samanthafowlers

[samanthafowlers]

Julian Berkeley. New York's finest. A laugh passes by her lips -- both at his presence being here, and the question being posed. They haven't seen eye to eye in the past; she's written some scathing pieces about him, but for today, she's willing to play nice and not bite.

"Absolutely not." She answers, "You know of that overly used, cliché, 'it's five o'clock somewhere? Well, it's five o'clock -- open your bottle."

open to: all setting: june 12th, casa cipriani, new york

It’s not so much a birthday celebration — but a birthday excuse to be out here next to cerulean blue waters, having a cigarette and prosecco flute during the daytime. His whole office had been sent home early, even on a Monday; Julian gets to enjoy himself only if they do, too. 

The private space is welcoming, to such a public face such as his. No cellphones, cameras, or prying eyes. The sun had been threatening to set itself for a small while, now.  

“Is 5 too early for a Malbec bottle?” Julian suddenly asks. “There is a right answer, by the way.”

[samanthafowlers]

"Very good-" And she had to hand it to him, he had managed to do just that and keep it interesting, with that element of surprise; she could safely say that she'd never come home to witness a break in and the perpetrator being in the apartment.

Should she have been alarmed? Probably. Was she? Not in the slightest. Maybe it was because she felt like she was playing the A card. This was her apartment. She was the one with the phone that could call the cops, if needed. She had a good enough idea of his face now to tell them who to look for. "I guess I'm not most people." She shrugged her shoulders. "And you aren't exactly proving to be a threat. You don't have a gun to my head and you aren't robbing the place." Which brings her to her next conclusion. "So who are you running from? Unless this is a quirky way of yours to make friends..."

˚ 𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰 .

Tiago's entry into the stranger's apartment was a practiced maneuver that was weirdly becoming second nature to him. He turned his attention to the woman before him, her expression strangely devoid of surprise. Tiago couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. This was just another day in the chaotic whirlwind of the city.

"Where's the fun in knocking? I prefer the element of surprise. Keeps things interesting," Tiago remarked, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As he observed the woman's calm demeanor, Tiago's mind raced with curiosity. What kind of person remained unflustered in the face of a stranger intruding into their personal space?

"You know, most people tend to freak out if they found a stranger in their place," Tiago continued, his smirk widening.

[samanthafowlers]

Coffee, there was no morning out there that was worth spending without it. A shift wasn't worth starting without a little pit stop on the way, regardless of being a couple of minutes late or not. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was enough to awaken the senses and prepare one for the day ahead. It was the fuel that kept people going, a source of comfort and a daily ritual that could not be skipped. 

Turning away from the stand, beverage in hand, she starts to climb back down the stairs. Only --

"Are you okay?" The wellbeing of her foot doesn't feel it matters, and miraciously, none of her coffee is out of the cup. "I got mine. But you look like you need yours."

WHERE: The coffee stand, outside the MET. WHO: Open to all!

The queue is, as it always is, long. It's normal for this area of the city, normal for the city in general. The coffee at this cart is particularly good after the man who used to run it, a miserable old man named Frank, was replaced recently by a similarly miserable old man named Karl. People have caught on quickly, it seems.

Audra looks across the way from where she's stood, away from the queue, up the stairs to the entrance of the museum, trying to calculate the distance in her head. She is not late - ever - it is perhaps the only rule regarding her day job that she sticks to nowadays. But she can feel a pulse in her head that she knows will be satiated by nothing but caffeine. Absentmindedly, still caught on whether she can risk being late, she starts towards the stairs anyway, head still turned to the coffee cart, foot catching the very first step in her haste. The step is missed by millimetres, and in her attempt to stabilise herself, she falls forward further, foot landing rather heavily on the toe of the person in front of her.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," she looks up, a look of concern tinging her features before she asks, "Do you want a coffee?"

[samanthafowlers]

She shrugs her shoulders, it's a mixture of something she feels that she's familiar with, both in professional and personal life. Morals come few and far between.

" - No comment." She shrugs her shoulders, producing a grin as she throws his comment back at him.

"I feel like your favourite journalists are only the ones who may or may not have a story about you." She brushes away the compliment, "Now you're talking!" She pauses. "And if you're buying, I'm choosing the most expensive thing on the menu. End of."

samanthafowlers​:

 "If you want to put it that way,“ She shrugs her shoulders. “But I think there’s something to be said for the level of skill and dedication that comes with being a professional. It’s not just about having fun.”  Whatever point he’s trying to make, she’ll disagree with him. “It’s all about who you know and how well you can sell yourself. But that doesn’t mean the Pulitzer winner should give up, they just need to find the right connections and opportunities.” What a standard journalistic kind of answer. “Not every amateur has a missing bullshit detector.”

“Right.” She’s a little irritated. “If I had a story, then I’m hardly going to waste it by telling you about it.” She pauses. “Buy me a decent drink and maybe away from this dump and I might be round for having some negotiations.”

—

“It’s not so much about a missing bullshit detector,” Hans says, “but a willingnesss to nuke it for the right piece.” They’re speaking about journalism, but the same theory could be bend in whatever each way. Morals only go as far as one’s ambitions allow. “I know you wanna act like the assholes are all on my end, but the price of rent is fucking high on Woodward Boulevard.” 

With a whisky glass all empty, Hans toys with the left-over garnishes for the time being. “Yeah, don’t waste it on the one guy who’ll actually say something besides ‘no comment’.” Scoff. “That’s smart.” 

“…For my favorite journalist? I’d even buy two.” Garnish, tossed right back into where ice had melted. “Yeah, yeah — grab your purse. We’re hitting Jadis.” 

[samanthafowlers]

"Will you stop being a fucking baby?" All she had hard from the moment they'd left was whining and complaining. Although, she was getting a kick out of this, evidently being scared. "Good thing I wasn't planning and getting us Big Macs." She shrugs her shoulders, smirking at him. "And if a drive by fruiting is the worst thing to happen here, well-" She likes the idea of taunting Lev and is unable to help herself.

Starter for: @samanthafowlers

“Listen, all I’m saying is that the Bronx isn’t exactly the best fucking idea.” God he hates it up here. Anywhere north in this fucking city is a mine field. Aside from personal knowledge, he did his fucking homework before the outing. “Hey—” He sidesteps another walker, practically gluing himself close beside Samantha as they walk. “This may look all fine and safe and shit, but it’s fucking not. See that McDonald’s? Just last week, drive-by fruiting or some shit.” Lola is going to fucking kill him if they get fruited or worse.

[samanthafowlers]

Samantha slammed the apartment door behind her, dropped her keys onto the coffee table and kicked off her shoes.

It had been a hard day, and she was glad to be finished.

Perhaps a hot shower or an unopened bottle of wine in the fridge were calling her name right now. She stood there debating what her quiet evening would entail suddenly -- boom. Was she suddenly living in a poorly written crime film? And yet, somehow, this had been one of the more normal things to have happened to her today.

"Just when you think you've seen it all--" Her reaction was as casual and unbothered as his tone. "You know, most people tend to knock when dropping in to say hello... I guess this is a new take."

open !! ; assume connections or first meeting ; evening

˚ 𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰 .

As Tiago walked toward his apartment, a nagging sense of being followed prickled at the back of his mind. Instinctively, his gaze swept over the dimly lit streets, his eyes piercing through the shadows. Spotting the figure trailing behind him, he couldn't help but roll his eyes. The guy may have managed to keep up, but it was a futile endeavor. In Tiago's world, threats were few and far between, and this petty pursuit held no weight against the dangers he had faced. He had just finished a job for the Cartel, after all. What was one more nuisance in the grand scheme of things?

His sharp gaze fell upon a set of fire escapes adorning the side of a nearby building. He couldn't be bothered with the triviality of confronting the pursuer head-on. No, he would simply give them the slip, just as easily as slipping into the night. With agile movements, he found himself perched at a window, open just enough t beckon him inside. Without hesitation, Tiago launched himself through it, landing with a thud in the unfamiliar surroundings. Dusting off his clothes, he glanced around the room, taking in the unsuspecting scene before him. "Evening," he drawled in a smooth, casual tone.

[samanthafowlers]

There were a few things that had drawn her to the Palazzo: The wine selection was apparently superior to other places in the city. The architecture and décor were said to be breathtakingly beautiful. As she stepped inside, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the grandeur of the place. It was clear that no expense had been spared in creating this opulent setting. So far, she had to admit, it lived up to its reputation.

Hearing her name, her head snapped up from her drink. She had a vague idea of who the other woman was from her friend, but they'd never met face to face. "Yes, hello!" She's curious of what she wants... But for now, she'll play safe. "Sí." She nods her head and produces her best smile. "I've heard so much about this place that I thought it was about time to finally see it for myself."

     context: the palazzo      with: @samanthafowlers​

     She owns the place and she acts like it. Andrea studies the tables at The Palazzo, casually tilting a glass to her lips and sipping on the best wine she’s ever had. It’s all business, naturally, which means she’s learning everyone’s faces. Most of her life she’s been a hostess of some kind, so it comes as second nature – a specific figure catches her eye, though, and it’s not one she hasn’t seen before. When they first opened this place, only their enemies had been told they were on Cartel turf now. But surely a journalist must have heard something. 

     “You’re Samantha, ¿no?” She approaches the other woman with grace and speaks her name confidently. A friend of Lola’s. She’s done her research. “¿Primera vez?”

[samanthafowlers]

@lolavillarin

“Like, if Barbie swallowed a few acid tablets.” Of course, Samantha is already a few steps ahead. “Waterproof?” The only thing better than Lev being made to live with Harry, is being made to bathe with him. 

Lola readjusts as she sits slightly, chancing a greasy slice of pizza whilst on a brand new couch. Cheese threatens to tip over the dough’s edge, and she catches it. “Pranks?” She asks. “Chaos?” 

“...Damn. Maybe I should have stayed.” 

--

"Would there be any other way for it?" She asks, producing a large grin. Waterproof... Now that was something that she hadn't thought of in her plan. "I'm sure something could be figured out--"

It isn't until she takes her first bite of her pizza that she realises how hungry she is. . She savours the delicious flavour and feels a sense of satisfaction wash over her. "Pranks." She repeats with a nod of her head. "Some of them are so awful, you'd think people would be able to come up with better."

"You and me? They'd be scared of us. We could come up with some amazing things." The thought makes her laugh. "You're always welcome to swing by and say hello-" That was her not so subtle way in letting her friend know she missed her company

[samanthafowlers]

 "If you want to put it that way," She shrugs her shoulders. "But I think there's something to be said for the level of skill and dedication that comes with being a professional. It's not just about having fun."  Whatever point he's trying to make, she'll disagree with him. "It's all about who you know and how well you can sell yourself. But that doesn't mean the Pulitzer winner should give up, they just need to find the right connections and opportunities." What a standard journalistic kind of answer. "Not every amateur has a missing bullshit detector."

"Right." She's a little irritated. "If I had a story, then I'm hardly going to waste it by telling you about it." She pauses. "Buy me a decent drink and maybe away from this dump and I might be round for having some negotiations."

samanthafowlers​:

“Wasn’t me.” Simple, straightforward, and to the point. “Waving a tape recorder and a notebook around the place is amateur.” She takes another sip from her swiftly emptying glass. It won’t be long until she needs another.

“The first rule of good investigative journalism is to avoid making it obvious that you’re sleuthing for information.” She could sit here all night, exchanging witty remarks. Hans always made an excellent counter part to that.

But he had her there. Walked right into it. The convenient meeting of a senator in a strip club. “I’ll go for the ‘or whatever’, this isn’t usually my bar.” Not that she thought for a minute that he would actually believe her. “What did you want? Because I doubt it’s for a simple hello and exchange of pleasantries.” She tilts her head to the side to look at him.

—

“Yeah, yeah,” Hans shrugs. “’Good’ was the keyword there. So let’s agree to agree.” 

A couple taps of his forefinger to the side of the glass, as his minds replays and reworks the rumors known, and the claims offered. Three taps, and a sip comes on. “But, some would say ‘amateur’ is where the real fun happens.” Every pun intended. “Fuck knows, big names would rather talk to some inexperienced no-name writer who would take every word as Bible, than a Pulitzer winner who’d tear them and every next generation that comes after to shreds. Cluelessness is one good of a trading coin, in New York City.” Take it from a banker.

He nods, “It’s also the Senator’s first time tipping one-hundreds between bikini strings. By the way, did you see pigs fucking flying outside?” 

“Jeez.” Double-taking, it’s a show of feigned offense. “I wanted to get that story out of you, but since you’re not ‘amateur’ enough to have a story on us—” 

[samanthafowlers]

She was always on time. She was well-known for being among the first to arrive at the office in the morning. But, for whatever reason (not her fault), her alarm hadn't gone off, and instead of taking her time getting to work, she had a full 10 minutes to travel. It was a wonder that she had arrived on time -- and she'd done it all without her usual stop for coffee, a true miracle.

"It's a push handle, not a pull-" She looks over to the other woman. She hadn't seen her face around the offices before and there was something around her aura that screamed intern. "After you." She opens the door and gestures inside the building.

OPEN STARTER — anyone

location — upper manhattan (outside NYT building) , early morning

The crowded streets screamed as constant motion rang free. Lenny Moreno strutted down the paved sidewalks of Upper Manhattan carrying her newly bought coffee. Her eager personality complimented the early morning bustle of New York City.

Throwing minimal glances to the traffic ahead, Lenny moved forward with the ongoing flow of commuters trying to move through the compact tightnesses that was Upper Manhattan. The area was uniquely filled with faces, tastes, and experiences surely feeding Lenny’s enthusiasm.

There was no need for the morning excitement; it was just a normal day that head no meaning. But, Lenny was rejuvenated with spirit to take on the ambitions of the day. Reaching her destination — the fifty-two foot skyscaper of the New York Times. Lenny leaned to grab the door handle when she was met with foreign help.

“Oh, sorry, you go!” she peeled her hand away. With an embarrassing, rosy glow on her cheeks — she smiled to the stranger opposite to her.

[samanthafowlers]

[samanthafowlers]

@lolavillarin

—

“Oh... no?” Lola puts on her best acting boots, faux-mourning the pineapple. Truth is, she’d stomach just about anything — some running joke about having been a raccoon in a previous life. “I have been meaning to decorate for the Barbie movie.” 

Indeed, the protests are loud and clear to her too. Which is really just the point. 

“I can fuck with that.” Smack in the middle, between kitchen and living room, there’s brief internal debate on whether to gun for plates, or do it as cavemen would. Lola practically launches herself to the couch. Cavewomen it is.

She opens the cardboard box, steam rising. “Did you just get off work?” Beat. "How are the weirdos?"

"The Barbie movie?" Her eyebrows raise. She'd seen the trailer, and the memes that had been floating around Social Media. "Are we going for a Malibu Dreamhouse kind of vibe?" Different shades of pink everywhere, she can see it clearly.

"Speaking of decorating, I was going to get a Harry Styles cutout to go in the bathroom." Anything to even remotely annoy Lev was a winner in her eyes.

Who needs dishes? "Do you want to go for the wine out of the bottle too?" She asks and picks up the first slice of pizza. If it tastes as good as it smells, then they're in for a treat. She nods her head in reply to the question -- when hadn't she just got off work lately? "They're good-" what else can she say? "There's been a lot of different pranks going on lately and it's chaos, kind of like a battlefield because you don't know what you're walking into."

[samanthafowlers]

domxkane:

⁺✦.° ☾ °.✦⁺

For other affiliations/civilians

The sounds of an ever changing city enveloped around his tall physique as he moved through its streets. He'd just come from a meeting with of one of his contacts, light crimson hands covered by leather gloves, which stood out in the slightly elevated may temperatures. A puddle of rain water simply not having been enough to do the job to erase the evidence completely. His hands slid over the bannister of a wooden bridge where he took a moment to lay the voices to rest, relish in the thrill of the game he enjoyed so much. He watched how a pair of swans floated over green water, their symbolism not eluding him. Even he could appreciate a moment as that. Loyal animals -- he could only respect that. "Remarkable creatures." he spoke to the person he had noticed at his side, his guard always up. "Tragic, to think that if one was to die, the other would soon follow." Weakness.

As she stood over the bridge, having a moment of peace, she became increasingly aware of a presence sneaking up beside her but remained silent. Samantha wasn't going to be the say the word if he wasn't. "Interesting-" It was a concept she couldn't say she had much understanding of -- to become so dependent on someone or something that you couldn't live without them. "Do you consider that to be loyalty to one another or weakness? I don't think I could ever depend that much on something-" She pauses. "You know, they're also known for their fierceness. They know how to chase away a threat. I'm not sure if I'd want to mess with one."

[samanthafowlers]

The sparkling necklace on the sidewalk in front of her was impossible to miss. She didn't know an awful lot about jewellery or it's worth, but if she was to guess on the ratio of sparkles and the weight from picking it up that it was worth something. Samantha guessed that it belonged to the woman, dressed in designer clothes, a few steps ahead. "Excuse me!" She calls, "Is this yours?" She smiled in return as the jewellery is taken back. "That's one eye-catching necklace, you're lucky there aren't any magpies around. They might not be as so kind as to return it."

For: Everyone Location: A sidewalk in NYC

Camila loved shiny things. She loved the finer things in life. They were like catnip to her, these items that she had been denied most of life due to her poor upbringing. Now that she was an escort, she not only could afford finer things herself, but several wealthy clients would give her gifts. And she was overjoyed. Calling her materialistic was not an insult - it was fact. She had felt the clasp go, a shame she'd have to now take the thing to the jewelers when it shouldn't have broke in the first place. "Oh, thank you." Camila gratefully accepted the necklace back from the good samaritan, her Brazilian accent thicker due to the momentarily panic she felt at losing the necklace on the crowded sidewalk. Anyone could have walked off with it. With the necklace once more in her hands, she smiled charmingly at the person who helped her. "Thank you for that."

[samanthafowlers]

Amen, she couldn't have agreed more. With all the hype surrounding the event this week, she was sick of hearing about it. "Makes you a little sick, doesn't it? When you see people on the street, struggling to make ends meet-" She pauses. She has friends that go to the event, but it simply isn't her thing. "Let's not forget that this year they're choosing to honour a fatphobic, anti-immigrant, homophobic designer, but that's all okay. He's sitting up on a pedestal in the world of fashion." She sighs in distate. Fucking rich people, indeed.

Starter for: anyone Location: a bar in neutral territory

"Listen, I'm not trying to be a buzzkill or anything, but really - fuck the Met Gala." Tima looked up from her phone - a few drinks in and she was feeling a little surly, by all indications. "I just - it's fifty-thousand dollars a ticket, just so the rich and famous can rub elbows with other rich people and play dress up. With all the people there, you know how much good all that money could do? All the kids in New York that could feed" She took another sip from her gin sour and pulled a face, setting the glass down again. "Fucking rich people."

[samanthafowlers]

It had been a peculiar sight to see one of the local bartenders cut across the park carrying a plastic bag. Acting on initiative, she'd followed to see where he was headed. What she hadn't been expecting was to see a scene from a Disney movie unfold in front of her as cats, upon stray cats, came out of the shadows to be fed -- New York City never ran out of surprises.

"I've walked this park so many times and never seen as many stray cats at once as that-"

status:  open  to  all location:  central  park

“stop,”  he  mutters  as  he  gently  pushes  an  orange  coated  cat  away  from  one  of  the  cans.  “you  have  some  over  there,  she  needs  this  one.  she’s  eating  for  four  now.”

empty  cans  of  cat  food  clunked  against  one  another  as  he  picked  up  the  filled  plastic  bag.  dante  was  never  too  fond  of  people,  having  seen  how  cruel  they  could  be  to  one  another.  not  that  he  was  a  saint  himself.  in  fact,  he  was  probably  more  of  a  monster  than  they  were  considering  all  the  things  he  has  done.  that  aside,  animals  on  the  other  hand  though,  he  had  a  soft  spot  for.  hence  why  he  took  it  upon  himself  to  feed  every  stray  cat  at  central  park  before  heading  to  work.  standing  up  from  his  crouched  position,  he  turned  to  leave, “woah,”  he  let  out,  as he  stumbled  back, nearly  running  into  someone  he  hadn’t  realized  was  behind  him.

[samanthafowlers]

She could not only have answered better for herself, but she also well anticipated Evie's response. She believed that, in some ways, she shared the same nature as the other woman. They got along so well, perhaps because of that. "You're always right." She hummed in agreement. "Some people find it difficult to see the difference, they blur the lines into one."

Samantha had a feeling that the offer of another drink was one that was going to go down well. "Jack and coke?" Her choices of drinks tonight weren't anything too unusual or adventurous. "We're kindred spirits." She, too, was a woman of her word, to the exact letter. "I say... I'll drink to that." She beamed at the idea. "I'll be holding you to it."

samanthafowlers​:

Poised on her lips were questions about Evie’s family. In her time of knowing the woman, this was the first that she could recall hearing of a family member. But maybe it was for good reason – sometimes she knew where to draw a line and just be curious.

The mention of turning predator was one that made her laugh. It was something that she knew about a little too much recently. “Come on, can’t we all?” She brought her glass back up to her lips. Dog eat dog was certainly a term that could be applied to media. “If only everyone saw it as being ruthless and not cold-hearted bitchness.” Evie got it. And had a similar level of caring sometimes, she felt.

“In a dream world… It takes a lot to climb to the top.” Somehow, she had the impression that Evie knew a little of what she was talking about. “– I need another drink. How about you?”

“I would rather have somebody who was ruthless than somebody who was a bitch,” Evie said as if she’d thought about this before. “Someone who is ruthless has motive and means- they know what they want and they’ll strive to get it if it means stepping on a few people here and there... Those who are bitchy don’t have an excuse- they’re bitches just because they can be and because they get some kind of kick out of it.” 

She shook her head. The amount of cold-hearted bitches that Evie had put up with her whole life was enough to last her ten lifetimes. The girls at college were bitter and judgmental and the rich women she dealt with in regards to work made her want to grab an expensive knife from their expensive kitchens and stab them through their expensive dresses. But Evie wasn’t the kind to act on her dark impulsive thoughts. She was more about brains than brawn. 

“Darling,” she then piped up at the mention of another beverage. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll have whatever you’re drinking. But next time we’re in here the drinks are on me; I’m a woman of my word. Perhaps we could even go somewhere else with better class. What do you say? I’m sure I’ll have some more dirty details for your work next time we meet.”