odessasvernon

[odessasvernon]

*♡ ˙ ˖ ✧･ﾟ  —  holiday ask meme  !  —  ･ﾟ✧ ˖ ˙ ♡ *

send  🎄 for  our  muses  to  decorate  the  christmas  tree  together .

send  🌿  for  our  muses  to  be  caught  under  mistletoe .

send  ⛄️  for  our  muses  to  build  a  snowman  together .

send  ❄️  for  our  muses  to  be  caught  indoors  due  to  a  snowstorm .

send  🛩  for  your muse  to  surprise  mine  by  making  it  home  for  the  holidays .

send  🍪  for  our  muses  to  bake  cookies  for  santa  together .

send  🎁  for  my  muse  to  try  &  guess  what  yours  got  them  for  christmas .

send  🙈  for  our  muses  to  stay  up  waiting  for  santa .

send  🥶️ for  our  muses  to  warm  up  by  cuddling  close  to  a  fire .

send  💝 for  my  muse  to  give  yours  a  handmade  gift .

[odessasvernon]

ofrosso​:

Training was finished for the day, and Marcelo leans against the wall, water bottle in hand as the last trickle of soldiers and captains file out of the space. They’d stay —as they always did— and there would no doubt be company from the more similarly determined Montagues that dwelled around headquarters after shifts. Hazel hues trace the herd as they pack their belongings, gaze lingering heavily on those few that disappoint, that need the weight of their disapproval pushing down on them, when they hear her. 

Their name falls gently, a honey sweet crest at the lips of the youngest Vernon. Marcelo hadn’t known she was due back yet — but more so, could not remember when it was they had started to notice her absence, at all. Yet, she’s here, dark ringlets collecting at her shoulders and brown eyes searching for her answer. In private? It has to be about Genevieve, they think, about stains of scarlet and the warmth of a gun in her palm. It was all the two shared, all their arrogance and pride had allowed of them to share, thus far. But that was changing, wasn’t it? It had changed in only a matter of seconds; with the last breath of a father, and the first scream of agony from his  abandoned child.

Marcelo gives her a once over. “Si.” Pushing off of the wall they gesture for her to follow, feet carrying them from the crowd of the gym and toward the quiet row of offices down the hall. It’s mostly empty, save a few stragglers lounging on chairs or flipping through notes. They nod her into the first vacant room, stepping in first rather than holding the door open. They couldn’t let her get too comfortable.

“What can I do you for, Vernon?” Marcelo breathes, stretching their arms across their chest as they seat themselves on the ledge of a desk. 

Odessa had lost a lot over the past year. She had lost her father due to the violence of the war. She had lost her innocence once her bullet pierced the skin of a fallen soldier. Finally, she lost trust in those around her. All she could think about was Henry’s confession and how she had been betrayed by one of those she thought she knew like the back of her hand. The loss overwhelmed her, made her feel as though she were drowning under the weight, but she didn’t want to drown. She wanted to kick, to swim back up to the surface, and reaching out for Marcelo was that tentative first step.

She was quiet as she followed the captain. Marcelo had been a dark cloud in her youth, yet they were the one she turned to for a semblance of her old life. How ironic, it seemed, that the wolf that once set out to devour her was the same one she reached out to with open arms and pleading eyes. She justified it as they were the best for the task, but perhaps the memories of them taking care of her still lingered in her mind. Perhaps a sliver of trust had formed between the two childhood foes. 

She slipped into the office. The sound of her heels broke the silence between them as she stood across from the captain. Odessa’s eyes stared into their hazel ones before she spoke out. “I want to shadow you.” 

Her back instictively straightened as she let the request sink in. Her mind flashed back to memories of her youth. The amount of times similar requests fell on deaf ears were too high to count. Her father telling her young ladies aren’t meant to hold guns or listen in on Montague missions. Her mother telling her to go put her talents to work and greet the guests as they walk in. She was alwyas seen as the jewel of her family, but what if she wanted to be more than a treasure meant to be shown off? 

[odessasvernon]

Vivianne: Do you really want to know how I got injured?

Easton: Yes.

Vivianne: I was hula hooping. Cosimo and I attended a class for fitness and fun.

Easton: Oh my god.

Vivianne: I've mastered all the moves: the pizza toss, the tornado, the scorpion, the oopsie-doodle.

Easton: Why are you telling me this?

Vivianne: Because no one will ever believe you.

[odessasvernon]

Marcelo: I brought reinforcements.

Roman: You brought Matthias?

Marcelo: Um... no... But I brought the next best thing.

Bellamy: Hey.

Roman: Bellamy? You brought Bellamy? The next best thing would've been Castora.

Bellamy: Normally I'd be offended, but she is freakishly strong.

[odessasvernon]

Laura Harrier on Instagram, 11.30.2020

[odessasvernon]

Marcelo: For self-defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a robber and you guys have to act wisely.

Brielle: Okay.

Ramona: Sure.

Marcelo: Give me all your money if you want to live.

Ramona: Bold of you to assume I have money.

Santino: Bold of you to assume I want to live.

Brielle: *hands Marcelo a bag of money* I know it's not much, but I hope it helps.

[odessasvernon]

leonagw​:

“I have been.” Leona admits, speaking over the rim of their glass before lowering it from their lips – it had been strange, really, to be working on something that they knew to be so monumental, and being deprived of the ability to share it with others – to have to play the part of any other initiate, boring and unremarkable, while they knew themselves to be so much more. Sure, they’d had Alvise to talk to about their passion project, but after he’d ( rather rudely ) gone and died, they’d been alone in their laboratory, blindly surging forward in the hopes they’d manage to grasp success anyway, and be rewarded for their efforts in the manner which they deserved. 

Of course, even now, Leona was no idiot. Yes, they’d been dying to talk about their work, and, yes, they would do so to anyone who would lend an ear ( even Odessa Vernon, someone who leaves a bitter taste on their tongue for reasons Leona both can and can’t place ), but they’re not foolish enough to divulge all of their secrets. Even Alvise had been kept in the dark about some aspects of what they’d been working on, and the method to create their poison was stored in full only in Leona’s mind – they knew full well that if they no longer had their expertise to offer, the Montagues would have little use for them, and they intended to ensure that wouldn’t happen.

They’re not quite sure what interest Odessa would have in their work. From the way Alvise had always described his daughter, she seemed as though she would be better suited to the finer things in life, rather than getting her hands dirty with the affairs of the working class Montagues. Leona had always been rather quick to pass judgement on others, and, despite barely knowing Odessa, they liked to think they’d gathered enough information to pass judgement on her – and they’re not quite sure that she’s someone worth knowing ( at least, not professionally ). 

Nonetheless, the temptation to talk about their work proves stronger than their pride, and Leona finds themselves talking anyway. “I didn’t think it was possible, at first,” They say, “When they first asked me to create an untraceable poison,” They chuckle, shaking their head, “I laughed right in their faces. But…” They pause, “I guess it wasn’t as impossible as I’d imagined.”

When she was younger, she would always be compared to her mother. They were the women of the Vernon household, made to support and charm their guests while Lawrence and Alvise worked behind the scenes to build up their legacy. Younger Odessa had found this unnamed frustration with being placed in the same category as her mother. She tried to talk to her mother about her curiosities, but her mother would always quiet her thoughts and direct her to smile. There was a distance between her and her mother. They were two women from the same family, yet there was a divide between them. For the longest time, she struggled with the fact that she was supposed to be her mother’s daughter.

It had only hit her recently that she wasn’t her mother’s daughter. She was her father’s daughter. He tried to pass that honor onto Lawrence, tried to morph her into her mother, but as she stood by Leona, she knew his attempts didn’t succeed. Her mother wouldn’t ask about the thought process behind creating a deadly poison. Her mother wouldn’t wait with a quiet hunger in her eyes for any bits of information that slipped past the reaper’s lips. No, she had inherited those traits from Alvise. 

“I’m sure the trial and error process must’ve been frustrating.” Odessa’s only experience with chemicals was in her chemistry class back in school, but she could only imagine how delicate and lengthy the process was. One small mix-up and the poison wouldn’t work the way it was supposed to. She was curious about how long the process took. How long did the Montagues work to have this in their back pocket? “But it seems to have been worth it, si? You’ve definitely gotten your name out there.”

[odessasvernon]

lorde - yellow flicker beat

[odessasvernon]

date: june 11 location: odessa’s office availability: closed to @ofaguilar​

Odessa had often thought about the similarities between her and Ramona. She could remember hearing the whispers of Ramona’s torture and how it had mirrored her own. She knew the two of them were seen as weaker members of the mob even as they continued to follow orders and fight for the Montague’s victory. She also knew how the two of them had orbited each other in their social circles. The two were like parallel lines--- always close but never quite touching.

And yet, this assignment showcased their differences. Odessa’s role was a backseat position. She would strategize the plan, but she wasn’t to enact it herself. She would never see the traitor die by her methods. No, Ramona was tasked with being the executioner. They didn’t question whether or not to go along with the assignment. They didn’t question if abandoning the mob was truly worth such a death sentence. The only question that lingered between them was a simple question.

How would it be accomplished?

Odessa’s hands clasped together on top of her notes. She had thought about the different ways they could enact their plan. She knew the mission had requested that it be done quietly and away from prying eyes, and Odessa quietly thankful for the direction that allowed her. She had entered the mob as an emissary, had dealt with dealings and brokering peace far more than violent missions. A quiet, more discreet method far suited her strengths.

“I have an idea on how to tackle our task.” Her hands shifted to the sides of her notes as she gathered them together. Truthfully, she had been collecting these notes far earlier than the assignment, but she’d tuck that piece of knowledge away. “I was thinking we could use Reaper’s kiss for the job. It’s untraceable, discreet, and it shows off what the Montagues have been working on.” A pause fell between them before she allowed her eyes to focus on Ramona’s. “What are your thoughts?”

[odessasvernon]

date: june 5 location: captain and soldier’s floor of montague hq availability: closed to @ofrosso​

It had been a few days since she returned from Paris. There had been a mixture of emotions that took up war within her from the moment she landed back on Verona’s soil. A part of her felt haunted by the walls of Montague headquarters. She could see visions of her father as she wandered through the floors. She could remember visiting the captain’s floor to see her childhood friends. She could close her eyes and imagine a time where her and Henry would discuss what was happening in the war. All of it was tainted by a revelation and a gun that had slipped from her fingers as she finally took justice for her dad’s murder.

She had forced herself to focus on other things. If she dwelled on that night, she would never get the taste of betrayal out of her mouth. Instead, she had remembered what she was fighting for before her world had turned upside down. She had remembered the way her heart raced when they announced there were two more reaper spots available to be filled. She remembered why she had felt that bout of determination. She wanted to get out of her family’s shadow, and with her father’s ghost finally laid to rest, she could finally accomplish that.

Her eyes had sought out a familiar figure. It felt odd looking for Marcelo Rosso in the crowd of soldiers and captains that took up the space. They had been her tormentor in their youth, a wolf ready to swallow her whole as soon as she slipped through the door, and yet the two of them had slowly built a foundation of trust. It was an unsteady foundation, one filled with hesitance and apprehension, but it was a foundation nonetheless. It was enough of a stepping stone to allow a question to slip through her lips as she finally found the captain.

“Marcelo. Can we talk in private?” 

[odessasvernon]

gertrudezhang​:

It wasn’t that Genevieve was remiss to discuss the injuries that we had been afflicted with, rather she did not want to deal with the consequences if she chose to. Now there was a fuse in her hand, and a match box in the other, if she wished there was nothing to stop her airing her business to everyone - colleague and friend alike - but it would not bring sought after catharsis, gifting her with more problems in its stead. The same hands would then be used to clear the debris from her immediate surroundings, pulling whichever soldiers - and, perhaps, even Damiano himself - from the wreckage.

The silence is a comfort, the same provided with a warm cloak draped across her shoulders, easing into it with a generous serving of her own tea. After all that had transpired with her son she was unable to wish for something stronger, an image of her son floating to the forefront of her mind anytime she considered it, though her bandaged hand still drifts to the packet of cigarettes in her trouser pocket. It saps her energy, to remain focused as she waits for Odessa to find what seemed so readily available to her when requesting this meeting, unwilling to allow her gaze to drift around their surrounding.

“I see,” she begins, an acknowledgement of what she has said, a moment taken to consider it in full, neither outright acceptance nor blatant refusal. “Do you intend to go alone?” Not that she doubted her god daughter’s prowess, the question driven by a need to consider the logistics of any given situation; did she need just sacrifice one emissary? Or was there more to consider? “Once you are confident that it might provide us with new opportunities, I don’t see why that would be an issue.” She smiles then, though slight, her expression is restrained by the dull throb that occasionally pulsed through shoulder and opposite hand, a reminder to herself not to grow arrogant or over-confident. 

There was a quiet that settled in between the two of them. Normally, she found comfort in their quiet moments. She could remember racing over to Genevieve at the Vernon Christmas party and just settling by her side as the two quietly read one of the many Christmas stories that were placed around her childhood home. She could remember the quiet moments of their early days together--- that quiet pause before she announced that Odessa was already lethal. This quiet, however, left her a bit on edge. She had always trusted Genevieve’s judgment, but she found herself readying herself to defend the request.

The question was one she had prepared herself for as soon as the idea had formed in her head. On one hand, more emissaries allowed for a wider reach and more potential clients. On the other hand, it allowed for more of a risk, especially if the quest proved unsuccessful. There was also a selfish part of her that didn’t want another’s help. She wanted to prove herself on her own. She sucked in a quick breath before finally answering, “I think it would be easier to go alone. Less preparation needs to be made, and it’s easier to persuade clients if it’s one-on-one.” 

She smiled at Genevieve’s words. That familiar comfort crept back into her space, and she reached over to take a bite of her food. She hoped others would see her potential the way Genevieve had. She hoped to finally be free of her title of the old underboss’s daughter. Perhaps this mission would be the start of her own path. Only time would tell. 

---EXEUNT OPHELIA

[odessasvernon]

cleosokolova​:

Brown hues flit towards the slumbering dog on the floor and she smiles as the French bulldog stirs ever-so-slightly in her rest. “Mm, I knew I made the right choice in you,” she says, attention returning to Odessa. “A woman after my own heart.” Because the Vernon woman is right–what is the point of having a pet, if not to absolutely spoil them rotten? “But if Penny’s got more clothes than you do, you and I need to go on a bit of a shopping spree.” Mischief dances across her visage, thoughts of the two of them ditching Verona for a girl’s day of shopping far more appealing than staying here and working underneath Don Montague.

The mischief, however, is quickly replaced by a worried confusion as she truly listens to Odessa’s words: I actually made the first move. His back was turned and I just–

“какого черта?” Calina says, brows furrowing unhappily. It’s one thing to be attacked by the enemy, it’s another to attack them–and it’s an entirely different beast to take on a man as brutal as the Capulet spettro. “Not an ounce of soldier’s combat training, not any sort of business with him–and you attacked him? Do you have a death with that I’m not aware of?” Her berating comes from a place of fear and love, but she knows as well as Odessa how easily words and tones are misconstrued. A beat passes between them, and then the Sokolova woman softly tacks on, “I’m just glad you are, for the most part, alright.”

My hero, she praises, and Calina leans into her friend’s touch, soothed by the constant that is Odessa Vernon. She looks up at her through her lashes, a soft and content sigh passing through her lips as she basks in the fact that Odessa’s scuffle with Orion didn’t end with the former’s death. “I am,” the emissary repeats, “but I would much rather prefer you not make me. I hate getting my hands dirty and with il Capo keeping us so busy, it’ll be next to impossible to schedule a time when we could both be free for a manicure.” Her tone is warm and her words are light, but the message underneath is weaved between each syllable, each inflection in her voice: Be safe, Eshenka. I can’t lose you, too.

.

Odessa couldn’t imagine what life would be like without Calina by her side. It felt strange to know that the emissary hadn’t entered her life until recently. She felt like they were two souls intertwined with each other--- two flames meant to cross paths. The two girls connected so easily that it seemed like nothing short of fate. A spark in her eye lit up at the mention of a shopping day. The thought of the two girls abandoning the stress of the war and focusing on mundane matters sounded so appealing. She had been war into the war, had grown up alongside many of the Montague soldiers, and perhaps it was time she allowed herself to have some distance from the war--- even if it was just for a day.

“I could never say no to a shopping trip. It feels like forever since I’ve had a day to myself.” And maybe it truly has been a long time. Her work, emissary duties, and healing trauma all took up her time these days. Even when she found herself with idle time, she directed her attention on the mystery of her father’s killer. Perhaps she owed herself a break from her busy life.

Her cheeks flushed a slight red at the tone of Calina’s voice. “You don’t understand.” The emissary knew attacking Orion was a foolish move, but she had felt like a victim for so long. She felt like she was floating after her father died, a balloon drifting in the air after being released from its post, and she had just begun finding her footing when the torture occurred. It felt like every attempt at building herself up to be more than a tragic figure had slipped away as the scar in her neck stood on display and eyes looked at her as a tragedy of war. Attacking him wasn’t done with the intent of winning. It was done with the attempt to show that she was no longer cowering at the sight of him. She wanted to prove she had grown past being a victim. “He tortured me, Calina. He made me feel powerless for so long. I just---- wanted some of my power back.”

Odessa brushed a few stray curls away from Calina’s face as she took to memorizing her features. She sometimes forgot about the price of being in a mob. She was a child that was tucked away from the blood and violence. She had been pushed onto the path of an emissary to avoid the deadly features of being in a mob. Sights like what occurred at the cathedral served to remind her that bloodshed was unavoidable in their line of work. Death was a risk for them all, and she wouldn’t allow herself to leave the Earth without remembering every detail of her best friend. Her hand slipped away from Calina’s cheeks as she sat back. A small smile curled onto her lip as she hummed, “Then let’s not waste the free time we have.”

[odessasvernon]

laura harrier

[odessasvernon]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with ODESSA VERNON, who is TWENTY-FOUR years old. She is often called OPHELIA by the MONTAGUES and works as their EMISSARY. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

TW: DEATH

She was everything her mother and father prayed for and everything one might expect a lady to be. Intelligent enough to make her own way in the world but passive enough to let her father and brother make it for her, Odessa Vernon was the image of the perfect daughter incarnate: a pretty little PUPPET with velvet strings. Born two years after her half-brother and no less capable—if not more capable—of learning the same things he did, she was instead taught the importance of using the right fork at dinner so as not to appear uncouth, of being humble so as not to threaten her male peers, and of knowing when her opinion was welcomed and when it was not. In the Vernon household, women were to be seen and not heard, regardless of what to bring to the table, and it was due to this upbringing that Alvise Vernon’s daughter came to be known as coy, soft, passive—just like her mother, when in fact, she had the potential to be anything but. Her gentleness was learned, a BYPRODUCT of being told that was the only thing a young lady should be.

It was for that reason alone that, rather than allowing her to join the mob as soon as she was of age, her father chose to send her to university. Ladies don’t get blood on their dresses; they don’t lie, cheat, steal—KILL, but the only way a young woman could expect to be welcomed into the fold without doing any of those things was if what she could do with her mind was far greater than what she could do with her hands, and for once in his life, Alvise Vernon let himself be contradicted. He would much rather an INTELLECT for a daughter than a weapon, so he allowed her to pursue a degree at the university of her choice, and she welcomed the opportunity with open arms, thrilled to get away—to prove her worth. The four years she spent away from home saw her become the woman her father and brother had long suppressed—as smart as she was beautiful, assertive but unfailingly well-mannered, the farthest thing the pretty little doormat they’d raised her to be—but that freedom was terribly short-lived, and it wasn’t long before she was again told to lower her voice at the dinner table and let her elder brother speak. She became a Montague emissary at twenty-two, a fitting position for a child of one of the most prominent families in Verona that sought to keep her hands relatively clean—or who had a father who insisted that she do so—and despite having it chosen for her, Odessa found she rather enjoyed the work. Negotiating and closing deals with some of the city’s most elusive dealers made her feel the kind of POWERFUL that even her father could approve of, and for two years, it was enough. For two years, she was content to be the brains of the operation, to look pretty and speak only when asked to and squash the tickle of indignation in her stomach when someone remarked that she was awfully quiet. And then her father was found shot to death in his apartment, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t told what to do—how to act. The strings that had guided her every movement for twenty-four years had been severed, and the only daughter of Alvise Vernon was left grieving with eyes wide open, set free and inexplicably ALONE. Hers was a revelation not only of what she’d lost—a father who had loved her, raised her, damn near drove her mad with his expectations—but of what she’d gained: a CHOICE. Waking up the morning after he was killed was like coming up for air after being held underwater for far too long, and she’s found, with quite a bit of guilt, that she doesn’t mind the deafening silence that’s replaced his once-overbearing guidance. Worse still, she’s not afraid of the voice in her head telling her to get even, to show the world that the gentle, unimposing girl she once was DIED with her father. One day, they’ll say this was her breaking point, the thing that drove her over the brink of insanity, and once again, they’ll be mistaken. Her mind has never been clearer, and she knows what she wants: blood. Retribution. Revenge. This is the story of a rose learning to embrace her THORNS.

LILLIAN WEN: Enemy. Every time she comes across the woman, Odessa can’t help the way her stomach curdles in resentment and – oh, how she detests this deadly sin – envy. Here she is, bound to a world everyone proclaims a princess like her does not belong to, embracing it but not without the struggle of balancing who she is and who she has to be. And then there is Lillian, thriving in the position she has and harnessing it for a cause. A good cause. She is stagnant, all while watching Lillian soar. What a befuddling sight it was; like watching a free, boundless flock of birds, starkly white and beautiful, taking flight across a grim, moonless skyline. She knows she deserves nothing less than such degree of untainted achievement and yet, can she reach it? The apprehension – guised in traditional Montague hatred –tells her she is loathed to find out.

LAWRENCE VERNON: Brother. She envied him once for his freedom, for his value as more than just a pretty thing to own in the eyes of their father. But for all that he’s just like Alvise—for all that he, too, had a hand in clipping her wings and keeping her in a cage, she’s never loathed him, never wished him ill. He meant well, and in the purest corner of her heart—the part unmarred by tragedy and bitterness long suppressed, she knows her father did, too. But the days of letting her brother decide who she is and who she’ll be are gone. He may be the only family she’s got left, but he’s not all that’s left of her. She loves her brother, blood or not, and she’ll defend him to the death, but she intends to make it clear she no longer needs his permission. GENEVIEVE & HENRY ZHANG: Superiors. Three days after they laid her father in the ground, she strode into Genevieve Zhang’s office, and in a voice that didn’t dare shake, announced, “I want to be lethal.” The older woman’s response came, “Darling, you already are.” Taught only basic self-defense in case of a negotiation gone wrong, the Vernon woman wants to learn more, to become a force her father’s enemies lose sleep over. She wants to be a soldier, and the woman who watched her grow will make her into just that. Odessa and Henry grew up together, two children raised in the throne room of the empire their fathers helped to rule, but four years his junior and reminded constantly by her brother to make herself scarce, she often found herself falling through the cracks. They’ve shared many a conversation about tact and negotiation, and she’s closed many a deal for him, but she’s loath to regard him simply as one of her captains; truly, he’s something of a friend—a reminder of simpler times. The recent death of his father has seen a change in him, but she’s got her own storm to weather, and they both know the Zhang heir needs no coddling, least of all from her. CRISTIAN DE LUCA & CELESTE DUVAL: Fellow emissaries. There’s an unspoken agreement among emissaries, a sort of understanding that begs no real explanation. It’s not that they’re not good with words—their skill in that aspect is what made each of them far mightier with a pen in their hands than a gun—but that, of all the things they’ve brought to fruition and continue to accomplish, their understanding is by far the simplest. Cristian acted as a mentor to her when she first joined the mob, but though she’s long since become his equal, she still holds him in high regard and values his guidance. Much older than the rest of them, he’s always been a bit distant, but he’s good at what he does; formalities aren’t part of the job description. Celeste joined their ranks mere months after declaring loyalty to the Montague cause,  effectively replacing Odessa as the youngest among them, and she’s found something akin to a kindred spirit in the Duval woman. Their ranks have been scattered since her father’s murder, but Odessa knows it won’t be long until they recover—they always do.

Odessa is portrayed by LAURA HARRIER and was written by BREE. She is currently TAKEN by ALYX.

[odessasvernon]

paoladamasco​:

Was it so simple as this? One hand reaching for the other in the dark, as if to say I’m here. As if to remind her, I see your pain, and that makes it real. Against her better nature — pull back, hide away, harden your heart to the world before it takes another bite of it — Paola’s slender fingers are curling around Odessa’s. It isn’t the encouragement she expects from her. She listens, expecting to hear the wishful thinking of a woman who sees sunshine in a cave. Instead, she holds fast to the reason Odessa offers.

Somewhere between the song-like lilt of Odessa’s voice, the shape of revenge takes shape. A seed that may be planted to reap when the puckered wounds on her skin recover, when she can close her eyes without feeling Tiberius’ breath on her cheek. Codenames… they keep us safe.

They also remind Paola that she is not always alone.

“They always have something to lose,” Paola echoes. She reaches for the words like it’s the first time she’s seen snow and she wants to savor each flake. Yes, she has lost. Her body marred, her confidence shaken — and yet, her sense of self remains. Paola and Perdita both… they survive. They endure.

Only time will tell what Tiberius, too, will endure.

“You’re right.” Her grip strengthens around Odessa’s, and Paola manages one last squeeze before pulling it free. “It’s what we must do. It’s what you’ve already done. I can tell.” She nods without a smile, conveying her sincerity as she says, “You’ve overcome it, already.”

Kindness, after all, is the final step. Only those still nursing their wounds duck their heads and retreat with shame and unending bitterness. It’s what she strives to become; it’s why she is forever falling far from the mark. How do you treat a bullet wound that you cannot see, and do not want to find?

Paola’s brows arch high as Odessa moves away from the table, reaching for a bag that Paola didn’t bother taking note of. The word tumbles out of her lips without a second thought, from shock and mild horror: “What?” It feels utterly wrong to be rewarded for being so stupid as to find herself in the hands of La Tigre. She steels her heart and readies herself to deny Odessa, to push it back towards the Montague principessa. “I… I’ll try.”

Odessa looked at Paola and saw herself months ago. She looked at her and saw that same shattered image that she had fought to get out of her sight. She hadn’t wanted to be remembered as the girl that was tortured by an old friend. She didn’t want to remember that girl that couldn’t close her eyes without remembering the way a knife felt against her throat and how tears clung to her skin as she watched a treasured possession shatter all over the floor. She wondered if Paola was going through the same grieving process of her. She wondered, but she hoped the girl wouldn’t walk her same path.

She sucked in a breath as she fiddled with the bag. Odessa didn’t know if gifts were wanted at this moment, but she had packed it as soon as she heard about the torture the initiate endured. It was something she went without on her own journey, but she hoped it would help her with the healing process. If not, she would push it aside and settle on providing her quiet companionship instead.

“When i got tortured,” a pause occurred after the word, as if she were fighting back suppressed memories of a cold day in January. She allowed her gaze to focus on the present before she was finally able to continue, “I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. I thought I was hideous. I hid behind scarves and turtlenecks in an attempt to feel normal, but all I was really doing was denying what happened.”

She pulled out the makeup kit that she had tucked away. Her jaw set as she looked at the girl. There was a hopefulness in her chest as she thought about her own journey and how it could benefit Paola. She hoped the girl would learn from her experience. That’s all Odessa wanted out of this visit--- to remind Paola that someone else has gone through something similar.

“I don’t want you to look in the mirror and see something broken. I want you to look in the mirror and see someone strong and brave.” She slipped into the seat beside Paola once more. Her hand reached over to grasp Paola’s as the other shifted the makeup bag in between them. There was a certain spark in her eyes as she watched the girl’s reaction before she added on. “Let me help you, Paola.”

[odessasvernon]

[odessasvernon]

morecruelkings​:

so, he thinks as he twines his fingers together on his desk top, as he slowly nods his head in acknowledgement, the diamond shows its sharp edges. it’s unfortunate for the vernon girl, that diamonds, while precious and dazzling when draped across a bird-boned wrist or stitched into an expensive fabric, also tend to be reflective and not so easily obfuscated. odessa vernon was born into world that has only ever wanted her, prostrated itself at her feet, with people who cared so deeply for her safety that they draped themselves around her like bird wings so her pretty eyes wouldn’t have to gaze upon the horror–ronan learned his trade because he was left without a choice, because it was either that he learned to control every situation that he walked into, or he was subsumed by self-loathing, by those who would have rather seen him boarded up inside of some victorian attic. 

what does odessa vernon know of pain? of the kind of hatred that grows claws and teeth, makes people want to do harm, to cause hurt? what does odessa vernon know of control? 

the answer is apparent, but the effort that will surely be involved does not outweigh the usefulness of having the his teeth in the girl in some way–her name carries capital, in this world they’ve both chosen for themselves, capital that ronan will be able to use to pay his way out of something, before his rise is complete, he’s certain. and besides–there’s always the potential for odessa to pleasantly surprise him, to bare her teeth to some effectiveness. every caesar, alexander alike needs their red right hand, do they not? 

“of course, i am at your disposal, signora.” he smiles, shrugs his shoulders as though she’d asked him for something simple, like a letter of recommendation or a cigarette. “you’ve already shown some talent in that regard–it’s merely a manner of–” he hums thoughtfully, taps his fingers against the knuckles of his opposite hand. “transference. instead of getting people to vote for me, or to buy stock in your father’s bank, you get them to do your bidding. to follow your plan of attack.” 

he raises an eyebrow in a kind of challenge, leans forward just slightly in his chair. “i will be honest with you–in order to be successful, you need to consider people to be more like–pawns. expendable, lost as often as they are gained, all in pursuit of a higher purpose. do you think you can do that?” 

Odessa didn’t know she’d be making a deal with a devil. She didn’t know about all of the deadly deeds done by the hand of the man sitting across from her. She didn’t know she was a deer wandering into the path of a lion. She didn’t know, but if she did, would she have gone elsewhere? Her allies were her opponents. Her friends had their own concerns to take care of. Bright eyes had sought out a different voice, a voice she had previously stayed away from, and now she must learn if the wolf will devour her whole or if it will accept her into its pack. 

She remained silent as she listened to his words. The thought of pawns tugged on her chest. She was familiar with the feeling of being seen as a chess piece--- a picturesque statue used to brighten up the Vernon household. She found herself wondering during times of trouble if her and her friends were all pawns in the mob war. Could she transform from a chess piece to the player? Could she become a leader after being by herself for so long? 

“You’ll find I’m a quick study.” Her emissary training often dealt in the art of half-truths, and this was no exception. She wasn’t at that level yet, didn’t view people as expendable to her cause, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be successful. Perhaps Ronan could teach her the ways of a politician, or perhaps she could teach him a thing or two. It would be interesting to see who’s style prevails in their agreement.

Her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned forward in her seat. A small smile played on her lips as she looked at the man before her. “I’ve noticed that the political field is a bit sparse in our territory.” She had done a bit of research beforehand, but Ronan’s reaction would indicate if her research was correct. “We have you, of course,” She waved her hand towards him as she continues, “As well as some others, but there’s still so many politicians that we have yet to touch.” Her eyebrows rose as she waited a beat before she let her pitch filter though the air. “I think we need to show some of these politicians why they should support the Montague cause.”