making it known that he doesn’t want to, that he isn’t keen on dancing. allie doesn’t stop that, rather tugs a little more forcefully. he could stop her easily if he wanted, could tug her back or free his hand altogether and yet he lets her drag him on the dancefloor, eye-rolling and huffing, b u t he is here, fingers moving, slipping once her grip on his wrist loosens; he holds her hand, moves the other to rest against her back. ‘ I wouldn’t have picked you for someone who is into ballroom dancing. ’ he comments as they begin to waltz, move with the music. 

‘ that obvious, huh? ’ he questions, playing at the dreadfully bored she’d brought up while spinning her on his hand before he pulls her back.this, was something his mother insisted he’d learn, was something she insisted all four of them did. dance classes, ballroom dancing, he knew how to do that, knew how to be the perfect gentleman, his mother had made sure of that, it’s irony though, that he’s everything but. ‘ you aren’t truly enjoying yourself here, are you? ’

What’s a criminal hacker ne'er-do-well like you know about fancy dances?  Is the question she really heard, despite knowing full well that’s not at all what he had meant.  She knew others here were likely thinking it.  At least, those who knew who the Poisons were and that she belonged to them.

No one alive in this city knew her roots, and how she’d been raised on dances and parties exactly like this one.  How she grew to despise them.  How she hated the fake smiles and cordial bows.  It was like when Winnie explained how ‘bless your heart’ had meant anything but.  No one at these things actually liked being there, or each other for that matter, but that was no reason that she couldn’t figure out a way to enjoy herself.  Forcing her wallflower friends onto the dance floor was one way she chose to do that this time around.

“Nah, I hate this crap.”  She admitted through a pleasant smile, betraying the sentiment behind the words.  “But, I say, make the best of the situation.  Find a heartthrob.  Dance in front of everyone.  Make the date-ditched Flowers jelly.  You know, a usual Saturday.”  She did not hold back from the movements required from the waltz, the music reverberating in her chest as she breathed with the tempo.

“Besides, us Poison-folk were hired for protection, and there ain’t much little ol’ me can do without a solid wi-fi connection.  So dancing is a decent second.  Why, would you rather be doing something else, grumpy pants?”

[madhatmercury-blog]

                                                   The Poisons ✛ Cinnamon Rolls

Bonus:

[madhatmercury-blog]