#✗ — VERSE : quod debitum sanguine ｡

[spitsfire]

"TOUCHY," SHE JOKES. "JUST COVERING ALL MY BASES, LOVE." Better she's not placed on scouting duty anyway — it's a guns blazing sort of night, and luckily that seems exactly what Rowan's already got planned.

"After you, boss."

                                                           »»-------⏣-------««

Ari had expected to be more tired than she is at 2am after the day she's had, but she suspects the adrenaline is keeping her going. She'll hibernate later — after she's cleared the immediate threat to herself.

For now, her eyes are fixed on the dock in front of her, watching from their vantage point, memorising each patrol route for once she's down there. All that's left is Rowan's go-ahead. "So, what's the play?"

"I am slightly offended that you think I haven't.'' Rowan chuckled. He had already gotten the report as he was speaking to her, his face brandishing that grin of his as a result.

The point was to make noise.

A lot of noise.

And Rowan was going to sing louder than them all. "Shipment is gonna grace our harbor at exactly 2 am tonight. Briggs likes to utilize the chance that there won't be anyone around and his men tend to be a little easy going when that's the case." Rowan laid it all out as best he could, not dwelling on the possibility of something unprecedented happening. That came with all missions and as far as Rowan was concerned, come what may. He was not taking anything lying down.

"It is currently midnight...so I say we make our way there, before Briggs decides that his fun is to be had elsewhere.''

[spitsfire]

❛ want me to model these for you? ❜ from eritvita 👀

SUBTLE SMUT SENTENCE STARTERS:

It was a bold purchase, Ariveth knows, but those words in response to it cement at least some relief that it wasn't one he disliked. She watches Roland from the head of the bed, nestled comfortably among the pillows with a drag from the cigarette hanging between her fingers; eyes flicking from his face to the pair of risqué black leather chaps and then back again. She smiles, lazy and impish. "What else do you think I bought them for, honey?" she murmurs, tilting her head. "Pictured you in 'em the moment they caught my eye."

She's teasing, the specific cuts of the garment very telling regarding her intentions, but her flattery's completely genuine. "D'ya like them?" She waves her hand in gesture to what could very loosely be called 'pants', the pillar of smoke from her cigarette dancing briefly in the air. Her smile relaxes, but her eyes never lose their glint. "Be honest."

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❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜ and from eritvita <333

                SHE TWIRLS IN PLACE, A SPOON HANGING FROM HER FINGERS while she diverts her attention from the suite's espresso machine to look at Roland with big surprised eyes. "Hm?" She glances down. One of his soft, flowy shirts with those fluttery sleeves serves as her nightgown this morning, unbuttoned and accompanied only by panties and hotel slippers — she spares a glance in the mirror across the room before she grins back at him, cheeky and unapologetic.

"Uh huh. Looks good on me. Why, d'you want it back?" She turns back to the coffee she's making; still teasing, still pleased with herself as she glances back over her shoulder at him. "'cause you'll have to take it off me if you do."

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SHE GRINS LAZILY, CATCHING HIS LOWER LIP BETWEEN HERS. She thinks she knows of the movie he's talking about, though she'd not actually seen it before. "Whatever your heart desires, lover. We can leave it for last." Ari sits up smoothly, watching him lounge beneath her with a twitch at her lips, and her hands cover his to drag them further up her thighs, to that plush point right before they crease at her hips.

"It's about a girl…" Smoothly and slowly, she rolls her hips just slightly, just enough; over that naked gap between his otherwise-clothed thighs to coax him to attention. Her movements are so lazy they're almost idle, like an afterthought. "Beautiful, glamorous… looking for belonging and happiness. She thinks she'll find it in money… but she doesn't." She sighs softly and tosses her long hair back, the first sparks of pleasure crackling in her belly. "She meets a handsome man, a writer, but she's afraid of her feelings for him. Thinks he'll cage her."

She takes hold of his hands and guides them from her hips, up her waist and to her breasts, encouraging him to touch, to grab. "Buuut... I won't spoil the rest," she murmurs with a glimmer of a smile, tongue peeking from between her lips. "You'll find out what happens soon enough."

He ponders visibly, his lips pursing and his eyes narrowing; artfully delighted by swift movements, soft sounds, becoming domestic in this flex of familiar crossroads; borne so quickly, and placing his palms astride her naked thighs.

"Ridley Scott's 'Legend', in particularity," says Roland primly. "But, yea, 'tis a magnum opus of all things fantastical and beautiful, and shouldst such a scroll of golden Words be saved for that lasting Note? Shouldst this become the Key, this mosaic of billowing white, and of gold, sprayed glitter?

"Of what is the plot of 'Tiffany's?" inquires he, nestling into the coverlet and the messy pillows; looking contented and connected with that haphazard sprawl of debauched Luxury, the modern, leather-smelling God purring in his lounge.

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❓ from eritvita 👀👀

👀 a nsfw text

[text] hey rockerboy [text] there's a surprise waiting for you in your dressing room, lil good luck charm for your show tonight [text] [img attachment: mirror selfie of herself wearing a faux fur jacket of his... and seemingly nothing else underneath] [text] ♡

[spitsfire]

THE RESTRAINT IS TO BE ADMIRED, even if it's needless now; with the inevitable all but assured. She watches Danila reach for the drink, the slight clumsiness about it endearing. It lowers her guard a little, makes her think he couldn't possibly be as dangerous as the contract made it seem. He was too... sweet.

The private rooms. Perfect.

Ari smiles. "You're right, they do." When she stands from her stool, she takes him by the hand on her way, a glint in her gaze before she turns to tug him along after her; weaving through the crowd toward the corridor leading to the rooms — but a wicked, impatient streak makes her stop before the destination.

She spins instead, pushing him against the nearest wall, hands full of the front of his shirt and her eyes a little wild in the silent pause before she kisses him, hot and fierce, like their time is short. Which it is.

The way Ari crossed her leg didn't go unnoticed, though Danila's eyes quickly darted to a safer zone as he focused on keeping his gaze on her face. It was as if she had read his mind and deliberately tried to get him flustered again. Was it working? For sure. But at this point, he was very much flattered, too.

And excited.

A shiver ran through his body at her touch. His hand fumbled towards his almost forgotten beer, and he took a gulp. All the possibilities, huh? He could certainly think of a few.

"I think they have private rooms here."

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"'TAKEN'?" Ariveth says it like the opposite is the most obvious fact in the world, but she knows her own proclivity for carrying on and leading on. "Wasn't aware I'd been claimed." Her lips pucker against an oncoming grin; she'll always skirt an issue, make light of any tense situation. She reaches to touch his forearm idly, feather-light and coaxing. "So... why haven't I heard this song of yours yet?"

   ꒷꒦‧˚ open: f /nb ˚. ꒷꒦ 

"  —  maybe  next  time,  a  heads  up  would  be  nice  before  I  write  a  song  about  a  fucking  taken  woman  ..  "

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WAITING FOR AN ANSWER PROVES FRUITLESS. Understandable considering, but it only concerns her in regards to his condition. It makes her step on the accelerator a little harder. "Okay," she mutters to herself, swerving into the underground parking lot beneath their destination and sliding the car into an empty spot. "Doorman it is then."

She drags him as carefully and swiftly out of the backseat and into the elevator as she can. She's panting by the time she smacks the button for the fourth floor, holding his arm around her shoulders and hunched under the weight of him, and grunting when she finally gets him out the elevator, down the hall and into her tiny box of an apartment, where she deposits him on the couch.

"Fuck," she gasps. One task down, several to go. She reaches for the first aid kit, taking scissors to the hem of his undershirt and tearing the rest open with her hands. She spills some of the contents of a nearby water bottle over his abdoment, then uses the torn edge of his shirt to carefully wipe his skin clean and find the wound — or wounds — causing all this blood loss.

Jie doesn’t kiss concrete, but the pain wouldn’t have mattered anyways. Not when everything whorls closer to the reprieve of nothingness, but his mind struggles against it. He needs to stay awake. Doesn’t remember why it’s so important when he’s hurt this bad, but a string of consciousness still swims before his eyes. So he clings to it. Clings to her despite the wheeze of agony that slips free upon contact. 

How she stuffs him into a car remains a mystery. There’s barely any energy to keep himself upright — much less piece together where he’s seated or what’s going on. He lags to understand the simple question. Finds it horribly nauseating to open his mouth for any sort of response. So he keeps it shut. Lets out a grunt that bleeds into a groan instead. Could she drive any more reckless? He’s actively bleeding out and it feels like the vehicle’s doing somersaults.

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IT'S RARE WHEN ARIVETH KEEPS HER MOUTH SHUT, but critical situations called for a little selectivity in chatter. She is listening, however, and making mental notes. She'd already assumed she'd be the sole medic tonight, but she wouldn't have minded a more experienced hand with a proper kit to help. It didn't matter anyway — most important was to make sure Salvatore knew where to go, and that he had the combination for elevator access.

"You doin' okay?" she asks Raphael while copying and sending both the code and the coordinates for the underground parking lot beneath the apartment complex that she herself was driving into (while glancing in her rearview every other second). She knows he's far from okay, but as long as he wasn't on death's doorstep yet, she could work with that. She bounds out of her seat and yanks his door open, reaching for him. "C'mon big man. Gonna get you into that elevator right over there; few more steps left and we're home free."

"What do you want, jackass?" The familiar voice of his cousin came from the other line, and if Raphael wasn't in complete pain he would've bit back. "Hello?" The younger Colombo called out. "It was an ambush..." Raphael said, voice staggered and hoarse. "What!?" Salvatore yelled out. "Where are you?" His voice was evident in concern for the man he called family, Salvatore and Raphael grew up together and they were more brothers than cousins.

"I'll m-message them to you..." Raphael groaned. "A-and bring Jocelyn...." Jocelyn was their doctor, their on call handyman if you will. She was the only one Raphael trusted, she kept his name off records and Raphael would pay her handsomely for it. "Jocelyn's in Cuba." His cousin informed him, Raphael cursed under his breath. "I hope that friend of yours, or whoever the fuck is driving the car, knows how to sew wounds." Salvatore would take a bit to get there. "Driver, just keep him from bleeding out, and text me those damn coordinates!" The call ended, and Raphael spat out blood.

[spitsfire]

HE'S GOING HYSTERICAL, SHE REALISES — understandably so, when she has half the mind to reason that it's probably the first time he'd witnessed a bloody murder, but she needs to calm him down. Though he hasn't gone running yet, so that bodes well.

"Okay..." Ariveth begins, nodding and speaking in that soothing sort of tone as if to concede his deductions. "Okay, right. I know you're feelin' a little shocked right now, but ain't no reason to panic, alright? And I'm not going to kill you. Why would I do that? Look, I'll explain, just—" She blinks when Jason mentions the gun, glancing down at it by her side. Instinctively she wants to say that the safety's on and the barrel's pointed down, but somehow she doubts that would serve as a good assurance. "Okay, okay." She raises both hands in a surrendering motion, then tosses the gun onto the bed. "There, gone. See?"

God, where is she even going to start? She looks over at the coffee table, but it's too close to the body to sit. The bed's not ideal, either. "Fuck." The blood in that carpet is going to be a nightmare for the mop-up crew. She finally opts for the minibar, furthest away from it all and containing the best remedies for traumatic events. "Come here." She needs a drink as much as he does right now. "If it makes you feel any better, he was a bad guy." That didn't make her good by comparison, but that was a bridge to cross later. She slides a glass toward him, a shot of vodka to match her own. "Can you promise me you'll try not to panic if I explain this to you?"

“What are you–” For some reason, he thought she was going to use it as leverage, to get the other dude to stop fighting. But no, she shoots him. Shoots him! As Ari takes a step closer to him, his jaw is on the floor. Stunned, Jason doesn’t move. For several seconds, he forgets to breathe. “I…  I’m okay, but th-that guy isn’t... because you just shot him!" he exclaims, both hands on top of his hand, his mouth still dropped open. Although he's anything but amused, Jason laughs. "You just blew my mind right now, AND blew his brains out! And now, he’s dead! As in, he's not alive. D-E-A-D. Dead."

Mind reeling, he rubs his forehead with the thought that maybe this is all just a dream. But no, it's not, so his head spins even more. "Wait, wait, stop," he holds out a hand, "hold the freakin' phone, please. I’ll answer your question, but since you just killed this guy, I think maybe you should answer mine first: why did you kill him? And why does it feel like this isn’t the first time you’ve done this? Are you going to kill me? Because if you're not, can you– can you put that gun down, please? You’re making me nervous with that thing. I don't trust any woman with a deadly weapon of any kind. Not even scissors!"

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THE SHAME IS PLAIN AS DAY ON HIS FACE, all but begging not to be given more grief than he'd already piled upon himself. It's a recurring pattern in his life, one she knows nobody can break but him — besides, she's not sure she'd be morally equipped to be that person anyway, even if Luke believes otherwise.

"Don't be stupid," Ariveth shakes her head, hooking an arm around the back of his neck for a hug. "S'not how friendship works." She pulls away, hand on his chest as if to make it clear he wasn't quite off the hook: "Although, I hear the way it does work is we don't keep secrets from each other." And therein lies the irony of it (and her hypocrisy). "Were you planning to tell me 'bout that other pesky infraction?"

𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓: f, 25+ 𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖙: click here for plot 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: best friend

He didn’t know who to call. It didn’t feel like he had many options, considering he exhausted them all. So, Luke relied on the person he relied on too often. With a black eye and a solemn expression, he was released from his cell and finally faced his friend. He knew he shouldn’t have driven, but at least he was mostly sober this time when he did. The speeding without a license is the real stupid mistake. Could anyone blame him? He had gotten into a fight and just wanted to get home. This was just adding to the list of his never ending mistakes. He had gone a while without his friend knowing of his DUI, and now it was all out there. For some reason, out of the people in his life, he hated disappointing her the most. He approached her and breathed in deeply.  “Springing me out of jail. I’ll add that to the ever-growing list of things I owe you for..”

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HER LIPS ARE CURLED WITH SATISFACTION, ever-delighted with Roland's open appreciation like he can't help but put his desire on blast whenever she's around: it strokes her ego and inflames her penchant for mischief and debauchery.

They sway together into the bathroom while Ari giggles at the words murmured into the curve of her neck, feigning gasping shock at his implication. "Had nothing but innocent intentions," she lies with a wide grin that makes the fact clear; "I only meant to ask you to help wash my hair, of course." She turns around in his arms, standing on her toes to fit her mouth into the hollow of his collarbone, suckling a mark there while her fingers hook into the waistband of his pants to wiggle them down his hips and off his legs.

She steps away and backward toward the cubicle, edging her own panties down her thighs gradually until she can step out of them and into the shower. Her smile is impish, her eyes wicked. "But do a good job, and maybe I'll let you have me up against the glass."

A slither of warmth slithers down Roland's spine at her inflection for petnames. First her predatorily Attention, then her possessive hands to clasp at his sweat-slick skin of roaring cacophonies and strumming lutes, and then, her name: blessedly and private given betwixt those rumpled, quiet pillows, held secret like the Key to her Heart's golden Locket.

And then to be tender in ready sweetness, flaunt with dimples that near rival upon Roland's gorgeous own?

And, lo, dost the points of his ears peak like the wag of a pup for her offer, for her sliding hand and that flash of her naked, sumptuous skin. Roland growls, borne burred and low-hanging from that gruff of an undulating sleep, and places he his coffee 'pon the counter to come after her; to nose at the back of her neck where those softest hairs twist in sleekness, to cup at her hips and to dance their way as he follows pertly behind her ankles.

"How showered art thou prepared?" purrs Roland, nestled by that tendered space just behind her ear. "To sweat in sleekness with the droplets of the cleansing rain as they drizzle down the gurgling drain? To train ourselves in that dripping crawl back to our beside, Ari?"

[spitsfire]

TO GET CAUGHT UP IN A FULL-SCALE MOB TAKEDOWN: that seems par for the course regarding the types of situations Ariveth regularly got herself into. And given that fact, even if she played the reluctant accomplice, she was rather eager for the challenge — and the thrill.

Judging by the manic grin on his face and wild glint in his eyes, Rowan was of the same mind.

"Hijack a shipment of guns and draw your mate outta hiding?" Ariveth summarises, mouth twitching. As far as danger went, this plan was up there, but that seemed like the point. "Sure, what could go wrong. Just tell me when we're leaving." She lifts her head from examining the map, glancing up at him. "Need me on recon, or have you already scoped the place?"

"I knew you'd see it my way.'' Rowan grinned so wide, his men could mistake him for the devil himself. Well, the blonde was about to raise hell, so that comparison was not too far off. "Now since we have an assassins' of your fortitude in our ranks, your going to partner up with me." Rowan said. He was a hired hand mostly, in his rookie days.

But he sure...helped in getting rid of some people.

"We need to make as much as we can. If Vicker is alive, which he probably is, he'll come out knowing that someone has finally decided to usurp the king.'' Rowan laughed at his own metaphor, acknowledging that once upon a time he saw Briggs as just that. A king. A ruler. A winner. But now...was he a king? Or a madman? "Briggs has always loved guns. Used to make us rookies haul boxes of them when the shipments came in.'' He said, going to a near by shelf and pulling out a harbor map. He placed the large map on the table, pointing to the general area.

"What do you say we pay one of these shipments a visit? That ought to get my friends attention.''

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HE SEEMS CERTAIN THIS ALLY OF HIS WAS STILL ALIVE. That bode well for Ariveth, given she'd much prefer Rowan as an ally of her own than an enemy (even if she's now wondering who she did kill). When it came to friends, even gangsters and killers could become very disinterested in the concept of a contract being 'just business'.

"Fuck me," she mutters with a voice full of irritation. Her assumption was correct then — this Briggs was that vindictive. She drags the glass over to herself and takes a generous drink from it; nose bridge wrinkling with a dry chuckle. "Dunno if I'd have accepted the contract if I'd known it'd get me all this trouble."

She tilts her head at his mention of a deal. As much as she'd simply like to go home and forget all this, Ariveth knows that if Briggs was this petty, he wouldn't take today's foiled plan as defeat. He'd come after her again and again until she was in the ground. Rowan, it seems, was her only way out short of tackling the problem solo. "Alright." She leans in, attentive. "What's this deal of yours?"

Rowan fiddled with the small screwdriver, his mind reeling over possible reasons. Briggs was not a reasonable man, he would kill anyone for just looking at him wrong. Hell, he nearly killed Rowan just because he thought he helped Vicker go rouge. Vicker wasn't dead. Rowan knew that, somewhere deep in his heart. Vicker wouldn't let Briggs get the last laugh, he would rather shoot himself if that was the case.

"Vicker went rouge years ago...Briggs has been after him since then." Rowan explained. "If anything, he might have gotten the idea in his head that you killed him, got pissed that you beat him to it and decided he should kill you." Rowan said and it was almost comical that it was the most plausible scenario he could think of.

"Jesus this is going to hell in a handbasket really quickly." Rowan groaned. "Tell you what, how about we make a deal?'' Rowan asked. He was good at making deals. "Believe me, its going to be greatly beneficial for both parties, that in this case being us, and I will place you under my protection for as long as Briggs walks this earth.'' Rowan said. "Which hopefully won't be for very much longer.'' He chuckled.

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"I'M HALF A DEGREE SMARTER THAN THAT." She says it with a smile. His lack of trust isn't insulting — he doesn't really know her, and there were few things more ill-advised than trusting hitmen. His wariness is wise. Nevertheless, Ariveth offers him some assurance, for whatever it was worth. "Got nothing to gain from betraying you, love. I want outta this mess. S'long as you're helping me as much as I'm helping you, I'm on your side."

She exhales once Rowan's finished outlining the plan, watching him thoughtfully. The situation isn't ideal, but the solution is. Shaking off a tail and getting a paycheck in the process seems like nothing but a win.

"Well, I suppose getting in bed with the enemy of my enemy is better than with the enemy." She clasps his hand in hers, squeezing and then using that grip to tug him in a little closer; an impish gleam in her eye. "Let's get down to business, then."

Rowan takes her features in the first time at this moment, seeing that Ariveth was actually quite attractive. He supposed that helped her in her work, seeing as gangsters and criminals were a tad...stupid, when it came to pretty women. "First, we find Vicker and tell him that my operation is finally ready to move. Second, you and I join forces, meaning that before this is over, we work with each other. I wouldn't recommend betraying me...'' Rowan breathed.

As much as he hated to admit it, Briggs raised him.

He was molded by that harsh first, by that sharp tongue. Only difference being that Rowan actually cared to find out the truth. He wasn't a crash and burn sort of leader. It was comforting to Rowan, this difference between them. Knowing that Rowan would never cut a literally fucking arm off because he thought someone was betraying him. "...I could just as easily send you back.'' He said. "Thirdly and finally, I will ensure you get a clear, equal cut of the profit.'' Rowan said, taking his black glove off of his hand and outstretching it. He preferred his non mechanical one, hating that he couldn't feel the skin below. Rowan's eyes landed on Ariveth, grinning.

"Do we have a deal?''

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              SHE BEAMS WIDELY AND CRACKS A GIGGLE at his extravagant vow, watching as he leaves that trail of kisses along the soft inner side of her arm; like some Austen-esque gentleman. "Careful, 'might hold you to that," she murmurs with a gratified little hum to be the focus of his full attention.

"Of mine? Tiffany's, but I'd be keen to start with one o' yours first. We can watch mine second." His tongue is slightly distracting, as are the chaps he's still in. Eventually she rolls over, dislodging him from her shoulder but she doesn't keep him far for long as she manoeuvres him onto his back, plants her elbows and rakes her hands into his hair; laying a kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, each cheek.

"What d'you think?" she hums, kissing his mouth once; then as if deciding in the moment that it isn't enough, kisses him again; slow and butterfly-soft. "What would you pick first?"

"My Darling, wouldst I place a bald cap upon my handsome crown and to paint my face as thus of the boldest, beautiful Drag Kings in their fantastic, artistic Quality if shouldst thou so wonderfully join me." And sleepy, soft with repose, dost he place kisses down her wrist; mimicking the great Artists of the silver screen for this sluice of a romantic Gesture.

"Which movie wouldst thou hath us watch, in firstly?" inquires Roland, murmured to that tender crook of her inner elbow. The gifted leather across his thighs creaks as he lavishes attention, bowing his body to better thread their limbs together, twisting in their sex-scented sheets. He drags his tongue along that defined bicep of her tantalizingly-strong muscle, ever-hungry for her.

He thinks of never-ending labyrinths, ancient quests to protect fae-born babes, unicorns tossing their brilliant-white manes. He grins against her skin, rubbing that burr of his cheek to her shoulder as like a cat ready for petting.