#but it's bc ik y'all can't handle odin/ivan on the dash

[ivanrahal]

date: april 17th, 2015 time: late evening location: the dark lady closed to: @odinbellc​

He’s heard stories about this place, but none, no matter how glorious, no matter how grandiose, hold a candle to the truth of it. It’s a marvel, really—some mirage plucked straight from the minds of every Veronese who ever wanted, who ever wished. Resplendent in shades of rich golds and reds, dancers draped in Parisian lace, air thick with perfumes and spices. It’s a fantasy catered to tickle the human appetite, a nightmare so pretty that its patrons no doubt mistake it for a daydream. But Ivan himself is well-versed in the stuff of nightmares, and he sees Madam Chen’s temple for what it is: a snake pit.

The perfect fucking place for Odin Bello’s bachelor party.

The Sparrow dancing on the small stage before him leans forward to brush a hand across his cheek, but Ivan catches and releases her wrist before she makes contact. “I’m afraid I’m not the guest of honor tonight, little bird.” He jerks his chin at Odin, seated just beside him on the velvet loveseat. “Your attentions belong to him,” he drawls, one corner of his mouth hiked impishly. “He’s getting married, you know,” he tells the Sparrow. Her eyes, a lovely shade of green, are already trained on Odin, and a sly smile parts her full lips. She’s happy, he can tell, that Odin is her new target, and not Ivan. He’s always had a way about him, Odin—a likability that traps flies like honey, a distinct charisma that fosters trust, safety. A charming foil to Ivan’s unnerving otherness. They make a fine pair, the two of them, like night and day, or lightning and thunder, each a lovely complement to the other.

“He’ll be an honest man by this time tomorrow.” His smile, now full of mischief, doubles in size as he turns to face Odin. “But it’s not tomorrow yet, is it?” he asks, making a show of checking his watch. The Sparrow seems emboldened by that. She slinks over to the edge of the stage (about as close to Odin as she can get without mounting him) and peers down at the groom-to-be with an eager smile and bright eyes that practically scream daddy issues. Sweet, stupid thing. She must be new here. 

She’s looking at Odin now like he hung the fucking sun in the sky, and Ivan has to cough into his elbow to muffle his laughter. Simpering, he holds his palms up in mock defense, mouthing a coy ‘sorry’ to Odin.