#lara rivkin.

[bookedrevenge]

The days blurred together since the year began anew. A lack of sleep and paranoia combined into a deadly mixture, and he was still nursing the damn bite mark from the squirmy kid that he'd snatched. Book was at his wit's end, knew that he was dangerously close to getting himself killed before he could get his daughter back and he couldn't allow that to happen.

The letter was suspicious to say the least, and by the time he was through reading it, he was ready to tear it in half, paper crinkling in his hand before desperation stopped him. Instead, he left it discarded on his kitchen table for one, two, three days before he finally picked it up again. Markus. The name tasted foul on his tongue, but he swallowed past it as he did his research. The clan representative of Reardon.

Working with a vampire would ordinarily be unfathomable and it goes against every instinct he's honed over the years. He hopes Anika can forgive him for this transgression, to see that she is his line, the one he cannot cross. For her, he would do anything. It's the only thing that keeps him even remotely level-headed as he meets @sntsvilliers inside the Satin Cabaret. A stake is strapped to the inside of his jacket, and he doesn't bother to hide the hatred writ plain on his face. He doesn't even fucking know how this clown knows his daughter, but he nearly bites through his tongue in his desire to tell him to shut the fuck up. Book knows men like him, soft and rich, who think power is just about flashing a credit card. Book has bled and killed for men like him and he decides that he doesn't care where his help comes from, and it's easier when he doesn't have to care about the other one making it out alive.

He returns to his barren apartment to prepare, sharpening stakes and filling magazines with wooden bullets. Grenades combining shrapnel and a concentrated verbena solution are stored on a bandolier that he slings over his chest. He shaves, washes his face and stares at a dead man in the mirror. He knows what he is walking into, and he isn't scared. The only thing that matters is her, and it's the mantra he repeats in his head as he makes his peace.

The hunter is ready when Markus calls, and he leaves behind a note for Valka and Heron. If they miraculously make it out, then he can destroy it before they're any wiser. If the worst comes to pass, then at least they'll know what he tried to do whenever they come looking. He sets a wrapped copy of The Little Princess on the nightstand, the gift he'd gotten for Anika's birthday, and walks out of his apartment.

When Book arrives at the Cabaret, he is surprised to see @lrivkin beside Markus. His immediate instinct is to call the deal off. One bloodsucker is already testing his limits, but two? But the girl says that Anika came to her that same night she had visited him, and he has no option but to believe her. Why the fuck did so many vampires know his daughter? He doesn't know which one he trusts less.

They set off, an unlikely trio, and with each step, Book has to fight the urge to bury two stakes into their backs and be done with it. Not yet. His murderous thoughts are tempered as they approach the darkened property. He checks the safety on his pistol and reaches for the fading magic in his tattoo. Strong enough for tonight. It had to be.

There are no guards, no vampire thralls lying in wait to ambush them. They descend into the basement without running into a single soul, and Book has run enough raids to have learned to trust his gut.

Click.

He pulls back the hammer and places the barrel at the base of Markus' skull. It might not kill him, but it would hurt like hell. "The fuck are you playing at, you sonuvabit-"

Crrr-ack!

Book hits the ground with a thud a split-second before his brain catches up with the blazing pain that engulfs his right leg. The lower half of it hangs at an awkward angle as the knee is bent backwards, bone poking through the skin and he nearly throws up from the pain. The chill of the concrete under his palms keep him grounded enough to yell out as Markus drags him across the floor carelessly, a trail of blood left behind. The vampire leans down to purposely press against the protruding bone ever so slightly. "For Nikko," he hisses in Book's ear before standing back up.

"Where is my love?" The Frenchman demands over Book's furious howls and he dumps the hunter unceremoniously in the middle of the floor. He stands with his hands on his hips, petulant as Book writhes at his feet. It's an acute kind of pain that takes his breath away, and he tries to blink past the tears in his eyes so he can think straight.

The soft click of heels on stone interrupt them, and Book bellows like a wounded animal when @lcblanc appears. His fingers fumble for a grenade that is hanging off the strap around his chest and goes to pull it. The plan's already gone to fucking hell as it is, and he might as well take some of them out with him. But just behind Narcisse, he sees @anikabooker, slumped over and pale and looking even worse than when he had seen her over the holiday, and he hesitates. Time is of the essence and delaying the inevitable could be the difference between life and death for her. And death was unacceptable.

Slowly, Book releases his grip on the ordinance and struggles to push himself up into a seated position. He's certain that every single vampire in the room can hear his teeth grind before he opens his mouth again, voice pinched tight with pain.

"Okay. You win."

[rileytakeda]

nye starter (closed) for @lararivkin

The sound of wailing follows her out of the bathroom and Riley makes a cutting motion across her throat towards the other woman waiting to go in. "I'd find a different place if you can," she mutters quietly towards her. "I think her boyfriend just dumped her and she is... not taking it well," she said with a grimace. "Poor kid."

[gabrielalozano]

location: outside the berkeley campaign office who: @lararivkin

She hasn't been able to get a full night's sleep in more than a week, either tossing and turning and unable to settle, or waking up in a cold sweat mere hours after she'd fallen asleep in the first place. Tonight is the former, too restless to stay cooped up in her apartment so she decides to go for a walk. She says it's fine as long as she stays on Cartel turf, but when she starts walking, she just keeps going, lost in her thoughts and letting her feet make the decisions. She gets on the A train and keeps going until she ends up miles from her apartment. She doesn't notice the slumped over body at first, but it's the copper scent of blood that makes Gabriela's spine go ramrod straight. At first she thinks it's in her head, a residual trauma response, but then she hears the woman groaning and she snaps into action. "Dios mio, hang on," she chokes out as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, but she sees the lit up screen in the woman's hand, still on the line with 911. For half a second, she considers calling Ezra or Felix instead, but one glance at the woman's face and Gabriela already knows that she needs a hospital. She should go, before the sirens in the distance reach them, but she doesn't move an inch. "Help's on the way. Just stay awake and look at me, okay? Don't try to talk. I'm Gabriela, I'm going to stay with you. You're not alone."

[fengforhire]

As usual, Jac has misinterpreted what Lara meant, and she wants to sink into the floor despite this being a near daily occurrence. But her roommate isn't pressuring her to do anything she's uncomfortable with, which was really what Jac had been worried about. "A nice tee... yeah, yeah I can do that," her head nods like a bobblehead, unsure whether she's trying to convince Lara or herself.

It feels almost normal, like friends would be. Jac isn't sure if that's what they can be classified as yet, and she won't be the first one to say it, but Lara also is the first person she's lived with who doesn't seem necessarily... bored of her presence. Though she's often out or busy, when they have a conversation, the vampire tries to listen, ask questions, make comments to actually be responsive to the things Jac says. It feels silly to consider that such a big deal, but it was.

"Um... not in a few years," Jac admits. It's more of a children's activity, or so her parents believed, and going to a roller rink wasn't exactly going to improve any of her skills in a meaningful way, which meant that it didn't get brought up. "I'm probably going to fall," she says, making a face. "You have to promise not to laugh at me."

"Not that kind of dressed up, Jac." Lara can't help but laugh, but she nods - "Listen, black jeans are a yes - can't go wrong with a good pair of jeans." She knows that she sometimes pushes too much and she's just a whole fucking lot to deal with on her best days, even worse when she's not feeling up to herself.

"Just a nice tee, is all I mean." She does give Jac a soft smile at that, "Something easy to move in so you can actually skate."

Back in the day, she might have made mention of the snacks they offer, the drinks or what have you - but she'd long since forgone the idea of enjoying food. Sure, she'll eat now and again to keep up appearances ( and Jac's baking ), but it hasn't tasted the same for years.

"Have you ever been?"

[birdieofprey]

who: @lrivkin where: satin cabaret when: after midnight

It's an upgrade, at least in part, that she's inside the establishment this time. The beer here is so pricey it might as well be a poured shot or mixer, and so she abstains from mortal delights. When floated the offer for special stock, she further declines, her chest heaving at the thought.

Still, she figures she owes Lara a visit, if only to say thank you, now that the painfully uncomfortable introduction to her roommate has run its awkward course. So when Aurora is announced and enters the stage, she hangs back at the bar for most of her set, thinking about how she should be cutting and running now that she's got a leg to stand on, and yet here she is. Doing the fucking opposite.

She's got more whole blood burning off in her than she's had for years, and maybe it has her feeling different - at the very least she feels her age - her human, mortal one, not the extra seven she's earned being freeze-locked by undeath. When Aurora's on her third and final song, Birdie crosses the floor frnm wetbar to strip bar, head lolling to one side when she looks up at her until she catches her eye. She what's almost a smile alongside a hundred dollar bill pinched between two fingers, freshly acquired, crisp and clean, unlike the rest of her.

[intxication]

@lararivkin

Mathias had been kept busy. He was either going out doing his own thing, or he was doing something for work. It got to the point where he barely slept and was just working. His blood stained hands and clothes couldn't get the red out even though he tried. While it was exhausting, Mathias was loving the thrill of it.

Not all of his jobs were to end in kills, which made things a bit easier for Mathias. He didn't have to worry about clean up or leaving evidence. He was just there to send a message and then leave. His job tonight saw him in some big office going after some political groupie. Mathias didn't really have an opinion on the politics of the city, they all seemed boring and bad to him. He went into the job unbiased.

His target was one Lara Rivkin, a press assistant to the Governor. He wasn't there to kill her, but rather remind her to keep her mouth shut (as told by the person who hired him). It was luck that Lara seemed like the type to stay at work after everyone else left. Mathias got in under the guise of some cleaner doing nightly rounds.

When he came to where Lara was, Mathias cleared his throat, still trying to put on an act, "Excuse me, ma'am, I'm here to get the trash".

[audrasmythe]

WHO: @lararivkin WHERE: Naturally, the bar. Top of the Standard. For a while, Audra been unsure of what the girl was doing. It seemed like a game of sorts; one that she couldn't quite figure out from her vantage point across the way. After a fair few minutes of watching, in between conversations with people who had claimed to know her from various MET events that she really couldn't remember at all, she had managed to wrangle her way to a spot a little closer. It was only when she was within earshot that it clicked.

The man she was talking to was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a colleague, who seemed quite genuinely interested in what she was saying about the latest exhibit. He felt like a cruel target. She smiled at him, and made a polite goodbye in the midst of making her way to the bar. She could always catch up with him later, if he still wanted to know anything about multi-sided portraits.

"Forgive me, I'm sorry to bother you," was her introduction to the woman at the bar. "How many free drinks have you managed so far? It's frankly impressive."

[tressashaw]

"I know what happened." She says, practically blurts it out. It comes out harsher than she intends for it to.

It's some sort of compulsory loophole, and for so, so long she's been sworn to secrecy by some invisible shock collar tightened sharply around her brain, that the vaguest hint of the ability to tell somebody, anybody, that she fucking knows there are things out there in the shadows spells for her such a cathartic release that there is almost instantaneously a tear forming at the corner of her eyes. "I... I'm sorry. That's not true, I just... I'm sorry."

I know what you are. I know what you're doing to me. I hate you for this. These things she wants to say, too, but that chokehold on her throat blurs into existence, and she lets the apology linger.

"You're a doll." She lets go of the woman's hand and follows closely behind her. She's here on business she has to remind herself, no matter how sweetly this little one obeys. When the sheets are pulled back, Lara purses her lips, one hand on her hip.

She can smell which one has magic in their blood - this Sandra. "How unfortunate." Pulling out her phone, she texts the details to her clan rep, and heaves a sigh. It's easy to tell what happened. This hunter wasn't made aware of just how dangerous witches could be. The reveal that it's a brain hemorrhage makes her wince. "Those suck." She murmurs, having been o the receiving end of a spell of that caliber once or twice in her time.

They pissed off witches, that's what they fucking get.

She snaps a quick picture of the hunter tattoo and frowns more. It doesn't look like the usual tattoos, which either means there's a fringe group or a new sect that no one knows about.

"I do wish I could help you out and give you a little hint as to what happened, but - you're smart. Just look in the dark corners of the city."

[anikabooker]

closed  — @lrivkin

Things had been firmly different between them then. A memory of the other woman — still in vivid colors, still fresh despite the months gone by, that served as a bitter reminder still gnawing at her insides. She could still see the blood on Lara's hands — blood that should've been on Anika's own ones instead. Hell, her own was spared from spilling.

Did she repay her? Not in the traditional way someone paid their dues to the one that saved their life.

Once. She'd remind the brunette everytime. Happened once — in that tone of voice that implied it was never happening again.

Yet it was just like her to be proven wrong. Standing outside her door with her bags in hand, and a sour expression on tired features.

It was either this or the outside — and she wasn't a fucking idiot. "I know you're there, Rivkin." a beat, "Are you really gonna let me bleed to death?" she wouldn't miss on the chance to use mild manipulation.

[cityofruinrp]

Added Wanted Connections! Check them out here.

ex-wife connection for Jonas Harding

the one that got away connection for Jonas Harding

half-brother connection for Lara Rivkin

half-brother connection for Codie Mohren

[wbauction]

AUCTION RESULTS.

The auction closed at 10pm EST, March 24th 2024. Bids placed after 10pm EST were not registered.

(The results are of IC knowledge, so feel free to use any information under the cut for your future threads, if you wish.)

The winners are:

SAM'S WAXED MUSTACHE — Jeong-in Kang, for $4,000

ORIGINAL PAINTING: "SLURRY" — Lee Malkovich, for $700

SET OF ANCIENT GREEK VASES — Adam Starke, for $31,000

DINNER WITH HER AND THE WAGNER FAMILY — Adam Starke, for $3200

FIRST EDITION COPY OF EMILY DICKINSON'S POEMS — Eva Movska, for $11,000

SIGNED NASA FLIGHT PLAN, USED ON THE MORPHEUS MISSION TO THE MOON — Lev Movska, for $12,000

SIGNED SUPERBOWL FROM THIS YEAR'S GAME — Abel Rousseau, for $10,000

SIGNED SCRIPT — Sam Burman, for $950

ORIGINAL JOHN WILLIAM GODWARD PAINTING "A GREEK BEAUTY" — Athena Marchmain, for $100,000

VINTAGE LEATHER BRIEFCASE — Abel Rousseau, for $600

BILL SIGNING PEN USED BY RONALD REAGAN — Archer Brooks, for $1,000

BOUDOIR PHOTOSHOOT — Lola Villarin Movska, for $14,000

DIAMOND BRACELET — Lev Movska, for $8,600

MACALLAN 50 YEAR OLD IN LALIQUE SIX PILLARS, FIRST EDITION — Archer Brooks, for $11,000

LARGE, HAND FRAMED OIL ON CANVAS PAINTING — Lara Rivkin, for $4,000

GARLAND-STYLE DIAMOND NECKLACE — Anaïs Murad, for $30,000

PREPARATION OF TAX DOCUMENTS FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OR MARRIED COUPLE — Clark Cain, for $300

PRIVATE DINNER FOR TWO AT THEIR HOME — Jasper Davis, for $500

ORIGINAL AD PRODUCTION/CAMPAIGN COURTESY OF HER FAMILY — Lev Movska, for $3,500

ELECTRIC BICYCLE — Yang Saem, for $200

VINTAGE DIAMOND NECKLACE — Kristen Parrish, for $30,000

FINE CHINA SET — Adam Starke, for $900

BAKED GOODS BASKET — Harley Hidalgo, for $250

DATE — Lola Villarin Movska, for $9,200

OIL PAINTING, 4x8, TITLED "ROCK ON" — Jeong-in Kang, for $1,000

FROG LADY'S EGG (THE MANDALORIAN) — Flynn Halliday, for $350

JOSEPH MOVSKA'S SLUTTY LITTLE DINNER FORKS (POLISHED) — Jeong-in Kang, for $3,000

VOUCHER FOR 30 DAYS WORKING ONE INVESTIGATION FOR FREE — Lola Villarin Movska, for $2,000

[birdietempleton]

"Well, there's sculpture and then there's sc-" She flinches when Lara leans in, the heat of her presence, of her breath a precursor to the weight of her leaning in, caging her in between Lara and the wall. She's surprised and, for a moment she pulls away, catches her breath, looks into the hall they've just come from.

"What're- wha, we're in a fucking church, Lara." Faux shock if anything, to say nothing of the fact that Rivkin is working here. She looks up at Lara, brows knit and furrowed, her teeth playing at her bottom lip as she tries to play the part of the unwilling, but her eyes give away the lie that her racing mind can't move fast enough to sell herself, that it doesn't care to buy.

All of this place is impressive, really. When they arrive at the chapel, Lara walks ahead of Birdie while she pauses to lean against the wall. The air here isn't much different than the air elsewhere, but she takes a breath before turning and taking the few steps back to her companion.

They're alone. Probably not for very long, but long enough to do what she wants to do.

Away from prying eyes, she steps more fully into Birdie's space, sliding light fingertips up her forearm. "I appreciate all sculptures, honey, you should know that."

Without waiting for any sort of answer, Lara assumes that Birdie has picked up why they're here - so she leans down and captures her lips with her own.

[birdieofprey]

For: @lrivkin When: Night Where: Vamp territory

She doesn't know how long it is before Lara shows up, and truth all told, she wasn't even sure she would; but by the time Lara does show up at the spot Birdie mentions, a handful of blocks off from where she ran into two folks ready to rip her to shreds, Bridget is in bad shape. Sat up on her tailgate, slumped forward, she makes a weak, third attempt at pulling the rosewood spike out of her chest, but she feels it tuggng on the edge of her heart, and siezes up just like before. At least she can see again; whatever the other one maced her with burned like hellfire. She hears Lara before she sees or smells her, and laughs at the situation given how they last parted. She's so fucked she doesn't even remember if it's been days or weeks.

Her head rises, slow and unsteady. "Sup." She says, not quite sheepish, despite this not being the proudest moment of her undead life, the monosyllabic greeting a far timid cry from her previous verbal acidity, before she wipes an arm across her burning eyes and winces once more at the wood digging into her. "You should see the other guy."

[sntsrivkins]

case     file          :          rivkin     ,     daniel          if thine is the glory, then mine must be the shame

1922     ,     new york          you want it darker we kill the flame

basics.

full name . . . ; daniel rivkin

nicknames . . . ; boy, none

association . . . ; the evensen clan

birthplace . . . ; new york

occupation . . . ; assassin for the evensen clan

date of birth . . . ; june 5th, 1922

date of death . . . ; december 25th, 1943

status . . . ; single

sexuality . . . ; bisexual

gender . . . ; cis man

pronouns . . . ; he/him

languages . . . ; english, italian, german, dutch, old english

to note . . . ; ptsd. doesn't has any memory of his past life before turning

scars . . . ; bite marks along his shoulder, has a scar on his ear from getting shot, whip marks on his back

tattoos . . . ; way too many to note

piercings . . . ; none

positive traits . . . ; loyal, cunning, skilled, resourceful, kind, selfless

negative traits . . . ; troubled, quiet, aloof, violent, impulsive

connections . . . ; lara rivkin . . . sister / /

BIOGRAPHY.

TW: Violence, Blood, War, WWII, Great Depression, Torture

The great depression hits sharply ⸻ not only the decline of stock prices, but the lives of a many folks who deemed themselves comfortable financially. Of course, nothing could compare to how the small became smaller, but your parents seemed to believe nothing could match their woes. You were six then, weak lungs and brittle bones suffering with the sudden change of lifestyle ⸻ yet your worries wouldn't settle on your own health, but hers. You know the economic contagion spread is a bookmark your parents placed down to remember their changed life. 

For you, however, it is when Lara was born ⸻ You never wanted a sibling, despite not wholly knowing what the concept of brotherly love and comradeship could mean. Apollo did not need Artemis to survive ⸻ he was the sun, and the sun shines alone. 

But then ⸻ you are kneeling next to the bassinet by your parents bed listening to mother's gentle snores, the room still faintly smelling metallic and acid, bloodied sheets thrown hurriedly outside by the nursemaids. The baby coos ⸻ a pink thing unable to open her eyes but holding onto your finger more ferociously than Bonnie the dog clings to her chicken bones. You're a goner. You associate the birth of your sister with the moment the world physically changed in your eyes ⸻ you swear you felt gravity shake, the earth move, and time stop. The world had been a colorless shade of gray before, but now you can see the red and yellow birds chirping outside; the deep blue of the water; shades of roses. You swear without hesitation you will protect her, won't let anything hurt her ⸻ a promise you intended to never break. 

So unsurprisingly your health is not a priority when the house is lost, when you sleep on the couch in a side of the city all of you are unfamiliar with. It's her and making sure she never lacks love, food, or happiness. 

Brooklyn isn't all that bad, despite your parents constant muffled complaints. You make genuine friendship with boys your age going through struggles they couldn't hide ⸻ the neighbors helped and greeted one another warmly despite the bleakness of the situation. It was real ⸻ unlike the plastic fake live your parents were working hard to go back to. Mother works in a diner, father tries his luck in offices, and you deliver newspapers and clean roofs until you are old enough to get a proper job in the factories and warehouses of New York. 

You worry for Lara, how could you not? ⸻ You dread to think what sorts of trouble the little firecracker will find herself in without your constant presence to hold her back. The friends you've made keep an eye out for her, fetching you when the situation requires your protection. You are thankful for the community formed by your ragtag family. You think even your parents enjoy it. The war comes and shatters whatever peace could have been found in your small Brooklyn apartment. 

You are nineteen when you are drafted ⸻ mother cries enough for the both of you, and father demands you to make him proud. You tell Lara she better read every single letter you send her, for you will write to her for as long as your fingers work. Another promise you intended to keep. 

And keep it you do ⸻ with sore bones and bleeding calloused palms, you write about the places you see, the people you meet ⸻ the beautiful nurse that seems to have made it her mission to keep you in your toes. You sketch the views, you pour all of your love and longing in the pieces of crumpled paper you send home. The reality is harsher than the fancy beautiful lies you've learned to write. You lose friends ⸻ hold their hands while they die, promising them to give their tags and love to their family. You kill ⸻ your hands shake and your eyes water the first time it happens, a boy as young as you, with a family back home he wished to go back to. You stop speaking. Your focus lay solely on efforts to survive and make it back home alive. You and your sweetheart have a mock wedding in the medical tent one night, rings made of cloth in a desperate attempt to cling to something that wasn't dead. 

You tell your parents about it. Ask them to care for her when she is dispatched back home. Begs them to properly prepare a wedding for the two of you, accept her as their daughter. You soon will be home, you say in your letters, soon it will be over. Your family stops receiving your letters in ninety-nine forty-three. Months later, your dog-tags are brought to them with an apology, an official death certificate. Your body was never found. 

Of course, life is funny in ways you don't laugh ⸻ a humor only fate seems to understand. You don't remember anything of it all. You remember nothing. Your last clear memory is of mud ⸻ mud, blood, being dragged away as you screamed. Your hands shake and you don't know why. Your head burns, your tongue feels heavy, and the half burned picture in your pocket the only remnant of a life you seemingly lived. Your body is covered in bite marks, shining dark eyes watching you constantly. You don't know who they are. You don't know why you are here, why they train you and beat you until your mind is nothing more than violence. If you don't comply, they will kill your sister. 

You have a sister. You know you must love her so, for the obedience in your bones is immediate when they bring her up. You don't know her name. You can't remember her face. When you become one of them and somewhat free, you try to draw her in countless sketchbooks through the years. It never jogs your memory. 

You are their assassin ⸻ their executioner and occasional tool hunters borrow to do their dirty work. You haven't spoken, and your name is a distant whisper in your brain. You are not free. You can't be, if you want your sister to live. Somehow, your new assignment feels like the place you need to be. You don't know why. You try to remember. You want to remember. 

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

His Target got him to Port Liery from clan Evensen's current location, to kill. Daniel is the clan's attack dog, their prized little assassin sent to kill whoever disrespects the family. It's why he is here now. He has a face and a name, but he doesn't know why he has to kill this target.

His handler is not a friend, nor an enemy. Just a person making sure Daniel's loyalty won't change when he is away from the clan.

Future love interest

[worldburnrp]

Congratulations, KING! Your characters have been accepted into WorldBurn. To proceed, please check out and complete our checklist and send in your character blog as soon as you can. Welcome!

King with Theo Langley (Pierre Niney, Arms Dealer, The Brotherhood) and Lara Rivkin (Hailee Steinfeld, Press Assistant, Government)

[birdietempleton]

The affectionate nickname doesn't go unnoticed and neither does the offer; Birdie's guard is down, as it usually is at the end of a job like this; there comes a point where nothing really matters, because you tune out of reality for a bit, you become comfortable, you hit the equilibrium stride that you need to to sit, exposed and in your all, in front of somebody without cracking an embarrassed smile or flushing in bashful shame. "That'd be great, actually;" she says to the painkillers, reaching down into the corner where her things are set and pulling her water up from it, taking a drink and meandering over to eye the sculpt more closely while Lara scrubs clay from her fingers; "I'm free tonight actually;" she says, fighting the urge to overshare why exactly. "No bed time."

The sculpting process is a long one, and even after the sitting is done, there's still more tweaks to be done. She likes to leave it messy instead of perfectly smooth, but she wants to work out some of the fingerprints and imperfections. Her arms and back ache, but certainly not as much as she's sure Birdie's does.

Lara can't help herself usually, when it comes to flinging out compliments with ulterior motives, but Birdie's also never made it known that she was into it enough to return volley. So she's eased off a bit to not make her uncomfortable.

When Birdie enters the studio space again, Lara leans back with a bright grin - The sculpture just needs to be fired now. Or sent to scraps. Either or. She wasn't here to make money with them, all in good fun as art should be. There's a streak of clay on her cheek and forehead where she'd wiped with the back of her hand -- The few that see her sculpt are the few that see her less than absolutely perfectly put together. She moves to start to cleaning herself up with the sink just off to the side.

"Definitely not the first time I've heard that one, babe." The pet name slips out just as they do with pretty much everyone she knows - even those she doesn't. "If you want, I have some painkillers for the ache." She gestures up to her own neck, knowing she'll have to take some for herself later.

"You gotta get going quick this time, or wanna hang around some?" Her grin slides into a confident one, "I'd be glad to foot the bill for dinner."