#Callie has Left the Gala

[borealis-siblings]

"Do I have too?... I feel like people are going to notice..."

Callie giggles, "Girl, that's a point- Now get out here!"

Venus hesitantly walks around the corner which she had put on her new outfit from. Callie gasps, and put her hands together.

"Oh dear, Arceus..."

Venus' face turns bright red. She strokes her arm, feeling rather embarrassed.

"What? What is it?? Do I look bad?..."

"Venus, what?! No- You look.. You look... 🌟Sparkly 🌟"

"I look like a disco ball.."

"Girl, that's the point- Your supposed to shine and be eye catching~ Trust me, it will really yet some conversations rolling.."

"Callie, you know how I feel though about being the center of attention.. Or attention at all..."

"Yeah, I know but, just trust me.. Alright?"

"Alright.."

"Okay, great.. Well, I should be going- Opey is probably wondering where I am. Bye girl~"

As Callie was turning to leave, Venus had grabbed her by the arm. Her look changing from a scrunched, and embarrassed expression. To an expression of curiosity and sadness.

"... Your... Your still coming to the Souls Festival in October though... Right?"

"Of course.. One hundred percent, would never miss it for anything in the world, Venus.."

Venus smile became joyful and warm as she let go of Callie's arm. Watching Callie walk out the same doors she had entered from.

Callie has Left the Gala & Venus outfit has seemed to have update...

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & NAOMI — DAY TWENTY-SEVEN.

location :  the terrace.

time : morning / day before casa / day after frankie said she wants to kiss naomi.

featuring :  naomi  /  @heatwayve​

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

the tension in the air is palpable. you could cut it with a fillet knife, or a cake fork, or a letter opener, or any one of the many other superfluous and unnecessary items of cutlery naomi probably has in her fancy house, and had childhood lessons in using. frankie knows this is where the girls come for their morning coffee, but it's also now hers and callie's bedroom,  mostly so callie can avoid hearing dylan's midnight grunts which they have naomi to thank for.  she's never been a fan of the girlie talks about who did bits or what fucking betty crocker recipe they used, but she's trying to be nicer, for callie's sake if not her own reputation. usually, she'd have hit the gym by this point, and when her eyes scan across she can see maddox and josh there, her fcae falling slightly.  but leaving the terrace feels like quitting a boxing match naomi isn't even aware they're having.  "did you have a good night?" frankie asks, eventually, because if the silence continues any longer she'll start thinking about escape roots, throwing herself over the shrubbery or abseiling down the side of the terrace. when are the girls coming back? why have they ended up left alone? "saw marcus' face. bit gnarly." is that naomi's second act of mindless violence, or her third? 

naomi santos

naomi's already done a bit of her makeup, brushed her hair out before stepping onto the terrace. after last night's mess, she's not sure she could sit around looking it and still feel like herself, so she had to do a bit of something. she's still got a blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape though though, loose waves of hair fanning out over it, cup of coffee cradled in her hands. "morning," she hums when she makes eye contact with frankie, settling in on one of the benches. a little smirk on her lips when she sees josh and maddox already at it at the gym, like, hey, some things are still exactly the same as they were yesterday. feels good. "hm?" takes a second to process frankie's question. not that she was staring at the guy's arms or anything. "oh, yeah. you know, the best," she says wryly. brow furrows at frankie's words, though – she didn't think marcus would be advertising that.there's no way she could know about that, right? was marcus actually telling people? time to play dumb. naomi's gaze meets frankie's directly, brow furrowed, "what do you mean?"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

maybe the awkwardness is in frankie's head since naomi seems perfectly civil this morning. it wouldn't be the first time she'd imagined conflict where there isn't any, the razor-sharp competitive instinct that's been tangled inside her since childhood swim gala's still thrumming just as powerfully in her adulthood. surveying her expression, she hunts for any chinks in the armour, a mental picture of an evidence board, photos joined up with red string. naomi and marcus at the fire pit; naomi and marcus leaving (together?) ; marcus with a swollen face as he made his way to bed. maybe she'd got it wrong. romi was out of the picture, considering maddox had her occupied, but frankie hadn't seen much of dejan that evening, and given his track record for being a dick, that could check out. still, she pushes. "oh. his face was just like, super swollen when he went to bed. i had to get him a compress." his vibe had been completely off, too, when she'd sat at the foot of his bed, stroking a hand through his hair. it was probably the romi thing, but she couldn't help but think naomi had something to do with his vulnerability. why would naomi punch marcus? suddenly, she's benoit blanc, and she detects foul play. "he must've fallen and smacked it or something." she takes another sip of her black coffee and returns her stare to the boys in the gym. "how are things going with josh? wait, shit. sorry. i meant dylan. total freudian slip." frankie has to take a sip of her coffee, because she doesn't trust herself not to smirk.

naomi santos

the last thing she wants is for things to be weird with frankie, considering the callie of it all. she never knows what to expect from frankie, though, wild and erratic, saying the first thing that comes out of her mouth without thinking twice – despite the fact that they're being recorded 24/7. "yeah, we went a bit hard on the tequila. he totally fucked it," she just vaguely confirms frankie's theory – aside from to dylan, naomi doesn't feel like it's her thing to tell if marcus didn't tell frankie already. and if marcus is grafting today, naomi doesn't want to block his moves by getting the villa talking about something between the two of them instead. "sweet of you to get him a compress though. you two got close pretty fast – you think there's a vibe?" naomi asks like it's slumber party gossip, a smile lifting her features. totally innocent. frankie probably won't think so, with her tendency to assume the worst, but if it distracts her then that's well enough. naomi actually just laughs at frankie's slip, shaking her head in disbelief. "funny," she comments with a little scrunch of her nose, half-cringe. sip of her coffee, ruminating in the silence – not caring if it's awkward – before she continues. "dylan's good. it's still early, but he's sweet. i look forward to waking up to him and all that good shit. so, yeah, seeing where it goes. you and callie have fun last night?"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

her gut tells her that naomi isn't speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but she decides to drop the subject anyway. it wouldn't be out of character for frankie to start an argument when she doesn't know all the facts, but with naomi as blissfully chilled as she seems this morning and frankie grumpy and rattled ( on account of her lack of sleep ) it would feel like turning up to a knife fight armed with a polystyrene spork. "yep. we're good mates," she responds coolly, eyes breezing around the villa in search of the curly-haired welshman in question. "he's definitely cute. i get the vibe he's interested."  their conversation in the bathroom only makes naomi's question feel more pointed. because if she was thinking about getting to know marcus, then maybe she'd be thinking about getting to know other people too. "if i wasn't with callie then maybe i'd entertain it as a possibility but..." she shrugs, turning her eyes back to naomi, "i'm happy with callie." the statement is concrete, without room for misinterpretation.  "you two had a thing a few weeks back, right? or maybe he said you were his top pick. i don't really remember." she does remember, but she wants to see how naomi will play this. two can pry. there isn't exactly passion dripping from naomi's description of dylan, and if it were frankie, she's not sure she'd see sweet as a compliment, but like naomi said — it's early days. "that's nice. you think it can go the distance?" frankie's yet to be convinced, a protective streak coiling in her stomach whenever dylan's name is mentioned.  "yeah. i think we grossed a few people out, but whatever. they're jealous." she's still waiting for that honeymoon feeling to wear off, for a time when they don't feel the need to constantly be in each other's laps. "we're good together. we make each other laugh, and it's fun. it's just so easy to like her." shrugging, she circles her index finger around the rim of her coffee mug.

naomi santos

she's ready for frankie to continue grilling her, well-prepared to casually dodge whatever question she has to for marcus's sake. probably be fun to step on frankie's nerves a little bit with it, too, but frankie allows her to breeze past it. maybe for marcus's sake, too. at least they're on the same page about something. "yeah, i got that vibe too," naomi laughs, a little playful arch of her brow, "i saw your kiss." it doesn't show on naomi's face, but she is mildly amused at the way frankie approaches the question like a test – maybe it was, in a way. it's not like she'd go running downstairs to tattle to callie if frankie said she was interested in marcus, naomi already knows where callie stands, but she certainly would've filed the information away for later, watched things a little more closely. maybe she still will, can't help but be inherently fascinated by the game – or lack thereof – that frankie seems to be playing. "no, we didn't," she shakes her head, "romi's always been his top pick." if frankie's testing her knowledge, that's genuinely what naomi remembers. and also kati. a hopeful smile, "i don't want to like, get my hopes up. but that'd be nice," naomi says. she doesn't think too hard about how flip or passionless frankie sounds when answering her question about callie because she knows frankie doesn't owe her any gushing. "maybe, but i think most people just think it's really cute. you guys look good together," she says, "and i've been around for like, all of callie's different couples and . . . i don't know. i can tell you're different."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

if this were a shakespeare play, naomi would probably be her narrative foil, even-tempered and quick to hold her tongue where frankie says the first thing on her mind at any given opportunity, forward-thinking and unreadable to frankie's spontaneous bouts of impulse. frankie's never read any shakespeare — she cliffs notes'ed her way through school — but she has seen she's the man and found it pretty relatable. hardly surprising since she's hellbent on acting like she's the main character in a college coming-of-age road trip movie. "it was spin the bottle," frankie's quick to jump in. "everybody kisses. josh kissed dylan. it's not exactly the barometer of sexual compatibility." had it not been a challenge, would she even have thought about kissing marcus? her features settle into something softer, head offering a slow nod as naomi explains the romi situation. maybe she'd confused the conversation. it wasn't like she was studying the show when she had it on as background, quarantined in her hotel room, smacking a tennis ball against the wall.  "well, if things work out for you guys, then maybe we'll end up on like, the same family holidays and shit. in laws," she notes glibly, a small smirk toying with the corners of her mouth. if that's the case, maybe she should try being nicer to naomi, even if it is just for callie and dylan's sake. she swills the rest of her coffee around her cup and knocks it back like a vodka shot. stretching, she gets to her feet, and inhales as she raises her arms to assume mountain pose. "we do look good together," frankie agrees, neglecting to add that she thinks she'd probably look good with anyone, because she backs herself — but she also backs her and callie. "and our lifestyles are super compatible. i'm pretty sure we're gonna go travelling together as soon as this is over." she bends to the side, fingers still interlocked above her head, to stretch out her spine with a satisfied sigh. "wanna join me in a sun salutation?" 

naomi santos

this makes her laugh out loud. "josh did not kiss dylan, he tried not to puke on him," she shakes her head. "you really think your kiss with marcus was comparable? like, a 0 out of 10?" naomi actually cannot say a word about marcus's kissing abilities, because she's got no clue, only that he would probably give her some score in the negatives if he could. god, that's actually so embarrassing when she thinks about it, even if she's been making light of it as much as she can. it's interesting to watch frankie dial back, the way her features change when she's no longer on the instant attack about something, like when you see one of those mother lions on animal planet return to their cubs after tearing up a gazelle. "oh, god," the sentiment makes naomi giggle, "wouldn't that be a fucking mess, right?" frankie's smirk reflected in naomi's hazel eyes, she shakes her head with a soft smile. "i don't know if we could deal with that much of each other," she adds, almost as an afterthought. but if the way things have transpired is any indication, it's probably best that frankie and naomi interact with cameras around, with rules that keep them a safely measured distance from one another. because naomi already knows damn well that frankie's trouble, tasted it for a few seconds, just long enough to keep her wondering – even if frankie's insistent enough to call it all just a game. "where are you gonna go?" she asks, just out of curiosity. she leans forward on the bench, head tilted. "what?" it's just so fucking random that it catches her off-guard, brows knitting together as their eyes meet. "you want to be my yoga instructor right now?"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

considering it, she thrums her fingers along her stomach like miniature drum sticks and shakes her head. "no. you're right, it's not comparable." she exhales, the sound of it whistling through her lips like a steam train. "but... i don't know. the fact that i enjoyed kissing someone else, or that i maybe wanna try it again..." her eyes flash towards naomi, lips rolling against her teeth. "that doesn't change or dampen how much i like callie." and that's the part she's worried callie won't get. there'd been an intensity to the way she'd asked if she'd save her lips for her, and while it's hot, it's also terrifying.  "she kinda asked me to be exclusive this morning..." frankie starts, while stretching over to touch her toes, feeling the pull up her spine. god. that feels better. and in more than one way — this girl chat, however show mandated, isn't really something frankie gets. she spends most of the time she's not with callie with max, dylan or josh, one of whom's her brother, and the other two being guys who'll just smile and pry for details, finding the whole thing hot.  "or maybe not exclusive, but she doesn't want me kissing anyone else. and i get it, but it's been two days since we coupled up. five days since i met her." she stops for a moment, flopping out her arms and her legs, summoning her own flexibility. "i don't know, do you think i'm being unreasonable by not wanting to sign up to that yet? or is that like... if someone said they weren't ready for that to you, would that be a red flag?" she's still not sure how to feel about it, and now she's just waiting for it to be brought up again. whatever answer she gives will be the first one to make it to her tongue, which will either bite her on the ass or mean callie dumps her ass. both options are unfavourable. the second one's nightmarish. "i dunno, maybe japan or europe." she shrugs, flicking through her phone for some sanskrit beats to praise the sun to. "sure, you seem like a yogi. get up, girl." 

naomi santos

there it is again. eyes catching frankie's, feeling the pressure of mutual lust at the way the blonde looks at her, blood running just slightly hotter. that's not what this conversation is about, but if frankie was trying to get naomi to think about it, it's worked – infuriatingly. she sighs. "i get it," she affirms, like she's sharing a secret. dylan would probably like certain commitment from her, too, and she jumped right in while she was trying to move past josh but now her brain is like, trying to catch back up. "wait, what?" naomi's thoughts stumble over frankie's confession. just recently, callie had told naomi that she had no intention of pressuring frankie too soon, that she didn't expect the blonde to be exclusive. that's kind of why naomi kept certain information to herself. "oh," god, frankie is confusing. "i guess it's similar. but there is a difference between putting it out there that she likes you that much and giving you an ultimatum. i don't know. i don't think callie's the type of person to cut you off if you said you needed a little more time," naomi explains. "she's pretty self-aware about the fact that she's a total romantic." callie seems in touch with the fact that she falls fast. naomi can't see her faulting frankie for moving more slowly. she can tell from the look in frankie's eyes that she's looking at it like life or death, though. and naomi kind of relates. she can't believe she's trying to help frankie right now, though, blame the michaels' influence. "wow," naomi huffs at frankie's order, tilting her head up to look at her, "not even going to say please?"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

recognition sinks like a pebble in a lake when naomi says i get it. frankie’s never thought she’d see eye-to-eye with naomi of all people. before today, she’d probably be offended by the thought of ever relating to her, but maybe wanting to lock something down as a sure thing before it’s even really had a chance to bloom is a michaels thing, not a callie thing. “i mean, she didn’t use the word exclusive but she said she didn’t want to share me, and something about could i save my kisses for her.” saying it back to naomi, she realises that their pillow talk probably sounds quite cringe, not that she’s embarrassed by it. “and i said something like, can we have this conversation another time when my fingers aren’t inside you.” frankie’s not embarrassed by saying that either, matter of fact and blasé as ever. she transitions from uttanasana to flat back, and rolls the tension out of her shoulders. “so now we’re gonna have the conversation later, and i still don’t know what i’m gonna say to her. because i like her, and i want to be with her, and i want to get groceries with her and make travel plans and pick out dumb fucking christmas jumpers for her dog together, but at the same time, after four days, how well do you know a person?” she touches her toes, right hand to left foot, pulling the stretch through each shoulder, the whole time she’s talking her hair bobbing against the decking. “and i’m like asking myself, is it me you want or is it a relationship? could i just be anyone right now?” maybe that’s an unfair comment. frankie knows the way callie looks at her, feels it sizzle on her skin like a heat brand whenever they touch. callie had chosen to pursue things with her instead of kenny. if it was locking someone down as a way to get to the final she wanted, she’d had ample opportunity to do that with someone else.

“sorry. i’m aware that i’m venting. maybe i’m overthinking this and freaking myself out. but like, on the outside, the moment someone i’m dating asks me shit like ‘can we stop seeing other people’ i just hear alarm bells and get this urge to run. and i wanna get over that shit, i do — i just think it’ll take time.” she’d hoped that coming on the show might help her fix that, but maybe she’s just falling into the same old patterns. still, four days is hardly long enough to shut all other options off. “come on, naomi. you know i don’t beg.” not unless it’s callie she’s begging. “you can do what you want. it just might feel fucking awkward if you’re sat there watching me do a sun salutation. what am i, yoga with adriene?”

naomi santos

she tries not to look too stunned as frankie vents to her. she’s not sure how it transitioned to this; a proposition to kiss in the bathroom to venting about another girl on the terrace, but it just goes to show how on the nose her early impressions of frankie were. she’s erratic, mind changing like the tides, moods like a gust in the wind. impossible to strategize, hard to trust. but naomi’s oddly touched by the fact that she’s being trusted with this information now … though it’s a little tmi. 

“okay, thanks for that,” naomi says with a playful cringe. “but, like, you’re not crazy. it’s freaky to hear that so early on when you’re just getting to know someone and you’re not sure where it’ll go, it’s hard to just shut yourself off.” which is basically what callie had said when they talked about this, that she didn’t want to ask frankie for a hard commitment too soon. was there a miscommunication going on here? “it’s possible that she didn’t completely mean it like that. like, not wanting you to know someone else doesn’t mean she’s not going to understand if you do want to? when i talked to callie, she seemed pretty understanding of the fact that it’s early days for you, even if she felt like she was done getting to know other people. i think you’re wrong to assume you’re just anyone for her,” naomi says this decisively, almost stern, like she’s almost offended on callie’s behalf by frankie’s assumption. “she chose you. and you’re not her first connection in here. she’s like…crazy in tune with her own emotions, it’s almost scary. so, give her some credit.” naomi does take a small amount of pride in feeling like she does know some things about callie better than frankie, just chalked up to weeks of girl chats and going through the motions together. but also, naomi doesn’t have to be in her own head about callie’s feelings the way that frankie does. 

“what i would do right now,” naomi hums, a lift of her shoulders, “is just go with the flow? if you feel like there’s something else you want to explore, then just be up front. but know that comes with a risk.” there’s a prolonged pause after she says this, eyes examining frankie almost inquisitively. she’d thought they were so different, and in some ways they are, but naomi thinks they probably approach relationships quite similarly. probably for different reasons, but still. it’s strange that their instant spark has melted into this, something that feels almost peaceful as her eyes hone in on frankie’s features. is that it now? the end of the game? “i’m not asking you to beg,” she scoffs, “just asking you to use your fucking manners. not surprising that you don’t know the difference.” she rises to her feet, arms stretched over her head for a beat, brief pose to show off her best angles. “alright,” eyes meet frankie’s with a touch of mischief, a challenging edge to her voice, “since you want to tell me what to do so bad, go right ahead.” maybe the game hasn’t been totally called off yet.

[pollyna]

Out of all the Dagger squadron Callie is the one who knows Admiral Kazansky the longer and, even before Top Gun, she was already eating at his table one every seven days. Just without Maverick around, even if she knew he was married. After every piece just fits where it should.

She was twenty-seven when an imposing dude, a Lieutenant Commander, asked her to be the attache during a conference with some Chinese delegation. Callie had accepted so fast she almost fell out of the chair for the enthusiasm and the Lieutenant had left her room laughing under his breath because oh this kid. In the end she had to do very little because Admiral Kazansky knew exactly what to say and how to say without her help, but he offered her a job because he knew her knowledge was going to be useful sooner than later. Callie had worked for two whole years with the man, in briefings, war rooms she theoretically wasn't supposed to be, over breakfast at the Admiral house with other ten people and over dinner in gala she hated but not how much the Admiral did. She worked for him and with him, learning as much as she could, translating during the Admiral's bad days when his fingers where as fast and hard as the things he would have liked to say but couldn't. When she got called in Top Gun, for the first time, she was barely thirty and the Admiral had hugged her and said you're for the skies not for boring politics. After it was a deployment after another, flying, flying and flying a little more, always to be the best alone and with her WSO.

The second time around Top Gun the Admiral wasn't around to say goodbye or to hug her but he sent a mail with enough big words in it to let Callie understand how important the mission was.

So, when at the end of it all, the squadron starts going around the Admiral, please Callie call me Tom or Iceman at which she answered just if you start calling me Halo Admiral, and the Captain's house she remembers where most things are and she starts making breakfast most of the mornings they stay over to sleep and Bradley himself looks a little lost the first time he has to find a cup in the immensity of the kitchen cupboard. Everybody looks at her like she grown a third head but Mav puts a photos of a younger Admiral and Halo in their whites, in front of the ONU's building. She was the second kid before every single on of you, Bradley excluded the Captain says a shirt two size to big over his pj's pants and Ice hugging his wrist. Fitz almost burns a stack of pancakes, Harvard's glass shatters on the ground and Phoenix murmurs to Bob holy shit I need that photo you see how cute Halo was.

That was a day Tom signs and Halo laughs because yes, yes that was a day she answers before going back to cutting the fruits and ignoring the one hundred questions they all have.

(The weirdest person to be around is Maverick, at the end of the day, because she knows the Admiral but his husband is the wild card. But, in the end, they bond over on too many breakfasts and all the crazy and wild things Tom did for Pete when he was searching for a present for his birthday.)

[30secondfics]

EAT OR BE EATEN (A/U) 6 OF 6

~ Author’s Note ~ “Before the renaissance we had the Black Plague.” 

- @thekingoflegoland

Rated M

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5a > Part 5b > Part 6

Seattle, January 2021

Gabriella Torres stepped out of her rideshare and studied the house she stood in front of. A small shingled house, hunter green, the grass browned from the cool weather and the paint of the white front door chipped from years of neglect. She knocked.

A woman with a black lacquered cane opened the door with widened eyes, pale, as if she had just seen a ghost.

“Hi, I’m looking for Calliope Torres-”

“She doesn’t live here.“

“My name is Gabriella Torres. Aria Torres is my mother—was—my mother.”

The woman sighed and eyed the young woman. “You're a spitting image of your mother. Come in.”

The sunroom of the house was clean, sterilized. It still smelled of cleaning products and polish; it was well tended to, unlike the exterior of the house.

“Can I get you a coffee or a tea?” the woman asked.

“Water, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” Gabriella answered. She took the glass the woman offered her and took a generous sip.

“What did you say your name was again?” the woman asked, taking the seat in front of her guest and leaning her cane against the side table.

“Gabriella.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

The woman paused in thought.

“I’m sorry to come out of the blue, but I thought you would prefer meeting in person rather than starting a paper trail…  Aunt Calliope.”

Calliope nodded in agreement and cleared her throat. “So how did you find me?”

“I just started grad school at the University of Washington, I’m doing my masters in library studies-”

“Impressive,” Callie nodded, glad and relieved to learn her niece was educated.

“Thank you. I was in foster care my whole life, you see, I knew nothing but my mother’s name. I swore to find her one day and I searched for her for years and years. Then, finally, I came across her obituary and I found out she lived in Miami… and, well, my research led me to you.”

“So you know who I am…” Callie cleared her throat and picked at the cotton of her pants.

“You’re Calliope Torres. You were the head of the Torres Crime family. You were responsible for the Miami Mob Massacre of 2013 when all of the heads of the city’s crime families were murdered.”

“Allegedly,” Callie corrected.

Gabriella nodded in agreement. “Early in 2014 the Feds gathered enough evidence to put you on trial-”

“Alex Karev and George O’Malley came forward and turned themselves in, in an attempt to put me away,” Callie informed. “Even after I paid them a very generous amount of money to leave town. It seemed that it wasn’t enough for two men who felt overpowered by a single woman.”

“You were on trial for 21 days,” Gabriella continued. “Until you were proven not guilty. After 21 days they were going to let you walk free, you were free—then you were showered with bullets on your way out of the Miami courthouse. A man named Robert Stark was arrested; he claimed you destroyed his life over unsettled debt.”

“And yet he’s still in jail and I am not,” Callie couldn’t help but smirk.

“My mother perished that day, and you were airlifted to Miami General with life-threatening injuries,” Gabriella added. “Some articles reported that you wouldn’t make it out alive, while others rumoured you would never fully recover. You were mentioned in the papers for months, until suddenly you weren’t. New leaders of the other crime families began to take their place, and new gang wars plagued Miami. By the time you walked out of the hospital a free woman, you were old news and the Torres empire had crumbled. You’ve been laying low ever since.”

Gabriella was nothing but correct in her explanation. The Torres empire crumbled, and it crumbled hard. In Callie’s absence, and Alex and George’s incarceration, other members of the corporation fought for themselves, fought amongst themselves, stole for themselves, until there was nothing left but a few skids of canned peaches scattered across the city. The Torres mansion was looted and then destroyed by opportunistic rival families. The Torres name became irrelevant. A name no longer feared. A name no longer remembered, despite the damage it did in the past decades. Bigger crimes flooded Miami, and though grudges still existed, seeking revenge against the Torres family was no longer a priority. 

Callie remained silent. It had been years since she lived that life, it was hard to believe its vibrant contrast to the life she lived now.

“Sorry,” Gabriella brushed. “I was just searching for my mother, I didn’t mean to uncover so much more about you.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Callie reassured. “That was my past, and I will take what I did to my grave.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“So what do you want to know about your mother?” Callie asked.

Gabriella released a sigh with both grief and relief. Grief of the loss she had held in her heart for so long, and relief that she was finally going to get some answers.

“I want to know why my mother left me at the hospital that day, knowing she had the means to raise me.”

“I can’t answer for the dead,” Callie shook her head.

“I know that, but you at least knew her…”

“And I know giving you up was probably the best decision she could have made for you.”

“What?” Gabriella asked with furrowed brows. She spent her life in poverty. She was alone. She moved from foster home to foster home. The closest thing she has to a family is an old college roommate.

“My sister Aria was… impulsive. Especially when it came to money. She and my father would always clash on her irresponsible spendings. I believe she had you the year she just about had it with our father and so she disappeared for a year to travel across the country in a van with some friends. She was in no state to raise a child, even if we had the money.”

“But I grew up poor, without a family-” Gabriella began to argue.

“Do you think a crime family would have been any better?”

“Maybe,” Gabriella shrugged.

“It cost us your mothers life,” Callie reminded. “It nearly cost me mine.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“A life of riches is far from a fairytale when it’s funded with bloodmoney.”

Gabriella avoided her aunt’s eyes.

“So if it’s money you want from me I no longer have much of it,” Callie admitted.

“I don’t need money,” Gabriella promised. “I just wanted answers.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer anymore than that,” Callie replied. “I didn’t even know my sister had you until this morning.”

“Would you have stepped in if you knew back then?” Gabriella asked.

Callie paused in thought. “Probably not,” she answered honestly. She believed the mob was no place for a child.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Callie glanced at the clock.

“Then I won’t take up much more of your time,” Gabriella promised and stood from her seat. “Thank you for your time.”

Callie simply nodded.

“Can I ask how you found out where I live?” Callie asked before the younger woman could leave.

Gabriella signed. “Seattle Grace held a Gala last week. I was sorting the newspaper section of the library when I saw your face. Your hair is much shorter now but I had studied the family so much I recognized you right away… it wasn’t hard after I ran a search for you in Seattle.”

“What newspaper published that article?” Callie needed to know: if her niece could recognize her, how many more people could.

“Seattle Local. Don’t worry, I’ve already shredded as many copies of the paper as I could find,” Gabriella reassured.

“Thank you,” Callie sighed in relief.

“Can I ask you one last question before I go?” Gabriella asked.

“You just did.”

“Do you think there are people out there who still want you dead?” Gabriella proceeded to ask.

“I know there is,” Callie nodded. “Dozens of them.”

“How do you bear it? How do you live in fear?”

“I don’t,” Callie answered confidently. “Knowing my life could end at any moment is what makes every day so worth living.”

000

There was one part of Gabriella’s story that was missing; one part of the Calliope Torres story that was very private and protected from the public eye. Down a long hallway, two feet and a cane dully tread across grey terrazzo floors. The door at the end of the hall held a plaque, yielded the Seattle Grace Hospital logo and the title Chief of Surgery. She opened the door.

Large windows letting in lights from the Seattle Skyline also enclosed the spacious and personalized office. The walls were decorated with various frames, some with photos, others with accomplishments and awards. One of which was the 2014 Carter Madison Grant and a photo of a small clinic in Mawali. 

Arizona Robbins glanced up from her laptop and over reading glasses arched a single eyebrow.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Callie apologised.

Arizona smirked and motioned for her lover to come closer with finger.

Callie rounded the cherrywood desk and gave her wife a kiss.

“Hmm,” Arizona hummed with satisfaction.

“Missed you.” She said this every day.

“Missed you too,” Arizona replied with a smile. “How was your day?” she asked, pushing her chair back to make room for her wife.

“Well…” Callie leaned her cane against the desk and pushed the laptop back to sit on her wife’s desk, “I had a visitor at the house today.”

“A visitor?” Arizona repeated, intrigued. “We haven’t had a visitor in a very long time. Who was kind enough to send you a hitman this time?” she asked sarcastically. 

“Not an assassin,” Callie informed with a small smirk. A very small part of her missed when an assassin or two would shake up their home. It had been so quiet the past few years since they moved to Seattle, Callie could almost say she was starting to get bored. She and Arizona had become so good at silently putting hitmen away; they made great fertiliser for the flowers in the back garden. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, it turns out I have a niece. It looks like Aria forgot to mention she had a kid twenty-two years ago.”

“No way…”

“She looks just like her, Arizona, if she’s a con artist she sold it really well.”

“How’d she find you?”

“She saw a photo of me in a local paper, from the Gala.”

“Oh, Calliope… I didn’t know you’d be photographed.”

“It’s fine,” Callie shrugged. “I’m sort of glad she found me. It was nice talking about Aria again.”

“Are you going to keep in touch?”

“I didn’t want her to feel obligated to keep in contact. She’s a smart girl, she’ll come back if she wants to.”

Arizona gave her wife a sympathetic smile.

“Anyways, tell me about your day…” Callie encouraged her wife.

“I think I’d rather save the talking for later,” Arizona said with a smirk.

“Oh…” Callie chuckled and moaned when her wife pressed their lips together. Arizona’s hands were on her waist and they slowly made their way up her shirt as they kissed.

“You called for me, Doctor Robbins?” Callie teased, between kisses.

“I did, and you’re late,” Arizona played along. She loved her wife for a hundred million reasons, and one of them included how ungodly good she was at getting her off.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Callie apologised in her bedroom voice.

“Y-you’d better be,” Arizona gasped when her wife’s mouth wrapped around the skin on her neck and began to suck. “D-don’t leave a mark…” she scolded, “again.”

Callie smirked and slipped her hand into the white lab coat and down the navy blue scrub top. She cupped her wife’s breast; soft, warm, and a bit more plump than she remembered.

Arizona felt wetness begin to grow between her legs. Slick. Heat. Then a gush of fluid like the breaking of a damn.

“Callie!” Arizona shrieked.

“Arizona...” Callie gasped when she felt the wetness run down her leg, “was that?”

“I think my water just broke,” Arizona said with widened eyes.

“It’s a good thing we’re already at a hospital,” Callie chuckled and took her wife by the hand before leading her towards the maternity ward to have their baby.

Callie and Arizona rushed down the aisle, hand-in-hand, away from the altar where Elvis stood to officiate. With no family left between the two of them, they spent their wedding night celebrating their rather spontaneous wedding with a rather expensive bottle of wine and room service.

Overlooking the city of Las Vegas, a city also once ruled by crime families such as the Torres’s, Callie held Arizona in her arms as they watched the night lights.

“I never pictured myself getting married,” Arizona admitted softly.

“You’re telling me this now?” Callie arched her eyebrow, taking hold of Arizona’s hand that was now weighed down by a wedding band. 

“No, Calliope, I mean… I never pictured myself getting married in the white dress and large crowd. But this… this was perfect.”

“Oh…” Callie smiled mischievously and planted a hot kiss on her wife’s neck.

“Callie!” Arizona squinted her eyes and stopped walking.

“Breathe…” Callie coached.

“I am breathing,” Arizona gritted through her teeth, freezing for a couple of minutes before gathering up the strength to walk again.

“We’re almost there,” Callie reassured.

Arizona puffed air out of her cheeks and followed her wife’s lead. Moments later, she found herself on a hospital bed, monitors attached to her belly and her wife by her side.

“Push,” Arizona encouraged.

Callie let out a long grunt as she pushed against the resistance band that Arizona was holding behind her. She took three bullets in her arm, two in the gut, and one in her femur which left her with a permanent limp. She had accepted her fate of the cane, but she had yet to give up on rehabilitating her dominant hand.

“Good,” the physiotherapist praised. “You’re really motivated today!”

“Motivated to use my good hand in bed again,” Callie pushed against the purple band again.

“Callie!” Arizona gasped, not impressed with her lover’s vulgarness in front of the physiotherapist.

The therapist couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’s good to have goals.”

“Let’s see how your baby is doing…” Doctor Carina DeLuca snapped on a clean glove and placed herself between the patient’s legs. “Oh…” 

“What?” Callie and Arizona said in unison.

“When did you say your contractions began?” Carina  asked.

“I guess, this morning…” Arizona thought out loud.

“This morning?” Callie repeated with disbelief. Her wife had been in labour all day and she didn’t receive a single text of mention.

“I thought it was just a stomach ache from all the poundcake I ate for breakfast.” Arizona admitted. 

“Did you eat the whole coffee cart too?” Callie teased.

“I only had three...” Arizona defended, “this time.”

“Move to Seattle with me,” Arizona said, her head nestled on her wife’s chest. Las Vegas streets were loud but she could still hear Callie’s pounding heartbeat.

“Seattle?”

“They’ve offered me a job as an attending… if I accept it, we can have our own life there. Just you and me, far away from the craziness in Miami. You don’t belong there anymore, we don’t belong there anymore. We both need a new start, somewhere we can raise a family.”

“You want kids?” Callie asked, surprised. With all the commotion, they forgot to talk about having children.

“I want a family, whatever that may look like. I’ve never had one and I want one with you.”

“You can start pushing on your next contraction,” Doctor DeLuca instructed.

“Callie, I’m scared,” Arizona told her wife.

“You’ve made it this far, Arizona, I believe in you.”

“What if we lose this baby too?”

“We can’t think like that right now, Arizona, you need to focus on having this baby, okay?”

Arizona nodded her head and grunted as she pushed as hard as she could.

The house was so quiet.

With Lucy’s passing, there was no longer pitter patter of paws against the hardwood as she played around the house. Now their house filled with the noise of Arizona turning the page of her newspaper, and Callie watching car review videos on her phone.

“You think it’s too soon to get another dog?” Arizona asked.

“I don’t know if I want another dog,” Callie admitted.

“Can I finally have my chicken coop, then?”

“No…” Callie slowly shook her head.

“Well, we’re certainly not getting a ferret, Calliope-”

“I’ve been thinking… it’s a good time to have a baby.”

Arizona’s face brightened into a smile. “A baby?” she breathed out.

Callie nodded, “A baby.”

“Your baby is almost here…” Carina announced.

“Really?” Arizona phanted.

“Do you want the mirror?”

“Oh god, no,” Arizona shook her head in denial.

Callie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Arizona scolded her wife. “You owe me a new vagina after this!”

“I’m sorry…” the doctor repeated herself. “Please stay and use the room for as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” Arizona nodded at the doctor and continued to console her wife.

Callie watched the doctor leave with blank eyes. The news hurt her more than she thought it would. She didn’t even know she wanted kids until she married Arizona, and now that she found out she couldn’t, she was heartbroken. Her life of crime, the bullets of revenge, had already taken her sister from her; she was saddened to learn it also took away her chance of having children of her own.

“What do you need from me?” Arizona said softly.

“I don’t know,” Callie shook her head.

“I’ll have them, Calliope, I want to have them,” Arizona offered for the hundredth time.

“I…” Callie gulped to rid of the dryness in her throat, “I thought we could have some of yours and some of mine too.”

“Oh, Calliope…” Arizona sighed in defeat. “It would have been amazing to have a little you running around the house, but I promise you they will be our babies no matter what.”

“She’s here…” Carina announced.

“It’s a girl?” Callie asked with surprise, relief and excited butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“It’s a girl,” Carina confirmed.

Callie and Arizona smiled at the crying infant. Carina placed the child on Arizona’s chest and Callie wrapped her arms around her family. She was so little yet so loud, and mighty. Her hands were bronze like a Torres and her eyes were blue like a Robbins. She was there and she was theirs.

“I love you…”

“What?” Callie said past dry lips. She thought she would never see Arizona Robbins again, let alone have her visit her hospital room every day for the past three months. 

“I love you,” Arizona nodded her head. She had known, deep down, for a long time. But she was at the airport, ready to leave for Africa, ready to truly move on from her tango with the mob and start a new life, a new clinic, for children in a new land, Malawi, when she saw the Torres heir fall to the ground in front of the courthouse. She hated that she had to see Calliope Torres get shot multiple times on television to realise it. She loved the notorious boss and she couldn’t leave Miami without her.

“Arizona, you can’t-”

“You’re not my boss, Calliope, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do anymore-”

“No, Arizona, you need someone... normal,” Callie defended her stance. “Someone who can give you the easy life you deserve. Someone who doesn’t have a past-”

“I know your past, Calliope, and I know the kind of woman you are deep down. Do you think it was easy to let someone else run my clinic in Africa, to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so I can spend three months in this hospital with you? I know love isn’t easy, but I choose it because—because life without it is dull and cold.”

Callie eyed her lover.

“I know there are people who want you dead...” Arizona continued, “that danger will follow you, but—why live in fear when we can take our chances at being happy?”

“Jeez, okay, enough with the dramatics,” Callie teased.

Arizona gasped, offended, then laughed. Her speech was quite cheesy.

“I love you too. I’ve known for a while,” Callie admitted. “But I want what’s best for you. That’s why I let you go...” 

“And I know what I want,” Arizona countered. “That’s why I came back...”

Callie cradled baby Sofia as Arizona finally fell asleep in her hospital bed. Sofia had that intoxicating new baby smell and Callie soaked in every minute of it. Swaddled in her hospital blanket, Sofia was content and happy to be in her mother’s arms. 

Callie glanced at Arizona and watched her peacefully rest. She deserves it. Arizona let out a soft snore and it made Callie smile. Her mob career started in her father’s hospital room. Her love for Arizona blossomed in her hospital room. Now their middle family had grown by one in the hospital room.

Callie Torres was working in a cubicle, in an office, on a floor, in a building full of cubicles. She was the daughter of a notorious crime boss and she was in an office working a nine-to-five desk job. Despite her upbringing, she went to college. She attended Penn State, the first in her family to go to college. She told herself that she needed space from the mob, but deep down she knew she left home because she resented her father for not being a good husband to her mother. Over a decade later, she still blamed him for making Lucia Torres flee. So Callie moved away, to a city where nobody knew her name, and for four years she studied literature, made an honest living, and lived a modest lifestyle. She was set. She had financial independence from her father and no ties to the life he lived.

Until a single phone call changed her projection. She came back to Miami after years of avoiding the city and the chaos within it. Giovanni sent one of the drivers to pick her up at the airport and she felt helpless in the backseat of the Cadillac. She hated it: the feeling of being the young woman with no independence, thanks to the nature of the family business. There was a reason why she moved out: to be able to do things on her own.

The short car ride felt like hours, but soon she was at Miami General: pushing through a crowd of news reporters hoping to get information and FBI agents hoping to find dirt that will finally warrant the arrest of the biggest mob boss in the city. The FBI were always around—ever since Carlos himself was a child—but they could never find enough evidence to take the family court. Thus, they tried to get close whenever they could. It disgusted Callie. Her father was ill and all people cared about was exposing him. 

She ran to his bedside the moment she squeezed past the door and took his hand into her own.

“Calliope…” he coughed up.

“I’m here, papa.” Callie soothed, combing what was left of his hair with her fingers.

“You came home,” Carlos smiled.

“Of course I did. You take it easy, okay?”

Carlos closed his eyes and nodded his head. He was weak, and he drifted off to sleep shortly.

“Miss Torres?” a soft knock came from the door. “I’m Dr. Teddy Altman, your father’s surgeon.”

Callie turned around and stood to politely shake the woman’s hand. “Call me Callie,” she insisted. “Can you tell me what happened? ”

“Callie…” Teddy sighed, “From the looks of things, your father has had heart failure for years.”

“He’s never mentioned it...” Callie insecurely crossed her arms, “Is he going to make it?”

“He’s responding to the ‘tropes, the medications we’re giving him, but that’s all I can say for now.”

“Is he going to make it?” Callie repeated.

“It’s hard to say…” Teddy trailed off, “But I can tell you that we’re doing everything we can.”

“Is he going to be treated just like everyone else?” Callie asked. She knew the doctor wasn’t oblivious to who she was taking care of. A high-profile man like Carlos Torres drew attention wherever he went.

“We provide treatment solely based on the patient’s clinical needs...” Teddy promised, “without moral discrimination.”

She stayed by her father’s side—only going home to get cleaned up and sleep. When she wasn’t tending to him, she was making sure his casinos were running smoothly. She became a frequent customer at the cafeteria, and even the girl at the coffee cart knew how she took her coffee. She didn’t know if it was love or guilt that made her stay by her father’s side. She felt guilty that she had deserted the family, all those years ago. And if she didn’t keep her head down that day, she would have ran into the blonde-haired blue-eyed surgical resident that stood in front of her while she waited for her coffee.

“How are the casinos?” Carlos asked one day, when he had the strength.

“Don’t worry about them,” Callie insisted, “I’ve made sure Alex and George stay on track; you just work on getting better.”

“You’re getting involved with our operations?”

“Yes, it’s fine, everything is fine.”

“You know, I always thought it would be you that I’d leave the casinos to…”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t cut-out to be a boss,” Callie hung her head in shame.

“Don’t say that, mija, I’m so proud of you,” Carlos admitted.

“You are?” Callie questioned softly.

“Always,” Carlos promised. “My smart, beautiful, girl.”

Callie wiped the tears that trickled down her cheeks and held onto her father’s hand.

Later that evening, Callie was leaving her father’s room to go home when she realized the watchman that usually guarded the door was not at his post. She grabbed her phone to call Giovanni and sighed in relief when he told her that he would fire the man for leaving his post and send over another member of his security team immediately.

In the meantime, Callie waited by her father. It was highly unlikely that any harm would come, but she still had an unsettling feeling in her gut—which amplified when she heard the door open, and she turned her head in time to see a grey-haired man.

“You must be his little girl,” he chuckled.

“What do you want?” Callie asked harshly.

“Well…” he shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his pockets. “I’m here to take him out. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, but now that you’re here... I don’t have much of a choice.”

Callie stood from her seat and took a step back. She was scared—initially— then anger sparked within her. Suddenly, she wanted to get him before he could get her or her father. She quickly weighed out her options. She was unarmed, and had been for years. She knew he had a gun, she could see the outline in his pants. She glanced around the room and in a matter of seconds she had a plan.

She grabbed the flower vase from the nightstand behind her and threw it across the room. Distraction. He lifted his hands to block the glass from hitting his face, and she rammed her right shoulder into his sternum, pinning him against the wall. Attack. The impact caused a couple of his ribs to break, and the noise of the vase shattering onto the floor caused the nurses to start peering into the window. He was able to strike her cheek with the gun, causing the skin to break, but she didn’t feel the pain. Her adrenaline was pumping through her veins and she wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

“Bitch,” he spat, trying to point the gun at her head, but bone-breaking strength pinned his body against the wall. The Torres heir was stronger than he thought.

Callie groaned and struck her elbow against his windpipe. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of his cartilage breaking from impact. At this point, he was still alive, but the injury to his neck narrowed his trachea and he struggled to take the faintest breath of air. So Callie stepped back, letting him fall to the floor, and she kicked the gun out of his hand. She glanced back, her father was still asleep. She looked forward, the nurses had called security and they were waiting outside the door. She opened it, stepped outside, and a nurse walked to her side.

“You want me to look at that, Miss Torres?” the nurse asked.

“Look at what?” Callie mindlessly asked, still in shock from the events that took place moments ago.

“Your cheek is bleeding…”

Callie took a seat on a nearby chair, exhausted. She couldn’t believe it. She won her first fight.

“What should we do with him?” one of the security guards asked, wanting to be of assistance but also not wanting to get too involved with the mob.

“Leave him. Someone will be here to clean up shortly,” Callie sighed. It was only now that the blood from her cheek trickled down her neck that she realized she was bleeding. “I’m sorry for the noise…” she told the hospital staff, and the few patients that watched the scene unfold, “But nobody saw anything, right?”

All watching eyes turned away and went about minding their own business. Except the nurse who had offered to help, she had gone to get a dressing kit and returned to tend to Callie’s injury.

When Carlos Torres came to consciousness and learned of his daughter’s doings, that Callie was managing the casinos quite well and taking care of business in his absence, he knew what to do before his inevitable death. With her father’s ring on her finger, Callie Torres took her place behind the desk in the office she was forbidden to be in at her childhood home.

“I can’t believe she’s home…”

“I can’t believe she’s ours…”

Callie and Arizona cooed at the sleeping infant in the crib.

“We should go to bed and get some sleep while we can,” Arizona suggested. “She’ll be up wanting a feeding before we know it.”

“You go to sleep before she needs you. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case she needs anything else...” Callie volunteered.

“We’re across the hall, Calliope, she’ll be okay on her own for an hour or two,” Arizona promised. 

“I don’t mind,” Callie insisted.

“Come to bed with me, please?” Arizona pleaded.

“Arizona, I…”

“What is it, love?” Arizona asked, placing a soft hand on her wife’s arm.

“I think I’m scared…”

“She’s safe here,” Arizona promised.

“What if something bad were to happen to her, to us, to our family? I don’t want her out of my sight. I know you we’ve been safe here but you know my past-”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with your past, Calliope,” Arizona couldn’t help but smile. “That’s called being a mother. We’re going to worry about her for the next eighteen years, at least. We’ll have eighteen years to worry about her so please, can we go to bed for now?”

Callie sighed then nodded her head in agreement. Why live in fear when we can take a chance at being happy? She had chosen happiness these past few years, she took a vow to choose happiness with Arizona. Now she vowed this: if anyone laid a finger on her baby, she would hurt them before they could hurt Sofia.

FIN.

[homestuck-headcanonymous]

Who Killed the Director?

What do a junior detective, a European countess, a Hollywood starlet, and a reluctant charity case have in common? Their time is up. It's 1926 on Hollywood Boulevard, and there's a killer on the loose.

Cross-posted on AO3 at miss_butterfly_soup.

   Chapter One:

In John Egbert's defence, it was all supposed to be another simple case. A call, late at night- a messy crime scene- a simple motive- then, at the end of it, enough hush-money in his pocket for a little treat at the end of the month. A classic Hollywood case- the specialty of Egbert Investigations. It was a chilly night on the evening that our story begins- as cold as a California winter could get. 

 Movie director Jack Noir was dead- and according to his smashed windows and head, murdered. John had never liked messy crime scenes, and this was one of the bloodiest he'd seen in a while. The body's only identifiers were its clothes and the fact that it couldn't have been anybody else anyways- the room was too splattered in blood from the beating to check very much. It was all, he thought, was needed- faked deaths and switched corpses were something out of his sister Jane's dime-novel mysteries, not something that happened here. 

 She, of course, would have checked- Jane had always been the best detective in the family, always drawn to mystery and intrigue. She would have certainly been a better detective than him, although that wouldn't take much. Still, that was the way it went- eventually, Janey'd left home and married a millionaire, and he was stuck living at home, being the state's worst private investigator to carry on a legacy. And now, eyes searching his half-written case file, he realized that he'd only found three suspects- and he had connections to each one. 

 Three motives. Three alibis. Three friends. If he didn't already wish Janey had become the detective, he sure did now. John Egbert was starting to get the sinister suspicion that this might not be an easy case after all.

Classified Files of Egbert Investigations

December 10, 1925

An excerpt from the case file of Jack Noir

Suspect One: Roxanne Marie Lalonde

Miss Lalonde is an actress- a Hollywood starlet, to be more specific. Both she and her half-brother have had feuds with the victim in the past. The night before the murder, she was spotted storming off of set from his studio. The suspect states she was with a friend the night of the murder- Miss Calliope Cherubim. We've already contacted Miss Cherubim to request that she verify these claims, but we are still awaiting a response.

Additional Notes: Roxy couldn't hurt a fly- I've seen her try to do it- and Callie can barely leave the house with her brother's fits, much less attend a trial as an alibi witness. Roxy's my ex-sweetheart, and one of my best friends. I just hope for her sake that she didn't do it. -John Egbert

Suspect Two: Terezi Pyrope

Miss Pyrope is a resident of Holy Dolorosa's Home for the Infirm due to her blindness and status as an orphaned young lady of proper bringing-up. Miss Pyrope is trying to continue her mother's legacy as a crime reporter, and Jack Noir has remained public with his distaste for the writing of Mrs. Redglare Pyrope long after her death, something considered a disgrace to the Pyrope legacy. Miss Pyrope states that she could not have left the Holy Dolorosa's Home without detection, as she must remain on the grounds or with a chaperone at all times. However, an eyewitness report from Miss Nepeta Leijon states that the window of her room had been left open that evening.

Additional Notes: Of course she could have left- this is Terezi we're talking about! And "A young lady of proper bringing-up"? I don't know what standards you're going by, but if propriety is the standard of a lady, she's King Henry the Eighth! I really don't think she did it, though- she's always wanted to build her own fate rather than sustain a legacy. In her mind, the dead don't need defending, and neither does she. Plus, I hate to admit it, but I'd dread the loss of her company in the evenings. -John Egbert

Suspect Three: Feferi Peixes

Countess Peixes is a city-hopping European socialite, although she is currently staying in her Los Angeles residence. She has had many disagreements with Jack Noir in the past, including his controversial push for the removal of City Council support for Holy Dolorosa's Home for the Infirm, which she recently spoke out against. She was seen walking with a mysterious fellow in a worn coat down the street of the studio that evening. Witness reports also state that that evening, she left a charity gala early under unknown circumstances, and returned home late that night.

Additional notes: I'll admit, I don't know Feferi well, but I've met her a few times, and she and Janey are close, if a bit catty at times. Even if she's a bit naive, she really is a sweetheart- not the kind of gal you can see bludgeoning a fellow's head in. The walking's odd, I'll admit that, but that seems less like a plot and more like a love affair. Too bad it's still a closed case- Rose'd have a field day with that story for sure. -John Egbert

Though he did not know it at the time, dear reader, John's suspicions were correct- this would be no ordinary case. The strings of fate are always knotting, intertwining with those around us, but when tragedy strikes, we must unravel them- such is the fate of those left behind. Change is a fickle thing by nature, but it brings both good and bad- time will tell where that balance lies for our heroes, waiting unaware. Perhaps I, too, will be dragged into this fate- I am more character than a creator in this tale. That is the way, I suppose, it always goes. 

Signed, your loving author-

 W.Q. Skaia

[matthewbaudelaire]

His brow quirked, his upper lip twitched, he seethed when she continued to deny what she had done and then brought up the letter. He’d forgotten all about it at this point, left his mind in favor of more important matters so he blinked in confusion momentarily before he realized what she was talking about. Then the pieces started to fall in line. Matthew took a step back, incredulous look in his eyes, a grim realization that made him shake his head slightly at her, “You did this because you’re jealous?” He gestured his arm out down the hall in the vaguest direction of where she might be located, “Of Callie?” He and Yash had been talking about this after the masquerade gala, it was what prompted him to write her the letter in the first place in an attempt to ease her mind and quell any jealous feelings she might be having if he told her that he wanted to try and start over with her, and he did, want to start over with her, but not right now.

Matthew ran his hand through his hair and tugged roughly at the strands at the base, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He dropped his hands from his scalp and waved a hand between them, “We’re not dating and even if we were, I’m allowed to have friends outside of you but we’re not dating. You don’t have a claim on me. You don’t get to dictate who I spend time with or who I fuck. And I’m not even fucking Callie. We hooked up one time. One time,” he said again for emphasis, his hand coming to his chest, voice boiling with his upset, “And it was months ago. Why are you even threatened by her?” He gestured toward Zaina once more, not saying it but just with his hands, indicating her from top to bottom as if she should inherently know that she was by far more enticing for him than Callie was. “If you have a problem then fucking talk to me. I can’t do anything if you ignore me and go after my friends.” He roughly rubbed his hand over his jaw and lips, feeling the coarse stubble against his fingerprints, “I can’t fucking deal with anymore toxic shit in my life. This…thing,” he grabbed at an imaginary substance with his hands, fingers curled around the proverbial object of his spoken intent, “This fucking toxic thing between us has to stop.”

A gasp left her lips from sheer shock from Matthew’s outburst and his fist hitting her door.  Zaina quickly composed herself once again, the woman’s eyes narrowing as she tilted her head.  The scent of blood rushed her senses, but she tried to remain focused on the man in front of her, the one that had her nearly pinned against himself and the entrance into her apartment.  With her lips tightened, her brow arched as she remained silent and her features expressed how disinterested she was in the conversation between them.  Matthew rushed to her apartment for the sake of Callie, but could not come over for her for all these months.

Zaina’s face hardened as anger started surging through her veins.  “Although, I am unable to confirm any events that may have transpired today.  By your tone, I must assume it would have been tragic.”  She said in a nonchalant voice, having no fucks to give right now.  Last thing the vampire was going to do was admit aloud any wrong doings, because she did not need to be carted away to prison for any crimes.  “However, I think you forgot who the fuck you are talking to Matthew.  I would fucking slap you, but I really don’t need you to get a hard on.”  The woman’s eyes looked him up and down as she shook his head.  “My only mistake was reading that letter and giving you the benefit of the doubt.”  Despite her best attempt to hide the hurt in her voice, there was a little cracking near the end.

[reputablehqs]

I C E.

(noun). | īs |

frozen water, a brittle, transparent crystalline solid. 

a state of coldness (as from formality or reserve).

NAME: calista ‘callie’ clarke

AGE: twenty-one

PRONOUNS: she/her

OCCUPATION: senior at columbia, applying to grad schools currently.

SECRET: she overdosed when she was 18 and despite going to rehab, she’s still addicted.

FC: scarlett leithold

R E L A T I O N S H I P with S T E L L A

stella was in a relationship with callie’s brother before he died, and was privy to all the family drama. callie and stella grew close after the incident and stella was around for callie’s breakdown (and following this, stella encouraged her to attend columbia). here’s a short 500 word drabble for that time.

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“did you love him?” callie asks, leaning over the balcony. everyone else at the gala below looks so small, like little bugs. bugs with poisonous stingers, she thinks, before looking up to meet eyes with stella. 

“of course i did,” stella replies, but the inflection of her voice doesn’t change. she looks out on the crowd with an unwavering coldness.

“then why are you still the same? why don’t you care?” callie exclaims, digging her fingernails into the rail of the balcony. “you’ve seen me, fall apart, over and over again, trying to deal with this mess. you see the way my family has become, secretive, wrapping everything up behind a mask and you’re – you’re worse than them. because it doesn’t even seem like you’re pretending! you seem fine.” tears brim in callie’s eyes as they they threaten to rush out and she bites her lip to hold them back. she’s trying to harden herself, but she can’t help it. she misses her brother. and stella, his ex-girlfriend and callie’s close friend, seems to be coping with it without batting an eyelash.

“callie,” stella whispers, her voice is calm and soothing. she wraps her arms around callie tentatively, until the girl relents, and they hold each other close. in that moment, callie lets tears fall for the first time, shaking in stella’s arms. this is the first time she’s allowed herself to be human since her brother’s funeral, since her overdose, since her parents hushed it up and continued their political campaign like nothing had ever happened. stella was the only person she trusted herself like this.

callie pulled back, a soft smile crossing her lips. her hair was falling out of it’s updo and her eyes were swollen, but she tried to regain her poise. “i can see why he adored you so much, you know. i don’t know how you’re so good at this. so good at being strong. i’m happy that he had you when he did,” callie whispers, speaking for the longest that she has in weeks. it had been a while since she had said more than a few sentences, but her parents liked it that way. they liked her quiet and away from the press. 

stella leaned forward and wiped the remnants of tears off of callie’s cheeks. “you’re stronger than you know, babe,” stella encouraged. “get back out there.” 

callie rolled her eyes, but she laughed softly, heading to the bathroom. she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, pulling loose strands of hair up with pins. she inhaled slowly. perhaps she could rebuild herself, rebuild all of it. but that’s the thing about ice – you freeze it again, and it’s all the same stuff, but it somehow seems different than before. smaller. in it’s new shape, it’s lost something completely intangible.

I C E is currently closed.        BIOGRAPHY FOUND UNDER THE CUT.

calista and eamon clarke were born to harrison and bettina about four minutes apart. callie was first. she was harry and betty’s golden girl, a smiling blonde with beautiful eyes, even as a child, she was the center of every room she entered. harry and betty held both of their children to an exceedingly high standard – harry was a prominent politician and betty, a well-known socialite and lobbyist. the two of them were a political whirlwind and their children, they claimed, were as bright and attractive as they were. calista and eamon spent every waking moment together and grew very close. their parents were often far too busy to spend time raising their children and the clarkes were passed around to a number of maids and housekeepers. life for calista would have been very lonely without eamon, but they always had one another.

they were enlisted to a private school in the city. callie went to constance billard, eamon went to st. jude’s. callie was always the quieter of the two and she relied on eamon for support – he was bubblier, friendlier, and better at talking to people. he pushed her out of her shell, brought her to parties, and introduced her to friends. people liked to be around callie – she was the sort of girl guys like, because she was quiet and beautiful. she would go to parties with eamon and feel very alone – surrounded by crowds of people, but very lost. she almost felt as if she could see right through them, what they were, how fake it all was. years of watching her parents put on cocktail parties and put on airs had made her immune to fake pleasantries. she despised them. she found the best way to deal with these sorts of people were pills and powders. substances made the fake people more lovely, more entertaining.

when eamon and callie were seventeen, eamon was killed by a brain aneurysm. weeks leading up to his death, he had horrible headaches, but he chalked them up to tiredness, to hangovers. he laughed it off. even the night before his death, he was out at a party. callie hates herself for not noticing, not realizing – they were twins, they were supposed to be so in sync. if she had noticed something…something more, she could’ve saved him.

but without eamon, she had no one. there was no one in the world she truly trusted, no one constantly looking out for her. she began to rely on substances more heavily for that sort of escape, that release. just to slip away, for a moment. when she overdosed the day after her high school graduation, her parents swept it under the rug extremely quickly. she went to rehab, though her parents claimed she was spending a year in finland. they refused to address the problem head-on and admonished callie, not for putting herself in danger, but for jeopardizing the family’s reputation. reporters had already hounded them following the death of their son (and what it meant regarding their views on healthcare), they couldn’t have a scandal like callie coming up in the news, besmirching what was left of their picture-perfect lifestyle. they’d managed to pick up the pieces in the press following eamon’s death (although they were no longer the perfect looking towheaded family), but an overdose? rehab? it looked sloppy. and like bad parenting. they couldn’t have that.

when callie returned, her house was a prison. desperate to get out, she applied to columbia based on advice from a friend who had helped her through her roughest time – stella maddox. callie studies psychology and sociology simply because people both fascinate and bore her. she has all the time in the world for them, but none at all. since stella’s departure, she’s on the cusp of graduation at columbia and in the midst of applying to grad schools. however, she feels more alone than ever and has started to return to previous addictions. if her parents knew, they would undoubtedly cut her off or at least bring her back home and back under their watchful eye.

callie as a person is generally beautiful – she’s lovely to look at, easy to interact with, but there’s a coldness to her, a distance. she sees through people easily and is easily bored by them. she casts them aside quickly. callie could be described as fairly self-absorbed and selfish in general. the way the world internally revolves around her is a contributing factor to her obsessive personality and inability to cope with loneliness. she knows loss extremely well and is not keen on attachments. on the outside, she looks composed – the daughter of wealthy politicians, dressed to the nines and top of the dean’s list, however, few people know how easy it is to crack what’s on her surface.