milo-pierce

[milo-pierce]

-

After the initial meeting, Milo needed a break. Something to release some of the tension throughout his body before the rest of their gangs joined them. One of the perks of the manor was the pool on site. It was his preferred cardio. A workout that used most of the muscles in his body while keeping him cool at the same time. He went out to the pool and swam his laps, unaware that someone else had joined him in the pool area until he’d finished. Milo emerged from the water and moved to his towel. He rubbed the excess water off his hair then moved to dry off his torso. All the while he assessed the person laying in one of the pool chairs. Jack, of course it was Jack. The universe was finding ways to test his patience at every turn it seemed. Horseman missing, trying to play peacemaker, having to share interim horseman, and now faced with the original traitor. “Nah, don’t think so.” He responded, standing over him and pulling down on the towel draped around his neck.

The blonde chuckled at the other man’s guesses. He might have asked something along those lines months ago. But there wasn’t much of a point to do so anymore. Most of that information was free game at that point. The Seraphim moved closed lips from side to side while he thought. “Why? Something new I should know? Planning another funeral?” He asked while he settled in a nearby chair. Soaking up some of the sun wasn’t a horrible plan. Not like any of them got a chance to spend much time outside in it, at least he didn’t. “If I wanted to kill you, I think I would have found a way to get the job done by now.” Milo reached for his cigarettes and pulled one out. He packed the filtered end of the stick atop the back of his other hand. “Doesn’t make you less of a piece of shit, mind you. But I do not have anything to say that has not already been said. Besides,” he finally put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. “Chaos suits you better.”

@milo-pierce​ | july 17th | swimming pool, the manor

This stay certainly wasn’t a vacation, but seeing as Jack didn’t have a day job to take a vacation from, he carried on at the manor as he would in his regular day-to-day. So he laid sprawled out in a pool chair with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. PHM was still operating without their CEO but the unsettling tension in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t release until his Horseman was back. A shadow falls over Jack, earning its owner a darkened look of annoyance. “Move. You’re blocking my sun.” It takes a few blinks to filter out the bright light and see the unfortunately familiar face of Milo staring down at him. 

Jack holds back a dramatic roll of his eyes but isn’t able to contain the heavy sigh which heaves out of his lungs, taking with it the tiny amount of relaxation he’d been able to collect. This had been a conversation he’d long expected was coming and had no desire to perform. “Let me guess what you’re about to say,” he begins before the other Seraphim has a chance to get the words out. “How could you? Why did you betray us? I want to kill you.” That tired script had been spoken ( or shouted ) by nearly every member of Pestilence when they came across Jack. At first he’d enjoyed seeing how much his betrayal had hurt them, but at this point it was just irritating. He craved a new argument instead of replaying this one for the hundredth time.

[milo-pierce]

[milo-pierce]

victoria.

&

Morning, one that held the promise of long sleep after a night out at Pest. On the nightstand, a phone, never turned off - never anymore - emergencies coming quicker than one would like. Indulgences were common for the Seraphim, and the weekend was the time for them. Sun seemed far, the blackout curtain making the room almost pitch black, the only light coming was from the latest iPhone that was not only buzzing but ringing, a sound undesired in this early morning. Headache not far, threatening to come if the noise didn’t stop, the name on the screen was not entirely welcomed, something that was a rare occurrence. Milo’s voice usually being liked, almost sought, did nothing for Victoria this early in the morning. Groan indicated the sleep, voice not warmed up as a word, ❝ What? ❞ was said ruder than she’d liked. Urgency seize as words came, confusing, lacking context, but serious nonetheless. Business was calling, bad news coming her way.

Slumber gone, no chances of it coming back, and a guest coming her way, getting out of bed was the only option. Aspirin taken, huge glass of water downed, putting on proper attire and make-up was not happening before the other arrived. Silk bathrobe, hairband holding everything in place, the only thing wanted was coffee, the De'Longhi being too much for now, automatic espresso preferred. Bitter and hot cup in hands, sips taken while eyes closed, the noise at the door took Victoria almost by surprised. Eyebrows creased, something off about Milo, heart racing as she sat and he crouched. Concentration failing, eyes moving over features as the Seraphim’s brain tried to make sense of any of it, shock was all that on her own features.  ❝ What do you mean my mother was gone? ❞ The fact should be simple, a concept easily understandable - someone was there, isn’t now - yet still comprehension was slow to come. ❝ You’re wrong, you just didn’t look right. ❞ Words that sounded absurds when said aloud, no one simply misplacing an individual. A command almost came - go check again - as if Michaela would just be there, waiting for them to find her, a game of hide a seek that was won by the Horsemen. Shock, hurt, despair, her mother her world, the pillar that was leaned on, none of it could be real. A look at Milo told the Seraphim otherwise and tears, A hand went to her mouth as a sob was stifled, cup of coffee hitting the floor. ❝ Who was with her? ❞

-

Milo waited, watching her while she worked through his words. You’re wrong, you just didn’t look right. His head tilted to the side, sympathetic eyes gazed back with a ‘you know better’ expression. Because he knew she did. No one would wake him up and tell him Michaela Pinkett was missing without it being one hundred percent truth. Lying about something like that would be a quick way to get a bullet to the head. He also hoped by now she would know beyond a doubt that he would not lie to her about something so serious. The blonde gingerly took hold of her free hand with one of his in an attempt to offer some respectable comfort without crossing a boundary and making the situation worse. “Fletcher Gray and Jaemin Park were on security detail this morning. Both of them were drugged as well. When they woke up, Michaela was missing.” He knew that Jaemin was going to get tested by Mitzi at the labs and Fletcher was waiting for Apollo and Iniya to comb the park for evidence. 

Milo lingered for a moment longer then got up to go search for a towel to clean up the spilt coffee on the floor. He wasn’t gone long, but he figured it would give her a moment to let everything sink in fully. While he soaked up the liquid and picked up the mug he kept glancing at her. “We’re going to find her, Vic.” He assured, though he couldn’t give her a timeline he was still positive they would find her eventually. This part was new for him, even though Ricardo had been kidnapped, that was a Dominion with no security and this was a Horseman that had people with her at all times. It was broad daylight, someone had to have seen something. There had to be some sign. Was this Death? Possibly War or Famine? When he thought about it, Famine made the most sense after the attack on Rafael Senior. “Apollo and Iniya are meeting Fletcher at the park to scour it top to bottom for evidence. Jaemin is going to meet Mitzi at the lab so she can run tests on him and figure out what they were drugged with.” He assured her, so she knew that things were already in motion. ���I’m here to support you as long as you need it, or want me to. I can get someone else to come over if you prefer, perhaps your cousin Monica?” Milo offered, not sure if he was the one she would look to for comfort at this time. Either way he would stay close, not about to lose two Pinketts in one day.

[milo-pierce]

[ Jaemin has two fingers to his pulse, mobile pressed to one ear while he counts the seconds that pass on his watch while he waits for Milo to pick up. Fletcher is beside him, the two in a bit of a daze still. He'd given the other man instructions to keep his head down to prevent dizziness but ignores his own advice himself as the phone rings. When at last Milo picks up, the Dominion exhales. ]

JAEMIN: Michaela's gone. [ There's no point beating around the bush. ]

JAEMIN: We were drugged, [ he doesn't need a test to know that ] came to maybe five minutes ago but she's gone. Made it halfway through the run, just ahead of the park entrance. [ Thankfully it was early enough there hadn't been too many people around.]

JAEMIN: We were out for maybe twenty minutes.

[ Milo didn't hear the loud ringtone until it had gone off several times, it was possible his subconscious was ignoring it in hopes to get two full REM cycles of sleep for once. Finally he picked it up, eyes still closed, and cleared his throat before speaking ]

MILO: This call better be worth waking me up on a Sunday. [ he greeted whoever was on the opposite end of the phone with sleep heavily lacing his tone. ]

MILO: What? [ recognizing the voice as Jaemin, he sat up in bed and frowned trying to register what he just said ] What do you mean gone? Where did she go?

MILO: Drugged how? [ he took a moment to remember what they were doing with Michaela Pinkett that early on a Sunday morning ] Weren't you running? How did you get drugged running?

[ The Seraphim paused again to go over the information he was just given. Twenty minutes, awake for five, made it halfway through the run. Michaela was gone. ]

MILO: Where's Fletcher? Have either of you looked around the perimeter to see if she went down elsewhere?

[milo-pierce]

kitty.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

He acts as though he won’t rise to her bait, but this isn’t Kitty’s first rodeo. She likes to toy with people. Likes to see how far she can push them. Likes to tempt anger. Or fear. Or frustration. And who better to poke and prod at than a Pestilence Seraphim? They might very well be made of chemicals and poison but she’ll feast on them all the same. “You know,” she drawls, long and low and slow, glancing up into the pristine reflection of the mirror, dark eyes fixed on her roommate, “I have a funny feeling there are more people who would raise a fucking glass to your murder than there are people who would mourn.” The observation is punctuated with an upward twitch that catches alight in one corner of her mouth, forced to tame the smirk into submission before she gives away that she’s enjoying herself. “Maybe I’d be praised for bringing down the great Milo Pierce. Then again, I think your reputation is overhyped— I mean, I thought you were meant to be one of the real nasty guys. Yet you’re letting me run my mouth without even so much as a threat. It’s interesting.” As was the neat, orderly way in which he unpacks, setting out what he needs for the night, vastly different to the tornado path of mess strewn out from her own bag.

“No, I’m not,” she chirps, despite having no further need for the bathroom, taking up the space for the sake of claiming territory. Kitty turns on the cold water tap and idly rinses her fingertips, leaning against the porcelain basin with no desire to move. She won’t make this easy for him — not when Pestilence have played no small part in the past half a year’s strife and chaos. Her form of revenge may be petty but it was still very much sweet. “Would you like to know how I’d kill you in your sleep? Actually, wait, no— you tell me first. And no cheating with weapons. Gun is too loud, silencer is too boring, and knife is too easy. Impress me and I’ll let you use the bathroom undisturbed.”

-

Nothing could be easy. He should be well aware of it by now, but still he stupidly held onto a shred of hope that just one thing would go smooth and simple from start to finish. Milo pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded. “You’re probably not wrong. Between the rival distributors, the other major gangs, the minor gangs trying to get ahead, and I’m sure a few in my own gang that are pissed, I got Seraphim and they didn’t.” He ticked them off on his fingers, looking upwards as if reading the list from mind. “Oh, then there was the entire cartel I helped wipe out with another cartel, the other being one of my clients of course. I’m sure the remaining loved ones wouldn’t mind seeing me dead.” The blonde finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off along with the undershirt beneath. He traded them out for the sleeveless shirt he’d pulled out. While he folded the discarded articles, he continued his monotonous response to her thought. “However, for every ten or so that would raise a glass, there’s one that would seek revenge. Loyalty is a fantastic thing. Either way, I won’t care a tick because I’ll be dead.” Milo shrugged and sat himself at the end of the bed, hands folded in front of him while he waited for her to finish.

“You like games, don’t you, Ms. Mallick?” It seemed obvious with her prompt to play a hypothetical over lavatory time. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, debating whether to humor her proposition. It could very well be a trick for her to run off and tell Rafael or Marcus that the Pestilence Seraphim threatened her. Though he was highly positive he could talk his way out of that one but there was a small percentage of a chance given the current climate that it would cause another headache for him. There was also a chance she wasn’t aiming to set him up for something and this was her twisted way of making the best out of their situation. “You do know there are other bathrooms in the manor, right? Or that I’m very capable of simply picking you up and removing you from the room so I can do my business. I have a strong feeling that regardless of what hypothetical murder scenario I came up with, you would tell me it wasn’t impressive out of spite.” She did seem the spiteful type. “Besides, no weapons were allowed so of course I’d have to find another method, if I had any want or need to dispose of you. Which, I do not.” He sighed. “I would probably just inject you with a full syringe of air and set the course for an air embolism. Less traceable, takes awhile to set in which leaves plenty of deniability and I would get to watch it unfold. Killing someone in their sleep is incredibly boring.” As if on cue, he yawned after his words. 

[milo-pierce]

belladonna.

date: July 18th, 2021 location: The Manor availability: @milo-pierce

Ever since the night they spent at her place, things with Milo had changed and so had Belladonna. It was a strange thing, to have someone in her life that stayed, that she wasn’t pushing away. No one ever came close to where Milo stood in her life and the Virtue prefered to live what they had instead of asking herself questions. What they had felt like stolen moments, intimacy when work wasn’t calling them and it was something the woman cherished. It felt fragile at times, a Famine Virtue with a Pestilence Seraphim, something that she kept hidden, not out of shame or even fear, but because she wanted it to be only hers. There was a truce in place, once again, and the interdiction to be seen together was lifted, no one would be coming after her if the nature of their relationship was known. 

When the Horsemen started to vanish, the only word Bella could think of when it came to the series of kidnapping, every gang’s inner workings nearly crumbled as everyone tried to not only make sense of what happened but did their best to locate their missings. Bella and her team search far and wide, trying to gain any sort of information, as small as it might be, without success, something that tasted bitter as a failure. The woman saw it on her own Seraphims, the weight of what was happening and there was worry for Milo. But it was nothing next to what she felt as she heard his name spoken more than once in that room, the threat of the man being found the most likely culprit and being possibly punished for it making it hard to breathe. Bella was a master at wearing a mask and she suspected that no one other than Milo could sense what she was feeling everytime his name was uttered or the relief that washed over her when it was clear that Fazal would be the one paying for now. There was no love lost between Fazel and the Virtue and the idea of him suffering was one that pleased her, the scar on her thigh forever being a reminder of who he was.

As everyone was dismissed, there was only one thing Bella wanted; to find Milo. It seemed near impossible to find a moment alone with so many eyes on them but it was something she was willing to risk. They knew surveillance was heavy and there had to be some blind spots, it was just a matter of finding them. As soon as they were alone, Bella buried herself in his arms, no words needed after what they all witnessed. The woman had not been built for war, no matter what she did to convince others, no matter how far into it all she pushed herself and the prospect of losing someone she might love was scarier than anything else. She needed this, to feel him against her body, to know he was tangible and safe. “You’re safe,” she finally said.

-

With any position of power, came a series of enemies or people who were pissed off at him for one thing or another. He'd expected his name to be called at least a few times when the voting was called just put of spite. Milo's votes were, mostly, made with who he thought did it in each separate faction. Kashvi was out of spite, and Rafael was partially pointed. He also knew that Rafael wasn't likely to get many votes as the man was highly dedicated to his father. When Kashvi was the first to call his name, he'd expected it. He didn't know Cemile well enough to guess her motives, but it was just a drop in the bucket. Nana, he figured, voted for him because he voted for Rafael. Emil was obvious and he'd shot them a wink when his name was said. Sacha, Liam, and Omer went over his head but everyone has their reasons. What he was happy about is Bella's name wasn't called once. The slight hint of worry in her eyes when he'd glanced her way wasn't missed. He wanted to grab her hand, whisper ‘it’s okay’ in her ear while the voting went on, but he couldn't for obvious reasons.

After the voting was done, he dismissed his gang and helped the other leaders escort the four accused to the East wing of the manor. He'd made eye contact with Belladonna on his way back. It was fleeting, but he'd hoped she paid attention to his obvious exit to get some fresh air. He needed a smoke and several moments away from the constant need to be a peacekeeper between gang members thirsty for blood or listening into several conversations for any valuable tidbit of information. What he wanted was to find a moment of comfort with his girl. It had been a long time since he'd had that kind of relationship with another person and while it may not last forever, he wanted to take time to enjoy as much of it as he could while he had it. The future looked incredibly lonely, despite it being bright. 

Milo found a spot Saint Warden's camera's couldn't reach. If questions arise he would address them, then or simply tell whoever was asking to mind their own business. He wrapped his arms around Bella and pressed a kiss into the top of her head. A hand rubbed her back and they slowly rocked together under the moonlight. “So are you.” He said, his voice low. While he never worried he’d be a real suspect, it was kind of sweet that someone had worried about him. That she had worried about him. He hadn’t had anyone fuss over him like that since his mother was alive. He pulled back just enough so he could look at her. “You know everything’s going to be okay, right? I’m going to work with Marcus and Remus, and we’ll figure this all out.” Milo could care less what happened to Uriel. In fact, he kind of hoped they were all locked in the same place and the other three Horsemen tore them to pieces. Then Pestilence could absorb the remaining members. “We’re all going to be okay.”

[milo-pierce]

                    Can I do this?  I’m sorry.                  Please don’t say you’re sorry.

[milo-pierce]

set: july 18th, late night location: the manor grounds, stables availability: closed | @fletchergrxy​

Another day nearly put to rest on the getaway from hell. The one Milo himself suggested. It was necessary, of course. Every faction present was quick to point the finger at the other and if the Seraphims didn’t pull them altogether there was bound to be blood in the streets without evidence to back it up. Pestilence, personally, could not afford to lose anyone else. Not when recruitment was constantly put on hold to deal with catastrophes that kept coming in like the tide. At least they were done with major group activities for the day. The voting was both entertaining and brutal. There were people he wanted to speak to afterwards, but first he took some time for himself and met with Bella outside. A corner where Warden’s surveillance system didn’t reach. Right before they reluctantly parted ways, Milo shot a text to the next person he needed to talk to - Fletcher Gray. 

Hey, come have a smoke with me in the stables.

A quick kiss goodbye to the best of Famine and he headed to the stables. He hadn’t had a lot of time for catch up or to even check in with Fletch over the past couple of weeks. It was quick conversation, maybe a touch of shit talk, then onto the next task. Unfortunate timing, when there was much to talk about. A hint of worry from Milo that Fletcher might try to defect to Death with his sister. He wished he could say that he had no reason to worry, but those masked bastards had managed to steal three members from them now on top of a hefty sum of money. Milo could only expect the worst at that point and shoot for the best. Especially after Milo very publicly voted for Genie and he’s stated several times, to the other man, just what he thought about the people who left Pestilence before her. Unless, there was an off chance that they could use the switch to their advantage. Like the picture of Rafael, Jr. at Pest the week or so before. He hadn’t heard anything, personally, but he did notice Marcus taking more of a lead in the whole acting co-horseman business. Perhaps Fletcher had more insight on that, as well.

The blonde was just lighting his cigarette when he saw the Power approach. He hummed, lips tight around the filter to inhale the first drag and pull it out between two fingers. “There you are.” Milo took a step forward to greet him with a clap on the shoulder. “How are you doin’ after all that?” He asked and motioned to the manor where the voting had taken place. The moon reflected in blue eyes that focused on the other man, scanned him for a hint of what was going through his head. The Seraphim leaned back against the latched stable gate and yawned wide. No rest for the wicked and all that. “Tell me what’s goin’ on with you, we haven’t had much time after all the shit with Michaela.” Shit the other man had a front row seat to, and if he didn’t already trust him he would have likely held him partially responsible. Milo didn’t suspect Jaemin or Fletcher. Perhaps he should have, but he didn’t. He didn’t think Fazal was responsible, either. However, the points brought up about him that night were valid - as were the ones directed at Mitzi. But he didn’t think anyone in Pestilence was responsible for the Horseman’s disappearance. If they were behind one of the others, especially Uriel’s, he would be quite proud. However, he would hope they would have told him. 

“Humor me, who do you think is behind all this?

[milo-pierce]

kitty.

+ MILO ( @milo-pierce​​​ )

NIGHT, SATURDAY 17TH JULY. THE MANOR. Kitty prides herself on being able to sleep just about anywhere. Handy, really, given the number of locations she’s had to spend nights at over the past couple of months, her own bed beginning to feel severely neglected. And although the room smells of wood polish and lavender; although there’s a vacant mattress and an unnamed overnight bag that she’s ( so far ) managed to curb her curiosity towards and not look inside for clues as to who owns it; although being here makes her feel as though she’s waiting for something bad to happen rather than something good, she’s quick to make herself at home. Her belongings already strewn over her side of the room, today’s clothes abandoned on the floor with her Balenciaga sneakers, she dons a t-shirt and shorts and stands under the artificial glare of the en-suite bathroom light while brushing her teeth. 

Nighttime air scented with jasmine and honeysuckle wafts occasionally through the open windows, catching drawn curtains which sway in response, the old manor not made for keeping out July’s heat. The door latch draws back and Kitty pauses, stepping into the room in time to watch a Pestilence Seraphim step over the threshold. There’s a momentary pause, tension sparking electric through her limbs. Dangerous meets dangerous. Dark lashes narrow. “I could kill you in your sleep, you know,” she says matter-of-factly around a mouthful of spearmint, because it feels right to be the one to fire the first warning shot. Plastic bristles return to her incisors only to hesitate and add, “It’s the easiest time to do it. You wouldn’t even have time to realise what was happening.” Satisfied, she turns and slinks back into the bathroom, spitting toothpaste into the sink. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of her hopes Milo will retaliate if only to give herself an excuse to lash out and put her loathing of Pestilence’s ranks to good use.  

-

It had been a long night and as he made his way to his room, he wasn't sure it was going to be over just yet. Exhaustion didn't even begin to describe Milo's state. All he wanted to do was get out of the day's clothes, wash his face, and sleep for at least a few hours. if that was even possible in a house full of people willing to kill each other without second thought. He wasn't even sure who to expect when he unlatched the door to his temporary sleeping quarters. There were several people he didn't want to see: Charlotte Pinkett, Jack Tanner, Rita Zhang-Warden, Genie Gray - to name a few. He would find himself storing his belongings elsewhere and sleeping on a spare couch or chair somewhere. Maybe a vehicle. So it was a somewhat pleasant surprise to see Kitty Malick brushing her teeth. That is, until she spoke. "Great. I'm allergic to cats." He deadpanned and moved past her to the bag he'd packed for his stay. 

Milo worked his jaw, and ignored his overly friendly roommate’s comments for the moment. Instead, he moved to his bag, which surprisingly looked untouched. Not that he stored anything important in it besides clothes, toiletries, and the current book he was reading. It seemed idiotic to put trust in Angels and unknown roommate to not touch his things. Everything important was on him or locked in his vehicle where it would stay until it was needed. “Be my guest, Ms. Mallick.” He responded, finally, while he removed a pair of basketball shorts and a well worn sleeveless shirt from his bag. “Wouldn’t call it the smartest idea in terms of your longevity, but if your ire runs that deep.” A beat of a pause for him to shrug and turn towards her. “Who am I to argue?” He shot the Famine Virtue a wink and turned back to his bag to take out the small black toiletry bag with gold ‘M. P.’ embellished on the side. Milo zipped the overnight bag and set it neatly at the foot of his bed. A list of what needed to be done still ran through his head. Too many things reliant on information he didn’t have, others held off for more pressing matters. The work couldn’t be allowed to pile up for long, however. Michaela wouldn’t want that, he was sure of it. “You almost done in there?” His attention turned back to the other occupant, motioning to the bathroom. He started the process of changing over his clothes by unbuttoning his shirt.

[milo-pierce]

set: july 4th, early morning location: victoria pinkett’s home availability: closed | @thevictoriapinkett​

Phone calls that came before eight o’ clock on a Sunday morning were never good news. He wasn’t even fully awake trying to process what Jaemin was reporting but it soon registered. Michaela Pinkett was missing. Milo told them to get to the labs, call in all the rest of the Dominions and Virtues and get checked out. He would meet them there as soon as he could. There was only one small beat of a moment he took in between hanging up with the Dominion and dialing Victoria’s number. A moment to close his eyes, take a breath, and steel himself for the next crisis that needed to be handled. Panic was never an option for him, but in this moment it was crucial that he stayed calm and collected. He opened his eyes and tapped the green send button beside Victoria Pinkett’s name. There was no telling how long it would ring, she could be asleep or just starting her day. Milo multi-tasked while he waited for her to pick up, finding underwear, trousers, socks, and a shirt as quick as he could. He aimed to be out the door and in his car before he ended the call. This wasn’t the kind of news you delivered over the phone. “Hey, Vic it’s Milo. I’m on my way over, we have to talk. It can’t wait.” He didn’t linger on the line any longer, hanging up without a goodbye. Too focused on getting out the door and over to her instead.

The drive over was short, too short. Not long enough to figure out the right way to say ‘your mother was taken and we have no idea where she is.’ As he parked and made the way up to her door, he figured there was no right way to break that news. It would make addressing Pestilence as a whole twenty times easier. A closed fist lingered in front of the door, a short hesitation before he knocked. Then rang the buzzer just to be safe. When she opened the door he couldn’t manage even a tight lipped smile, just morose eyes wrapped in a classic neutral expression. “Can we sit down?” He asked as he entered, still going over what he would say in his head. Milo had known the Pinkett family for as long as he could remember. So as he waited for her to sit down somewhere he felt the rock form in his stomach. 

Just get straight to it, don’t sugar coat it. Right to the point. “Victoria, this morning-” he crouched down in front of her to keep from pacing. “This morning when Michaela was out for a run with her security detail, something happened- we’re not sure what caused it yet but they all lost consciousness and when they came to.” He paused to take a steady breath. “Michaela was gone. At this point, we have to assume they were drugged somehow and she was kidnapped but details are still coming in.” He knew that Fletcher and Jaemin were getting in touch with the others. Apollo would be able to do some investigation work in the park and hopefully get some answers. He had confidence they would be able to get a start on things while he tended to Victoria. The Seraphim sat, quiet and waiting for his counterpart's response. Prepared for whatever came next.

[milo-pierce]

belladonna​.

.

Agreeing to leave the city for a few days with Milo was uncharacteristic of Belladonna. She wasn’t above letting her lovers spoil her, but Milo felt a little too close to comfort to be just another one. She had thought of him when she sat alone in her place after Fazal attacked her, the other being a sense of familiarity she needed at that moment. The woman worked so hard to keep everything casual with everyone, to make sure she never got too close to anyone, preventing herself from being hurt. But Milo, it felt different and his invitation had been so unexpected that it had sent her heart racing. There had been butterflies inside of her as she waited for to day of their gateaway, the woman who so easily seduced so many actually feeling nervous. To say it had been one of the best weekend of her life was not an exageration, everything between them feeling organic as they were alone without the pression of being found out. Bella felt it went well beyond the physical relationship they had and it has scared her, never really allowing herself to really feel something for anyone. Memories of time spent entralacing in front of a fire, no words needed, had been a memory that made her smile once they got back to London. Until it became clear that Milo was ghosting her, sending her spiraling down, wondering what she had done wrong for things to go sour so quickly.

With that faillure, and somewhat heartbreak, always in her mind, Belladonna had put everything she had into work and faceless bodies when there was time, trying so hard to drown the memories of Milo into others, anyone, as long as they filled some gap. The other was hard to ignore when the boat attack was planned, not that they crossed path, but Bella knew he was involved. And more than anything, she found hersel being worried for him and hating herself for it. The text he sent had felt like too little too late and yet, she couldn’t help breath a little ligther as he thought of her, wondered how she was, showing an ounce of caring, even if it was something he most likely had to do as a Seraphim. There had been radio silence after that, something she had expected this time. What she didn’t expect was for Milo to show up at her door.

As she opened the door and saw him, her first instinct was to close it back, with force, in Milo’s face. But there was something in him, almost pleading, that tugged at her. Belladonna had never been good at saying no to things that were damaging for her, her drug consumption being one example. She had an addictive personality and never before had she let anyone become part of her addiction but Milo Pierce was toying with that line. With a soft sigh, she opened the door wider, arms crossing over her chest as she let him in. There was a new truce in place, one that didn’t make this as dangerous as it had been before, but whatever this was, she still wanted to keep it hidden. “I’d offer you a drink, but you seem to already have a few. Is that why you’re here? Some cheap drunken booty call? ‘Cause I’m not interested.” She was too sober for this and already regretted letting him in, knowing she would once again pin after him once he left her behind. This wasn’t her, expecting an explanation out of someone she had been casually seeing but she had fooled herself into thinking it could be more.

-

She’s not happy. Belladonna has no reason to be pleased with Milo right now and he is fully aware that he is at fault in that incident. It was a big reason why he hardly got close to those he was otherwise intimate with. His work always came first. There had been one goal he’d wanted to reach since he’d barely reached adulthood, Pestilence Horseman. Nothing would distract him from that goal and he was still of that mindset despite new developments in his personal life. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line at Bella’s opening remarks and exhaled a sigh through his nostrils. “Okay, yeah I deserve that.” He reached for her hand to pull her towards him before she could retreat somewhere else. His expression was soft, apologetic. It wasn’t fair to her. He should have at least told her he needed some distance to think after he’d been the one to steal her away on some romantic getaway out of town. “I should have called or said something.” Milo started, fully ignoring the comment about the smell of liquor that radiated from him. It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up at her door half in the bottle and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Bella,” he paused for another beat trying to find the right words to say. “You have an effect on me, and that weekend away only strengthened it. I didn’t know what to do with that and instead of dealing with it, I tried to ignore it by ignoring you and that’s- that was wrong.” Apologizing wasn’t a common occurrence for the blonde but he knew when it was necessary to admit he was wrong. “This could go nowhere and is certainly the biggest threat to everything I’ve ever wanted in life, but I don’t want it to end yet. I want to see where it goes.” His free hand moved to rest on the side of her face, his thumb stroked her cheek gently. 

They talked through the night, both agreeing to take what they had and bring it a level further. A relationship, in secret to avoid any repercussions that would come from dating across ‘enemy’ lines. Both of them breaking their own rules for something that resembled love in every way but spoken aloud. They each had their own boundaries, or stipulations as it was, to continue. It had to remain in the dark, for obvious reasons. He wasn’t allowed to vanish again, which Milo agreed to without argument. She couldn’t buy from him anymore, he didn’t want to mix business with pleasure and a small part of him needed to know she wasn’t with him just for the product. Bella agreed, easily. They spent the rest of the night together, both with hopeful fear of what was to come between them as they moved into uncharted territory.

END. 

[milo-pierce]

genie.

—

There’d been an article she’d once read, speaking to the semantic perfection of an icicle as a murder weapon. Confronted by the chilling intensity of a blue so piercing it renders his last name perpetually apt, she thinks of it — as it pierces, like an icicle to the chest, Genie thinks of it. “Tell me you at least make more’ve’n effort with the bints you roll around with ‘n that shit isn’t the best come on you’ve got up your sleeve,” she scoffs disparagingly. It takes more effort than she is expressly loath to admit, to feign a theatrical gagging in response to the suave wink tossed in her direction, as though it is any other day of partaking in snark-ridden banter, exchanging withering verbiage and revelling in the satisfaction of being able to get away with it despite being, essentially, the lowest schmuck on the totem pole. Perhaps that’s where the detriment resides, then again; festering, poisonous. Perhaps to Pierce, it really is just any other day. Perhaps blood spilt and coups conducted are normalcy to a gang member so considerably more dedicated to the gang. Genie is the sore thumb sticking out.

Food for thought, he offers, and her eyes roll out of the same fear that wrests her guts privately. “Not hungry, but thanks.” She keeps harsh temperatures from her tones, all the same; succumbing to neither jarring ice or chaotic heat, instead endeavouring for an inconspicuous middle-ground she wasn’t sure she could pull off in the first place. Her throbbing guts, twisted with burgeoning tensions, insist she try. She’s got to keep trying. What other choice has she fucking got? To swallow down a blistering mouthful of her pride and shards of her convictions that embed themselves in the ruddy, fleshy walls of her gullet, mutilating from within, until it is through a mouthful that she is to say, “Pshhhhh! I’m always fuckin’ bitter, bruv. No big deal there. It’ll wear off ‘til it ain’t, but that shit’s no skin of your teeth there, either, is it, Slick? Bigger fish to fry ‘n all.” 

Make it cavalier. Believably so. Lie, lie, lie – 

Haphazardly, she must gauge: What kind of test is this? 

Impulse latches her mouth to her bottle’s rim and swills deeply, grasping for life onto a vice that can numb her as easily as it unravels her. Here is the danger of being someone who fakes it till they make it… Do it long enough, do it well enough, and even you sometimes forget that you aren’t so many of the things you show the world you can be. Genie is composed of too many fissures, is the thing. She leaks, under seismic pressure applied — and there is no telling what might slip from her lips. She forgets that sometimes. One of these days, it is going to cost her her fucking life. 

Right here, right now, in fact, she suspects, if she can’t sufficiently keep her shit together enough to convince him she’s the good little soldier she’d signed up to be. It’d be too easy for Pierce to check if she was lying about trying the drug… She certainly can’t tell him why she hasn’t tried it is because there’s no one she’d want to do the drugs with that she can do the drugs with… Which only leaves one option, doesn’t it? “A good dealer doesn’t dip into their own stock,” she pulls out of her sleeve. With Priscilla gone, no longer there to vouch for and mentor Genie, it chills her to the bone to think of who might take over those roles. It is her best bet, to portray herself as someone who doesn’t need it. Who deserved to be here. Who could handle it. Who knows her shit well enough to be able to say, with a solid measure of authority, “It’s practically the golden rule of drug distribution. Gotta talk about it like you know how fucking phenomenal it is, pitch it real good, but don’t dip into your on stock. Figure Fletch’d told you that by now… But Fletch isn’t as good as I am at this shit, either.”

-

A short chuckle fell from the man. “That’s for me and them. All you need to know is I do just fine and don’t have any problems in that area.” Milo is flirtatious, with most people he talks to casually, it was a part of his charm. However, he is not one to brag about who’s been in bed with. It’s no one’s business but theirs, and relationships have never been a notable thing in his past. Married to his work first and foremost. Though his father had been on his back to settle down for the past several years. He was certain it had everything to do with carrying on the Pierce name and less to do with the man wanting his son to find love. Milo could be wrong about that, but either way it had never been his top priority and that part was obvious. He was also certain Genie wouldn’t want to know all the dirty details in the first place. 

“Cheeky.” He said with a quick roll of his eyes and a long pull from his freshly made drink. Genie’s words had him watching her a bit more closely for several moments. A study to see if there was more meaning behind them through her mannerisms, if her eyes were saying something her mouth wasn’t. She was wrong. While he always had a heavy focus on his path to the throne of Pestilence, that path was paved through hard work and being a good leader. In his mind that meant staying in touch with those from every rank, whether through their direct supervisor or personally. Angels were some of the most important people in a gang, because they are yet to be fully indoctrinated into the cause. Their exit wasn’t solidified with a casket. They were not a rank that should be overlooked or forgotten. “Quite the contrary, love. Feel free to paint me as the villain but I do care if it’s affecting your loyalty, your work with us, and generally like to know if someone has an issue so if it can be fixed for the future I can look into it. Y’know?” 

Being the bad guy never bothered Milo. He was a career criminal after all. Plenty of people painted him as the villain but he preferred it if it didn’t come from within Pestilence. He’d much rather that come from those who haven’t worked under him or knew just what he did to keep the organization he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into, afloat. It was what it was, however. Not everyone could be won over, no matter how much you tried to charm them. 

“Darling, I’ve been distributing drugs and products since you were learning to walk. I didn’t get where I am by luck or my good looks.” He pointed out without an added smugness. It was simply facts. If she was unaware of his history, he’d happily give her a rundown on just what the Pierce name means and just what his contribution to Pestilence has been. “You don’t need to dip into your stock, but you certainly could have purchased it from Pestilence or gotten a sample from Mitzi and Jaemin when it was being manufactured.” He added and followed it with a laugh at the thought of Fletcher teaching him how to be a good dealer. Historically, between the two of them, it had been the other way around. Though he had learned some stylization from Fletcher even if he wouldn’t be apt to mention it aloud. “When purchasing stock, if not manufactured by you personally, you most certainly test it. Or have someone test it for you, otherwise you are sure to get fucked and sell shitty product. I don’t sell shitty products, nor does Pestilence. You get what I’m sayin’, kid?” Blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he lifted the glass to his lips for another drink. He hummed a noise while he swallowed to indicate he had more to add. “Also Fletcher is an exceptional dealer, he was good when I found ‘im and he’s only gotten better. So that’s a bold statement that I haven’t evidence to back up, yet, Miss Gray.”

[milo-pierce]

[milo-pierce]

emil.

they should have seen this coming. but when they first received an ominous note at work, it could realistically be any of the three gangs threatening them, and even after investigation, no prints or distinguishing features could be lifted from the paper. even as more messages were left for emil, not so much as a partial print. at least emil can narrow this down to longtime players of this game, people who have trained not leaving a trace into muscle memory. but when emil is caught horrifically off guard by the sight of milo pierce in the kitchen of his mother’s work, sipping tea opposite her, emil’s suspects narrow down further. it would be naive to let a coincidence like this slip by, and yet emil hopes so passionately that it is not milo pierce that knows the link between himself and death.

so as emil makes his way through the space, trying to spot a familiar and friendly face in the crowd, they are tense. they would love to kick off their heels, feel the softness of their living room rug underfoot, sit back, relaxed, talking to people that really matter to them. instead he’s stuck here, in the dark chill of an abandoned underground station, dodging the snakes in the grass. except, they don’t do a good enough job, because an unfriendly voice sounds over his shoulder like the devil, calling his name and leaving them chilled. emil turns slowly and looks the other up and down. their heart races, stomach twisted in knots. they feel sick, and yet they remain relaxed. milo, again. the mask isn’t enough to hide the horror beneath. “you talkin’ to me, babe? i think you’re confused,” feign fucking ignorance, feign fucking ignorance, he’ll leave eventually. “better be confused and take a hike, instead of trying to hit on me, ‘cause i can tell you right now, none of you are my type,” with a pointed huff, they turn back away from him.

-

“Babe?” The masked blonde grinned a sharp toothed smile. “That’s cute.” He nodded along with pursed lips to their bullshit response. Attempting to keep a cover that was blown weeks before their inevitable confrontation. It was amusing, Milo could give them that. He certainly wasn’t going to leave it alone the way they wanted him to, though. “Aww, come now Emil. Don’t be like that. What would your mums say?” The Seraphim took a step back to admire their outfit. The holographic shimmer of it all and the flashy light up heels. He motioned with a flourished hand from top to bottom. “I mean, honestly, darling. Do you expect me to believe that someone other than you would show up in such a bold and flashy ensemble?” Milo turned from one side to the other, one hand resting on his chin and the other cradled his elbow. “I mean, should you prefer I could ask around and get the general consensus as to who they think you are. I am positive one of them would have a slip of the tongue, eventually. With all the free flowing substances moving their way through the room at this point.” Pestilence hardly ever left home without something on them to sell. It was practically a motto at that point. At events like the current one, it was here and there whether or not they’d get many bites. But when they did, it was a damn good way to make tight lips loosen up. 

“Don’t worry love, you’re not my type either. I’m not into skull masks and boats, or talk shows for that matter.” He waited to see how long Emil would drag the charade on. Milo had patience, but not much. Sooner, rather than later, he would get rid of the quieter tone and let the rest of the room know just who hid behind the glowing gas mask and dark makeup.

[milo-pierce]

remus.

—

There’s a strange dissonance in Remus’ mind when considering his storied friendship with Pestilence’s newest Seraphim ( and yet, Milo is somehow the most competent of them all ). Amongst the conflicting moods are the old memories from late nights running streets that surround their alma mater, the same memories now poisoned by Milo’s easy place next to fucking Pinketts. Then there are moments that are instead muddled by their own bad choices made together, doses of the purest cocaine shared amongst two crown princes, high enough to easily imagine themselves invincible. Over the years, it’s been a comfort to Remus to know he has someone across territories to reach out to, compare neutral notes and observations in their respective corners of criminal London, united in a foundation of shared youth — and tonight, under a newly minted truce, they can speak a bit more freely, no longer bogged down by worries of a guttural betrayal. Still, in a room full of people deemed enemies only days ago, Remus’ stomach churns at the thought. “Ah. You’re trapped then,” he laughs as they make their way over to the bar. “Is this a Yasmine original?” he asks, gesturing to Milo’s chosen suit for the evening. Unaware of their own allegiances, Milo’s stepsibling remains hidden to Remus beneath a mask, lost somewhere in the crowd tonight. “It’s a good thing I ran into you. I’ve been trying to get a fucking fitting with them pushed up for weeks — need a suit for a thing.” A campaign thing, but funnily enough, the detail seems small in the moment. “Maybe brother dearest can put in a good word with their assistant for me?”

A familiar steak of malcon-fucking-tent flashes across Milo’s face at the mention of Death; relief finds Remus. “So, they didn’t indoctrinate you,” he says, face curved into a smile despite all the blood in his mouth. “Truce or fucking not, they made a fucking spectacle out of killing my baby sister.” Jaw has to unclench before he can mutter, “among others.” Though that’s as much condolence as Remus has to offer for anyone else’s loss. “All of this,” he starts, motioning to the whole fucking masquerade ball, “feels like we’ve been bent fucking over.”

Despite the red glare that his lingering rage tints the night in, he’s able to switch gears, play catch-up with his oldest friend by swallowing his heavy annoyance. Pushing away talk of the fucking truce with a gulp of his whiskey neat, Remus offers, “what have you heard?” with easy laughter. “My campaign is going better than anyone expected, I’m sure.” He’d honestly love to hear the shit the other gangs say in response; it’ll be Remus laughing when he taxes their industries and hits their subsidiary companies with fucking regulations. “And Rita and I…well, it’s a long fucking story.” His wife falling into bed with a now dead Famine Power and his own struggles with addiction go unmentioned for the moment. “The truce broke and our priorities became clearer. Took some time, but the divorce is called off… children on the way.” His smile clearly spells out how happy his new life makes him, paired with another gulp. “Your turn, Pierce. What’s new?” Remus nudges Milo with his elbow. “Glad to see that new crown of yours didn’t make your head any bigger than it already fucking was.”

-

“As if they would allow me to wear anything else to an event like this.” Milo mused back. Not that anything his sibling said would stop him from doing what he wanted, when it came to fashion he did not argue with an expert. Just like he would not argue artillery with a Warden. “Oh, I can definitely get you in with them. If anything, I’ll give up one of my standing appointments. It’s not like I actually need another suit.” A light chuckle fell from him. It wouldn’t stop him, by any means. Call him spoiled, but he quite enjoyed having someone from the fashion industry in the family. If he could share that perk with an old friend, it was all the better. Especially considering his main expertise was no longer in the cards for Remus. Not a bad thing, quite the opposite. All fun and games until someone gets addicted. Then it becomes a problem and that’s not something he wished on anyone, least of all a friend. Even if it did contradict how his fortune was made. He’d much rather distribute pleasure in small doses to the masses than leave someone with a monkey on their back. 

The blonde was quick to shake his head at the mere idea of indoctrination by a band of idiots in skull masks. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely not. Bloody scum, the lot of them.” He scoffed it out with an extra bit of venom. The scowl quickly softened when the next words left the other Seraphim. He wondered if Juno would enter their conversation. Milo had witnessed a lot of death in his thirty odd years on earth. So much that he’d become numb to it, as just another part of business like paperwork. Not that one, that death would stay with him for a long while. He could not begin to imagine what effects it had on War and the Wardens. “While I enjoyed our previous truce, and yes I am well aware I am affiliated with those who broke it, this doesn’t sit well with me. They need to atone for what they did to your family.” He placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze in an attempt to show what comfort he could offer. As if there was anything he could say or do that would ease the pain of that loss. He sincerely wished there was anything he could do and should the opportunity arise, best believe he’d be there to offer his support. Even if it didn’t include the support of Pestilence, in this single instance. 

He swallowed the lingering poison of the previous topic with a sip of gin and welcomed a new string of conversation. “Honestly, not as much as you’d think. I did hear about the campaign, of course. But, I’ve been so buried under bullshit, I haven’t had the time to keep up with everyone like I used to.” A shame really, he felt like he used to know so much more of what was happening across rival lines and the city. Now he needed to rely on other sources to stay informed where he could no longer linger in the shadows and listen. It was bound to happen eventually, and that was why they had Dominions and advisors at the end of the day. “From what I have heard, most think it’s a bold move- which it is. I think the rest is just envy. With all the ties you all have, I am sure you’ll do just fine.” His lips twisted into a smile. “Don’t think Pierce is a name that can help in that area but you need some word out to the working class, let me know.” A genuine sense of happiness formed in his features when he heard the confirmation of the family his friend was forming. Perhaps a bit of envy underlying the grin that was followed by a matching gulp from his own glass. “Good. Congratulations, you deserve all of it Rem. I mean that.” 

A sigh fell when the question turned to him. “All work and very little play for me. Though Pierce is expanding their reach into South America, through some clients in Mexico. Pest, is Pest and Pinketts are Pinketts. Trying to get the crown a bit less tarnished before I get an ego about it.” A breath of a laugh followed because while he would love to get into the details, that wasn’t possible between them. “Other than that, I’ve been looking into some new business ventures of my own but I haven’t gotten them fully sorted yet. Dad’s been nagging me to settle down with someone, but I think he’s just gettin’ sentimental in his old age.” Milo shook his head and finished his drink at the thought of carrying on the Pierce name. He didn’t even know where to start with that one. 

[milo-pierce]

gwen.

Gwen had failed out of business school disastrously, even if it had been her choice to drop out. It’s not that she’s bad at business ( considering she keeps the pub afloat, her clientele satisfied and her partners loyal ), but she’s not good at the fine bits of it. At the clever persuasion, the mild-mannered manipulation, the subtlety. She prefers to be blunt, clear-cut, get to the point and joke around, just because she doesn’t like being serious for long stretches of time. But she tries. 

“Well, hey, same. Maybe that’s why we should work together. Best pub, meet best dealer. Et cetera.” She grins and does not say that, unlike Pestilence, she does not have to murder her competition to be a beloved place for people to turn to. “And yeah, no, of course. I haven’t even made my offer yet, I’m just saying: Molly is probably what you’ll sell most here. Uppers. Weed, too.” Gwen thinks, for a moment, before continuing, “But plenty of business, parliament-like folk here too. Coke will sell nicely to the suit and ties that like to come here. I know my clientele well, you know? Thought I’d give you an insight on the place and its people.” She takes a sip from her drink, reshifts in her seat, tells herself to focus, to make her word sound clever and concise. “See, my train of thought is, if we have the Truce, why not benefit from it? The pub is our territory and will remain that, but I’m willing, as is Uriel, to give your Powers and Angels free reign here for distribution. There’s little risk, no authorities because of obvious reasons.” Because Death, too, knew how to keep the cops from sniffing. What there would be, were Death’s people, keeping a close eye, but that should go unspoken. “No competitors, unless you consider by craft beers competition for your pills and powders. Look, I’m flexible, we can discuss options. See what works.”

-

“Best pub, you say?” Milo didn’t have room to argue with the statement. He had been to plenty of pubs throughout their island of countries, but he didn’t frequent them enough to judge which was the best. For all he knew, Gwen was right and as they said he was the best dealer, he had to trust her judgment.  “I know mine well, too. Those are all our top sellers anyways and I think this will be a beneficial relationship. However,” Milo licked his lips and folded his hands in front of him. “A billion pounds. That’s a lot of money. That’s what your Horseman took from us, among other things. A lab, a Dominion…. all you lost was a boat. This doesn’t make shit even between us but it’s an olive branch, I just want that known.” He needed it to be known because it rocked his core to make any kind of deal with Death with wounds so fresh most of the gangs were still licking them, Pestilence certainly was. Out of everyone, they’d lost the most and they were not going to get the least back. He was going to make sure of that one way or the other. Milo also knew that Gwen likely gave zero fucks what he had to say on the matter so he didn’t drag it on and instead let the subject change to terms. 

The Pale Stallion would allow Pestilence to deal their wares in the pub and in exchange they got two percent of the sales made there. It seemed fair enough to Milo and he was certain that Michaela would agree. In the long run, if sales were good, it would prove to be a decent addition to their income and it gave the opportunity to pick up on further intel whether it would be on Death or some of the other patrons that happened to wander through the doors. She did say politicians frequented the pub and it was always a benefit to hear what the government was up to. Once they were done laying out the terms and Milo finished his drink, he didn’t linger any longer. They would see more of each other soon enough.

END.

[milo-pierce]

fletcher.

     A snicker falls from Fletcher’s lips as Milo insists on water for the second time, holding up his mug to cheers his Seraphim with a wink, “Y’act like I don’t know how t’handle a hangover.” Though the sarcasm in his expression wanes when he hears he has Milo’s vote for Virtue, mild surprise opening his eyes a little wider. While he knows he’s more deserving than Genie for a promotion, that ambitious fire was ignited further when she joined the gang, her penchant for charming people worrying him that they’d set their eyes on her instead. A constant in his life; for the boundless love he has for his sister, she’s always been a sun others seemed to orbit, and Fletcher… a black hole. Forceful and brash, where no light escapes. He’s above her in rank, he’s been with them longer, and he doesn’t want to settle on such a “meager” income anymore. Not after all the time he’s put in. Only problem? Fletcher doesn’t want to part with his party ways and he knows he doesn’t have to; he just can’t turn off his phone in the middle of a wicked bender. Easy peasy. After all, he might not have Genie’s charm, but he’s packing some… when he wants to.

     He hides the pinch of his lips behind the rim of his coffee cup, the liquid having cooled enough so he can take bigger gulps, muscles relaxing beneath the soothing concoction of caffeine and alcohol. Fletcher’s still idly petting the dog, ignoring the slight dive his heart takes as he thinks about what they’re going to do next with the dog. It probably misses its asshole fucking owner; ready to get out of Fletcher’s apartment and return to whatever corpse sewn mattress Uriel sleeps on. If he’d been honest, he’d expected the thing to be as merciless as its master and maybe chew off his arm in his sleep. But as it turned out, Cerberus wasn’t a demonic three-headed dog ready to chow down on the nearest meaty limb. The guy is kind of sweet. Dopey. And Fletcher refuses to acknowledge that he’s gonna miss the fucker if they end up making use of its worth. Why shouldn’t they? Since when has he ever been someone to take care of something else, anyway? The dying plants in his living room spoke enough on that matter. 

     His posture straightens with interest, brows rising as he continues leaning forward to stand, pacing back to the kitchen for another coffee as he ponders over what Milo just said. Free rein to switch. Genie comes to mind again as Fletcher thinks about people like Wren and Zach, his stomach tying into knots as he tops off his cup, and he doesn’t realize until he’s sitting down again that he’s grinding his teeth together. Fucking coke. He sits back down and crowns his drink with another dose of bourbon, “Ransom’s th’way t’go, I think. Ain’t gonna get any favors from doin’ anything else — ‘less we wanna just drive them insane with worry ‘bout ‘im.” The latter would only serve for amusement purposes, most likely, and perhaps…

     “Dunno how attached they are. Might make ‘em a little bit messy.” It’s something to consider, at least. He keeps the mug close to his mouth, blowing lightly on the dark liquid before it reaches his lips, nursing another drink before he sets it down on the table, his nose scrunching in disgust when Milo pulls out a burger, unwrapping it to release its scent. Fletcher’s up once more, moving toward his entertainment stand to fish out a plastic bag from behind one of the speakers. Inside are a couple pre-rolled joints that he keeps for convenience — and times like these — fishing one out and reclaiming his seat. He lights it, taking a deep pull in hopes it’ll help ease the hangover and make it easier to stomach the food Milo brought. He can’t remember the last time he ate and despite the hollow, sour ache in his gut, he’s going to fucking try — after he smokes. 

     “Dunno. Got someone over in Famine I’m not sure is all too happy, but it might not have shit t’do with the gang. Other than that… well, guess we’ll fuckin’ see. I’ll put some feelers out” Suddenly, he pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he meets Milo’s gaze, “Y’know Gigi over at the theatre sometimes?” 

-

“Y’act like I don’t know you’re an idiot.” The blonde retorted with a smirk. “But you’re my idiot. So humor me and drink a fuckin’ glass of water, yeah?” Milo knew as well as anyone who’d been in Pestilence or the distribution game for a decent length of time, partying was a common occurrence. Especially when the best places to sell were where the party was. He knew Fletcher could party hard, and hell, Milo didn’t mind joining him from time to time. What he learned to do, was work just as hard (if not harder) and it was what he wanted to continue to instill in his friend. When it mattered, Fletcher always came through and that was important. Now he needed him to be a leader and take extra initiative. Which Milo had no doubt he could do. 

Throughout the night, the two men do what they do best- drink, strategize, bounce ideas of one another, throw shit at the other, and ultimately come up with a game plan for the Truce Masquerade and the dog. At some point, Milo brings up Genie and her response to the very public Priscilla disposal. He is concerned but approaches the topic delicately, as delicate as Milo was capable of at least. If it was Yas, Milo knew he would be on the defensive side and his aim wasn't to get Fletcher riled up on a good night that was rare amongst the chaos of the past year. As the night goes on, and the bottles drain, things move from business to random conversation. After all is said and done, Milo ends up crashing on Fletcher's couch. Strangely enough, it was the best six hours of sleep he'd had in weeks. 

END.