#conversation: ayda demir

[ayaz--ates]

@ayda--demir Date: 17/3/24. Location: The bakery.

"Get out."

Even though he'd ordered it of the patrons brave enough to venture out this early on a Sunday morning, he didn't have the heart to sound as horrible as he'd intended to. For once, everything was just falling...flat.

It seemed to matter little to the middle-aged couple, though, and after sparing a concerned glance toward Ayda, they did as they were told and made themselves scarce. The Rutherford waited for them to shut the door behind them before he flipped the sign to closed. Hopefully the people of Haringey could read and this conversation would remain uninterrupted, but his hopes on that front weren't particularly high.

Ayaz gestured toward a seat and waited until she took to it. The woman was so fucking stubborn about everything he expected a fight for it, but when he made it clear he didn't plan on continuing until she did, it happened. Maybe she could sense something was wrong, and that this wasn't just a typical stop-in to insult her.

"I got a call last night. I asked people to keep an eye on Berat after everything that's happened. I didn't want anyone selling to him, but someone did. I went up to Wood Green to try and cut him off, but by the time I got there..." Considering he'd spent the entirety of the drive over attempting to decipher how to phrase this in the least brutal way possible, he was suddenly coming up short. Was suddenly overcome with emotion of his own. "There was something wrong with the drugs." Please, let that have been the reason... "Ayda, he died. I'm sorry."

[lararutherford]

"I'd tell you to shut your stupid fucking mouth, but rumour suggests you know how I feel now." And no, this wasn't an attempt at bonding over shared experience. "One might've assumed you'd have more tact as a result, but I suppose that would be a monumental ask of you people, even under the circumstances."

Where: Berkeley Manor Who: @mobscene-starters

The fact they were staying the night, it didn't settle well for the Turk, considering the mix that was attending.

She came up to the bar, ordering herself a mocktail, at least it didn't matter if she won or loss, it had been over a year since she had touched an alcoholic drink.

Her body turns to the person coming up beside her. "All I hope is there are no deaths this year."

[laurent--stpierre]

SPEAK OF THE DEVIL:

Follow up to someone having the audacity to interrupt Spencer's dinner. Date: Evening of 21/8/24. Warnings: Kate up to her usual ish. 

“It’s not a date. Please stop calling it a date, or I’m legitimately going to throw myself in front of the next bus to drive past. Look, there’s one right there—”

“Why are French women the most dramatic people on the planet?”

The words had been more than enough to draw an irritated frown from him, but when the miniature human—balanced on towering Versace heels, yet somehow still shorter than his pocket-sized ass—darted toward the road like a certified escapee, he grabbed the top of her arm and yanked her back beside him. The protest drew some attention from the crowded street, but both promptly ignored.

“Dramatic is rich coming from you.”

Laurent St. Pierre met her retort with a mock laugh.

“Pensioners deserve to get laid, too.”

“Nope. Don’t need to hear it,” the woman said, reaching her hands up to cover her ears.

“How about both of you shut up, because none of us want to hear it?”

Sylvie Lefebvre turned to look at the miserable Frenchman tailing behind them, her lips forming into a pout as though she’d just been scolded by a parent. Not quite, but he’d certainly become family enough over the past few years to earn an affectionate ‘uncle’ title he’d made no attempt shed.

“Sometimes I forget he speaks English,” she muttered to Laurent under her breath.

“He’s definitely been hitting up Duolingo.”

“You sound like a fucking American. You don’t get to judge anybody, St. Pierre,” Yves shot back.

After a moment of sniggering between the two in front, the looming figure of Varden re-entered the conversation, now free of the phone call he’d been unenthusiastically participating in. Somehow, though, he looked even less pleased to be a part of whatever was happening here.

“Who is she, anyway? You don’t usually dress up this nice,” Laurent said, remaining at Sylvie’s side, but taking their pace back just enough to be in step with the two leaders.

“Ayda Demir.”

Even though Varden’s mouth had opened to speak, it was his daughter’s voice who’d answered.

“Thank you, Sylvie.”

“Wait, what? The Turk?” Laurent couldn’t contain the scoff.

“The Turk,” Yves confirmed, his grimace speaking volumes in spite of his monotonous tone.

“Don’t be rude,” Sylvie cut in, “I’ve done my research, she seems nice enough. I just—”

“Don’t want to imagine your dad getting his dick wet?”

“Will you fucking stop?”

The woman went to shove him again, but he instead threw an arm around her shoulder, dragging her close enough to deny her the momentum.

“If it’s any consolation, Sylvie, it’s definitely not going to be a date. Because in the interest of full disclosure, you should just know that when Leyla and I got dragged to Haringey for that peasant party? She seemed pretty into shoving her tongue down Aviv’s throat.”

And whilst he was pretty openly with Adriana Amaro these days—assuming the number the Organization did on him hadn’t fucked that up—the fact she held any positive sentiments toward the scum at all was enough to seal the deal. Probably not in the way she was hoping for, though…

“It was never a date,” Varden said sternly. “And I’d appreciate if we talked about something else.”

“Anything else,” Yves pleaded.

Everyone present was wise enough to not push when Varden said enough.

“Why are you out with us, anyway? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“That’s very funny. I could ask you the same. Don’t retirement homes have curfews anymore?”

The two de facto London leaders slipped back into a hushed conversation of their own, leaving the duo ahead to squabble as they continued their way down the packed street. Knightsbridge was busy at the best of times, but tonight seemed impossibly so. People still damn sure cleared a path for the Versace princess and her entourage of suits, though. It was a few days shy of Sylvie’s twenty-third birthday, and as it turned out, she too was headed into South Kensington to meet some of her friends (ones her father didn’t seem to fond of, mind you) at Mistral’s. Laurent was stopping in for a meeting with Yves and a handful of the Hackney crew, Sylvie for her meal, and Varden for…whatever the fuck it was. Thus, along with a handful of security, a herd had formed.

None of them had any idea how poor a decision that would prove to be.

The traffic moved so slowly, it would’ve been impossible to tell they were being followed.

Maybe, had he not been looking right at the woman tucked beneath his arm, he wouldn’t have noticed the car doors abruptly opening on the vehicle beside them.

Three in unison; the same number of masked men soon spilling out into the road, halting traffic to a chorus of car horns and perturbed pedestrians.

“Gun!” Laurent shouted in just about the least useful way to alert the others of the impending disaster. Sure enough, the panicked words sent the crowds around them spiralling into frenzy just in time for said guns to start firing right in their direction.

There was no point trying to hit the deck when they were stood right there.

Sylvie seemed to take a moment to catch up. And then she was screaming, too.

The Frenchman felt a shove from behind as he attempted to manoeuvre her through the crowd, and toward the door of Mistral’s which was just close enough he could try to drag them inside. More gunfire, then... A quick glance back told him Yves and the few members of security present had ducked into a bus shelter, attempting to return the favour without hesitation. Varden on the other hand was the one shoving him forward.  

“Move. Get her inside!”

The man’s fear was evident and harrowing because Laurent had never really been sure Varden was capable of feeling it.

So he turned, putting himself between the direction of the gunmen and Sylvie, as best a shield as he could manage, before attempting to encourage Varden forward to take charge. The people didn’t know where to go. They didn’t know where to hide. Some had clearly already been hit, falling to the ground. Others fell for being shoved past by those whose only concern was getting the fuck out of there. Chaos was an understatement. Impossible to take in over the course of only a few seconds.

Sylvie tripped. Varden pulled her back up and pushed her onward.

Laurent went down right after and after a moment, they slipped out of view.

This wasn’t a few stray bullets. This was a fucking military grade assault where nobody was about to try and be a hero. And as the guns followed him, the white hot realisation he’d gotten hit was clear.

Why the fuck hadn’t he brought his own?

One of the attackers was furiously laying into the façade of the restaurant as though it was his only target. Another, showering anyone unfortunate enough to flee into his path, utterly indiscriminate, like he was in an old school fucking action movie. The third, though? Well he lowered his gun just long enough to shove through some screeching pedestrians and casually wander right over to the Commandant clutching at his bleeding thigh.

Though he attempted to get to his feet, it was a fruitless effort.

The man crouched down slightly. Just close enough that had he not been hiding like a coward behind his mask, Laurent would’ve known for sure, instead of just assuming…

As he stood back up calmly—short, stocky, dead fucking eyes—so too did his gun come back into sight.

There was no time to react. Just acknowledge.

One flash later, everything was gone.

[amescastaignede]

@ayda--demir​

She yanked the sunglasses from her head as she stumbled outside. 

The summer air swirled, festering and hot. She’d always enjoyed spring far more than the humidity that now seemed to leave a constant layer of sweat at the nape of her neck. Amidst the bustling streets of London, where the echoes of history melted with the vibrant hipsters that seemed to have no concept of how to walk. Amélie dashed through them with a sense of urgency. Her nimble figure weaved with a constant sense of anxiety brewing in her chest; she prayed she didn’t bump into anyone because she couldn’t deal with having to have another conversation with a stranger, especially a heated one; she didn’t do well with normal interaction, let alone something heated. The air crackled with anticipation, as if the very fabric of the metropolis sensed the gravity of what she was running towards.

What she wanted to achieve. 

Amélie's eyes were alert, fixed on the horizon. The whispers of her source echoed in her mind, painting images of the impending chaos near Haringey, a neighborhood on the cusp of unfolding secrets she may have spent so much of her time trying to uncover.

Maybe it’d finally bring her closer to Mathis. 

With every step, she was getting closer until she collided with another body.

‘‘Oh shiiiiit.’‘ She squealed as her butt hit the floor, the camera hitting the floor with a smash.

[aviv-kasyanenko]

@ayda-demir​

Well, if the awards hadn’t heralded their arrival, he’d sure know about it now... 

The Italians caused problems wherever they showed their greasy fucking faces, but in London, after only his second run-in with their kind, Aviv noted they were bringing a particularly violent touch to their new home. It wasn’t lost on him that he’d been lucky to escape the Cosa Nostra cunt post-after party. The Sovrani, though? They were a different fucking breed. Even he was smart enough to make a break for it instead of standing his ground when five of them rounded on him outside of a bar in Camden a half hour earlier. Not before they’d made a mess of his face, though.

Borough borders meant nothing so far as their conflict was concerned, but stumbling into Haringey at least meant he was more likely to find a friendly face. 

The random bar was a shot in the dark, though. Especially as it looked like it’d just shut up shop for the night. Fuck, he hoped whoever was inside didn’t pull a machete on him for intruding; the Italians had made a good enough attempt already to maim. But it would be easy to expect the worst of him with little context in a place like this...

“I’m not trying to rob you. Just need some help.”

Solid way to make an entrance. Not suspicious at all. And surrendering his hands as if to show his peaceful intentions had seemed like a great idea until he realised they were the only thing stemming the absolutely excessive bleeding from his nose. If he didn’t sit the fuck down, he was going to pass out. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a phone I can borrow?” Because the Italians had robbed him of every fucking thing in his possession... “Or some vodka?”

[lararutherford]

@ayda-demir​​

Good God, the place truly was dire.

Had these people ever even seen a Matelassé Saint Laurent that wasn’t made in China and subsequently sold on a street corner by a shifty looking guy named Boss? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps that was why, as she stepped out of the car that had carried her into one of the most unfortunate areas of the city, she held it a little closer. At least she could shower when she got home, even if the poor bag could not...

As her grimace hinted, she wouldn’t have been there at all had it not been important.

It would serve to murder two birds with one stone. Whilst she was genuinely looking to purchase the property across the street (meaning investigating the opposition was not a bad idea) she had also chased the other woman up on a personal errand. Prying as ever, the conversation the Turk had engaged in with her brother at her after party hadn’t gone unnoticed; awkward, it seemed, though she knew better than to ask Gideon, himself. Lara didn’t like the idea of them getting bold enough to engage with her family. Parasites with pretty smiles were still fucking parasites.

Even though the bar hadn’t opened for custom yet, the door was thankfully unlocked. The Rutherford let herself in without knocking. 

“This is nice. Quaint.”

Lara trailed her index finger along the edge of the bar top, taking in her surroundings with a few passing glances. To her distaste, the woman had done a good job.

“...well, for Haringey, at least. Let’s not get too carried away.”

“How long have you been here? Is business good?”

[berat-yalaz]

@ayda-demir​ Date: idk but this is obviously a flashback to happier times don’t panic, dash.

“If Kerem asks, I couldn’t go to work today because I died. It’s fool-proof.”

Berat still hadn’t decided, after all these years, whether the best part of his day being right at the start was a blessing or a curse. Not that he ever thought about it much in the moment. These were reserved for remembering how lucky he was to wake up next to her at all. Today, though? Today he was feeling selfish, and he didn’t much like the idea of not seeing her again until he was done with whatever business the Turks had thrown their way. So, he reached out for her before she could attempt to bee-line to the bathroom to get ready, with zero intention of letting her go until she agreed.

“So if I’m taking a day, I think you should definitely take a day, and we should break out of Haringey and see something that isn’t a kebab shop or a crime scene.”

[erdogan-nevra]

ayda-demir​:

At Nevra’s comment regarding alcohol, Ayda scoffed. “How about… I know there isn’t enough booze in this place for us to survive tonight. I’ve already managed to run into one person who might actually have preferred jumping in front of a moving vehicle rather than seeing me, and another person who… I successfully made uncomfortable unintentionally. Let’s just say I’m going to have a whole new reputation soon. I repel people. I’ve become that person.”

Or rather, she unintentionally made herself that person, but who was really counting? Ayda. Ayda was counting.

“And let’s not even try the pacing tactic. You realize that’ll only get you to run into more people to make the evening uncomfortable. Is it normal… feeling like an actual pariah? I feel like… oh, never mind. This isn’t the place for that conversation, and honestly… what’s the use? Let’s get more alcohol before I break down in tears instead. The last thing I need is to give people more reason to stay away.”

It was a shame she had already cried. Just… not in front of anyone.

It was a telling sign, of just how much she and Nevra now had in common that when she asked her if she was doing well, she deflected to the news of her getting a dog. In truth, Ayda didn’t blame her for it either. “You got a dog? What sort of dog? And when can we meet? How soon? Very soon?” Ayda asked curiously, a bright smile lighting up her face as it was impossible not to get excited about dogs.

For a moment she considered what life would be like if she got a dog. Perhaps, she would be less lonely. At least if she had a dog there would be one thing in her life that loved her unconditionally. One constant that wouldn’t pull away and make her feel as though she weren’t enough. One who wouldn’t turn their back on her for trying to do what was right for everyone.

“…Actually… that really sounds beautiful. Us and dogs and letting them have a good time as some park somewhere on a nice day.” A happy thought, and it had been some time since Ayda had thought of anything happy since she’d given up on all of those dreams when she left Berat. “So… more drinks? And then maybe you can talk me into a dog.”

~

The complete outpour of words from her friend had Nevra laughing and not some fake laughter. It came from her stomach and it made her feel good. Ayda reminded her so much of another person in her life who was just as comfortable with her words. If her and Leyla hadn’t already met, she was determined to introduce the two to each other. Though odds were they at least knew of the other. Haringey was just that damn small. 

“Okay one, you get used to feeling like a pariah. I’m not saying it’s fun but you get used to it. Two, you do not repel people, they’re just stupid. And three, yes to another around of drinks.” 

Nevra hooked her arm through Ayda’s and steered them towards the bar, talking and weaving as they went.

“His name is Sabir and he’s a Dalmatian. To be honest, I think I’m in over my head with him but he trains quickly and as long as he knows I’m holding the treats, he listens.” The first few months with her pup had been an absolute nightmare. Never having experienced raising a pet before, she’d had no idea how to tame all of the energy that came with him. It took one couch, eight pillows, and two sets of shoes being destroyed before Nevra had figured out the trick. Running was the only way to keep Sabir from destroying her things. So that’s what they did every day. “Please get a dog but don’t be like me and pick the most high strung breed.”

One good thing about the awards was the endless supply of booze and the attentive waitstaff. They had no sooner reached the bar than two shot glasses were placed in front of them. The bartended gave her a wink and started to fill two wine glasses. Nev made a mental note to stay close to him. 

“How’s the bar going by the way? I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately. Work and all.” She left it at that, not needing nor wanting to give specifics. Her friend did not need to hear whose neck she’d had her hands around. 

[amescastaignede]

Is there anybody you want to know better?

@yvonne-rutherford @ayda--demir @berat-yalaz

Yvonne: Every interaction she's had with Yvonne has been rather pleasant, so far and she can't deny that she enjoys the woman's presence. Sometimes making new friends doesn't seem all that daunting. And maybe it's because she wants to know more about the Rutherford family due to her connections with Gideon, of course, Damon whom she's already met.

Ayda: A few times now the practical stranger has been there for Amélie, whether that be her freaking out over her brother before she burst into tears, or when she smashed her camera, and the woman has been nothing but friendly, and someone who could become a good friend, if she got to know her better.

Berat: They seem unlikely friends, but yet, every time they meet she seems to want to know more about the man. Amélie enjoys his company, and unlike most of the people she's got to know, they fell into an easy conversation pretty much straight away in a bar. Ever since then she looks forward to talking with him, even if he has just dropped off the radar since the event. She still wonders about what he said in those text messages.

[ayda--demir]

@maksimkurylenko​​

Maksim was undergoing an internal transformation. His movements are stealthy, gaze piercing, and his demeanor intimidating. He sauntered over to the bustling bar, shoes appearing as if he was gliding to his preferred spot for the night. Maks quickly but politely acknowledged the bartender with a nod and tapped his fingers on the marble surface. He'd yearned to be in his local, alone with a drink, where he didn't have to entertain individuals he disliked.

Which, unfortunately, given the circumstances, happened to be a lot more than usual.

He'd been preparing himself to embody a more human-like persona and distance himself from the incessant inability to relax. Typically, the environment he found himself in was a place where he could unwind, but tonight was unlike any other.

His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail with a predatory focus. He was on edge, ready to pounce at any moment. He had come to this seedy joint to do business, to entertain, and this seedy joint was the ideal location for such a rendezvous. It was hushed, obscure, and so taboo that one would appear out of place if they weren't a regular visitor. A Russian here wouldn't be looked at twice, thankfully.

However, her voice shattered through the cacophony, and his head turned in her direction, causing his brow to furrow. Ayda Demir. His entire demeanor changed. Eyes narrowed, his lip curling into a sneer. He regarded her with contempt, seeing her as nothing more than a filthy Turk, a bottom feeder, what the world views her people as, were how the others viewed his. He offered her a tight smile, but it was clear that there was nothing friendly about it.

"I didn't expect to see the likes of you here," he remarked, regarding her. Before he looked at her drink order, requested his usual, something cheap, and set up a tab. He'd have to wait for the person he was meeting, and while he cared little for what the woman had to say, it gave him something to pass the time.

-

Delivered.

Ayda lost count of the numerous times she would flick to the text she sent Aviv. The one person over the last few months that weaved this web into her life. She had lost a lot of people in her life, more from her own doing, but it allowed her to choose who she wanted as her family.

Aviv Kasyanenko was her family.

That led her to doing the unthinkable and putting herself in a situation that she was certain would anger her brother and Emre. It didn’t take much effort for her to give the goons her father had on her a slip at her bar. Leaving them distracted by one of her waitresses whilst she exits from the kitchen into the alley.

There was no real destination in mind except for making her way down to the more Russian concentrated part of Haringey. Was it one of her smarter moves? No, but the silence was eating at her. The nightmares that plagued her at night, a repeat loop of watching Aviv be slashed at and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The Turk stepped inside the first bar she found. Her only advantage was that she spoke their language and only two knew of that. The second person, Ayda had made a mistake slipping up, and she had this odd feeling it was going to come back to bite her later.

“Water please.” With her nerves frayed with the meeting she had recently with the Turks, she had no idea what was going to come of the borough and the blood that would stain the streets.

Her head turns at the sound of a voice, chocolate hues taking in the blonde in front of her. Maksim Kurylenko. Not one of her favourite people and she knew exactly how he felt about the Turks, yet they were the ones to come into their home. “It’s always best to know what the competition is like.” Ayda gives a solo shrug of a shoulder, turning her body towards the Russian.

There was only one reason she would entertain this conversation was that he might have the information she needed. All she needed was to hear three words and she could relax, release the tension that filled her body.

“Think we could talk for a moment, privately?" Would he comply with her? There was a slight chance, but it was worth the risk.

[amescastaignede]

@ayda--demir​

This couldn’t be happening.

Amélie had to turn away, hand clamping over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to over hear that particular conversation; Mathias name had come up. It’d set something off within her, a sheer panic and sadness that overwhelmed her senses. Could she do this? Take them down knowing that her brother would be collateral damage. 

‘‘Breath, fucking...oh god, breath...just like they told you.’‘ She said under whispered breaths.

[erdogan-nevra]

ayda--demir​:

Ayda laughs. “That is easier said than done. He did make one request that I see him before he fights and Emre shadows me.” She had been avoiding Berat the whole night and was hoping to keep it that way. “But you know I will keep you company before I am dragged away.” She slides her arm through Nev’s. “You know, you always have me, right?” Essentially they were both out casts, Ayda’s only saving grace was her last name, and that she didn’t turn to the Rutherfords.

~

Sometimes she thought she did, sometimes she wasn’t sure if Ayda would stick around. That was how the Turk had allowed her life to become. Letting other people make choices whether they stayed or left. It was weak of her, a cowardly way to protect herself. 

With her conversation with Melissa in mind, Nevra tightened her arm in her friend’s. 

“I do and even if you wanted to go, you’ll have a hard time leaving.” 

[lararutherford]

"Good girl."

Noted.

Ayda didn't mind Henry's company. It wasn't that she didn't think they wouldn't have a good time, she was more fearful of his other half. She had done a fine job staying out of Lara's way, now wasn't the time she wanted to be a thought in the woman's head.

"I'll make sure he does." There was no other way to answer what was being asked.

[laurent--stpierre]

"Well, I didn't doubt that for a second." 'Might' was too generous. "Perhaps you can make up for the subpar alcohol with a better quality explanation as to why you and your little Turkish friends are suddenly so far up Russian asses, eh?"

Given that he didn't feel like extending gratitude toward Vorshevsky sympathisers, he took the glass without so much as a nod of thanks. Didn't drink? Bullshit. Laurent picked up the glass and downed it in one. It was hardly the type worth savouring, and mild inebriation seemed the best way to deal with these people.

The Frenchman's eyes narrowed; a warning.

"Tonight you do."

Ayda didn't care for the way he looked at her. She spent her time assessing the situation and trying to figure out what his angle was. From the last time she saw him, she knew what he could be capable of and what point he was trying to set here.

A hand reaches for a glass, setting it front of her, not taking one for herself. "What I can offer might not be up to your standard, at least in brand wise." She didn't dare turn her back on him, taking a step back to reach for the Cognac, pouring him a drink to place in front of him.

"I don't drink." Chocolate hues keep fixated on him, watching his every move.

[kathleenzhao]

"Oh, I absolutely always want wine. Thank you so much."

Well, it wasn't as if she was going to say no. Usually, she wouldn't even consider taking a drink from a stranger, but she looked enough like a naïve little deer that she doubted the offer was anything nefarious. Even if it was spiked, the dancer still wouldn't have been as drugged up as seventy per cent of the other attendees. Kathleen offered a grateful smile to the woman as she took a hold of the glass.

"On a serious note, though, if you plan on spending any extended amount of time around the French, you might want to start. It helps. A lot."

Where: French Quarter When: July 14, 2024 Who: @mobscene-starters

Ayda was putting the doubt behind her. If she was going to take a step out in a political manner, then she was going to have to be bold in who she was. Mistakes were made and she had every intention of making good on them when the time came.

She had always been curious about Bastille Day, dressing in a nice summer dress, Ayda made her way over to the French Quarter. Some of the closest people in her life at the moment were French and she wanted to celebrate this day with them.

Moving around the crowd of people, she came across a stand selling cheese, and the man kept offering her a glass of wine with it, and not wanting to be rude, she thanked him, turning to the person next to her.

"Did you want this? I don't drink."

[ayaz--ates]

"On all counts: good."

"I won't take much of your time." Ayda takes a deep breath. "Guilt is eating at him. He's hurting." She was going to ignore the dog comment.