#mischief managed sl

[bow-of-aros]

All the Time in the World

Hi folks!! Dealing with a little bit of writer's block BUT I thought that this idea was cute and by god I was gonna get it on the page. Hope that y'all enjoy!! <33

Summary: Edwin's not exactly one for taking breaks. Luckily, Charles has some interesting, but sure-fire, ways of convincing him :)

-

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Edwin’s sat behind his desk, folder held in front of his chest like some sort of shield. He gazed at Charles who stood opposite him, trying to keep his face impassive so as not to encourage his nonsense, but the corners of his lips were already twitching upwards as a sort of giddiness unfurled within him.

Charles, on the other hand, was making no attempt to stifle the wide grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he inched ever closer to the desk.

“Like what, mate? Aren’t I allowed to just look at my best mate? Nothing wrong with that.” His tone was innocent, too innocent.

Something was definitely up.

Edwin straightened his posture, not wanting to give Charles the satisfaction of seeing him curl up defensively, “You are plotting something, that much is obvious, and I do not care for it.”

“I’m plotting nothing!” Charles put his hands up in a mockery of surrender, laughter colouring his voice, “I just want to be closer to you. Is that so bad?”

Edwin cut him a flat look, “Charles, we have not separated for more than a day in over thirty years. If you’re going to make up an excuse for whatever this is,” he gestured vaguely at Charles’ person, who was still moving forward, mind you, “at least make it somewhat believable.”

Charles laughed at that, a sound so filled with genuine joy that Edwin couldn’t help the smile it drew out of him.

“There he is!” Charles leaned against the desk, gently prying the folder out of Edwin’s hands and setting it down, “You’ve been focusing on cases all day and, honestly mate, your face is making my face upset.”

He pulled his lips down into a dramatic frown, drawing his eyebrows together and squinting his eyes until he was peering out of little slits.

Frankly, it looked quite ridiculous.

“I do not look like that!” Mostly because Charles was making it very difficult to maintain a scowl.

“Well, not anymore, but that’s just because—Oh come on. Edwin!” Charles scoffed in exasperation.

Edwin’s finally managed to school his features into some semblance of neutrality. Pasting on his usual flat expression in an effort to hide the way his lips threaten to curl up and the way his eyes are trying to crinkle at the corners.

“Now, if you would excuse me,” Edwin said, reaching for the folder, “I would very much like to get back to work.”

But before his hand could make contact, Charles phased through the desk and stood in the very minimal space between Edwin and all the tasks he had yet to complete. For his part, Charles seems completely at ease with his current position. He leaned himself back against the desk and crossed his arms loosely in front of him, looking for all the world like he was exactly where he belonged.

Edwin raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. It’s because he’s tired of Charles’ antics, not because he needs a little extra help in smoothing out his expression.

“Charles, is this truly necessary?” Edwin was trying to keep his tone even, he really was, but Charles was making it awfully difficult with his close proximity and playful grin.

“Yes, Edwin. It truly is,” Charles smacked Edwin’s hand away from where it had been trying to sneak around him, “You need to take a break. If you keep frowning like that, it’s gonna be stuck on your face forever.”

Edwin couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that, it’s something his mother used to say when he was younger, and he would stick his tongue out at her, “That wouldn’t be so bad. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about monitoring my facial muscles.”

“It would be so bad to me! I can’t go the rest of my afterlife without seeing you smile again now can I?”

Charles’ grin sharpened just the slightest bit, and Edwin was suddenly very nervous.

“Hey!” Charles said, snapping his fingers as though a thought had just occurred to him, “I bet that I can get you to smile and take a break! What do you think about that?”

Edwin, very conveniently forgetting that he could simply phase through his chair, held up his hands in a half-hearted defense.

“Now Charles, let’s not do anything rash he—no! Wahahait! Chahahaharles!”

Apparently, Charles didn’t feel like waiting around. Instead he shot out rapid little pokes to whatever part of Edwin’s torso was unprotected at the moment. When he speaks, he punctuates each word with a poke to the side, or to the ribs, and sometimes to the stomach.

It was very entertaining, to say the least.

“Take!” Poke “A!” Poke “Break!” Pokepokepoke.

Edwin either let out the most adorable or the most embarrassing squeaks at each attack, depending on whose perspective it was. He’d also long given up trying to school his face, his open-mouthed grin stretching his cheeks as frantic giggles escaped him.

After a particularly vicious attack on his sides that had Edwin desperately curling around Charles’ hands, he gave in.

“Okay! Okay I’ll tahahahake a break! Charles plehehease!”

And just like that, Charles’ wiggling fingers were replaced by palms smoothing up and down his sides for a moment before tugging Edwin through the desk and onto the sofa.

Charles laid down first, pulling Edwin down on top of him and wrapping him up snugly in his arms. Edwin immediately felt tension that he hadn’t even realized was there begin to drain out of him and, yeah, maybe he had needed this.

A long sigh escapes Charles, and Edwin realizes that maybe he wasn't the only one who needed a break.

“We can remain here for an hour but, after that, we really should get to work.”

He felt a soft kiss being pressed into his hair followed by a murmured, “Mhm, whatever you say, mate,” and decided that he wouldn’t be opposed to staying for a bit longer than planned.

After all, he and Charles had all the time in the world.

[lilynightfall]

♥ outfit

Insomnia Angel . Luscious Hat [FAT] Insomnia Angel . Pansy gothic dress [FAT] @Mischief Managed's Wizarding Faire 2022 Violent Seduction - Nyx (FATPACK) - stockings

♥ body

[monso] Marin Hair @Collabor88 [ODIO] 0520 LIPTICK - Lelutka Evo x (Add me) Lelutka EvoX with Legacy

♥ decor

+Half-Deer+ Mystical Lantern @OkinawaSummerFestival +Half-Deer+ Vintage Distressed Frame - Black (edited in world) +Half-Deer+ Sakura Petals [Pink Set] {anc} giant plant & light hoop

♥ flickr post

[evwuniverse]

Mischief Managed Sim - Second Life RolePlay

Credit: Beginning Photo taken by Mischief Managed Sim and  Photo of girl with book on her head is also from Mischief Managed and can be found on the same Instagram page. The Instagram page can be found at this link~https://www.instagram.com/hogwartsmischiefmanagedsl/

Let’s be honest, there are very few people who aren’t fans of J.K. Rowlings Harry Potter Series. What if I told you there was a Roleplaying experience where you could play the role of a Hogwarts student? I’ll be honest, I’ve been trying to get into this Roleplaying sim for years. I’ve always loved and have been immersed with the Harry Potter book series and the movies. I found myself reading and watching Harry Potter often as a kid loving a world that is filled with magic and experiences relevant to each individual. I was so excited to finally be accepted into this Roleplaying sim experience through Linden Labs Second Life platform (for reference I use the Firestorm viewer). This post as always will be labeled by sections so you’re able to choose what you want to read after the initial post below. 

To begin, Mischief Managed is unlike any RP sim I’ve ever been in. Being a complete nerd and having a full love of the series this is truly an experience. When you first enter the sim you are welcomed at the starting point which is platform 9 3/4 with the Hogwarts train at Kings Cross Station. From here you can learn all about the sim, go through the application process, grab a HUD if you're new, or if you are coming onto the sim as someone new on Monday’s is what they call Open Sim Day. Typically the sim is closed to members who did not apply and are not apart of the RP. However, on these days at the front you pick up a tag that says OOC this stands for out of character and you are able to experience and explore the entire sim without the need for commitment to the RP experience. Typically you will find bloggers, photographers, and explorers alike coming and enjoying the scenic views and learning about the RP community and everything Mischief Managed has to offer. Otherwise the sim is closed off all other days. This sim keep in mind is a complete replica of the Harry Potter Universe this includes but is not limited to; Hogsmede, King’s Cross Station, Diagon Alley, and Hogwarts. 

I’ll be honest, I went through the application process because I really wanted to experience and be apart of this RP. Finally an RP I felt I would truly enjoy. The only RP sim I am a part of inside of Second Life is the 1920′s Berlin sim which is truly a hidden gem and a lot of fun. My post on the 1920′s Berlin RP sim can be found here: www. 

The application process asks for a lot so be prepared you can read more about this later on in the posts by looking for the title that says “Application Process.” There is also a HUD that enhances the overall RP experience for everyone involved. To keep myself rather anonymous since that’s what I do best even though if any of the members read this they will most likely know who I am, my character traits are listed below:

House: Gryffindor First Year Student

Age: 12 years old

Wand: Phoenix Feather, 10 inches, 

Character Traits:

Backstory:

Characteristic: Red hair, small, average weight but more on the skinny side, with light blue eyes.

On my first day on the sim I decided to take part in the open sim day to see if this would be an RP sim I would enjoy. I fell in love with the scenic views and how everything was created as an exact replica of the Harry Potter Universe. I enjoyed walking through the sim and experiencing everything there was to experience. That day everyone was so nice and introduced themselves as their RP characters and out of character. Everyone is so kind, respectful, and fun to chat with. I found a lot of photographers taking photos of couples in front of the castle and others taking scenic shots. I saw bloggers who were walking around and gaining information to partake in creating. post. There were so many different people who were enjoying everything Mischief Managed had to offer. 

On my first day after my application was processed and accepted I fell in love with the RP I was already creating with my character. This was my first time RPing as a child avatar which I typically would not do. However, this was an exception I wanted to experience every year in order and wanted to start from the beginning and work my way up. Especially since this is what is seen in the Harry Potter books and movies and is communicated within Harry Potter lore. The sim has a Discord server to join if you have a Discord. This was a little confusing to me but everyone was so nice once I entered. I was automatically placed in the Gryffindor server. In each server there are specific events for each house, and the RP is truly unique. I fell in love with the RP, the kindness and helpfulness of the people, the experience that is created with everything involved, the sim scenery it is the perfect place and RP for any fan of Harry Potter. 

In conclusion, I highly recommend becoming a part of the RP or even just exploring the sim during open sim days on Monday’s. The experience is truly unique and there is so much to discover and explore. There are so many people who are drama free and respectful to all and there is no need to be afraid to be yourself. Everyone is super accepting through your visit whether you are a member of the sim after the application process or visiting out of character. If you have never checked out this sim before please do. Below you will find the location link, the Mischief Managed website link, and social media links.

Application Process:

This specific Roleplaying sim is highly sought after, because of this there is a full application process. Crazy right? Ahead of time you should have an idea of your character, their background story, interests, wand - size, length, and wood, character traits, and make sure you are able to compile a well written role-play post or they may not accept you in. The application process this time around for me took about 7 days. I used the Pottermore website now called www.WizardingWorld.com to complete my characters profile such as the house they are in, their wand size, length, and wood, and my characters Patronous. You can apply to be a student, adult, part of the ministry, a professor, etc. The sim is a non-profit and giant money through their donations to keep the Roleplay sim running. For more information you can go to https://mischiefmanagedsl.net . Keep in mind there is a dress code. Also there are classes throughout the evening. All of the activities are on SLT and PST (PST is Second Life Time = SLT). If you are interested in applying please make sure your RP skills are okay and you can effectively create an RP post and communicate as a character and not just yourself. If you don’t have at least beginner level RP skills you may not be accepted. Also you need a beginning spread to an RP character ahead of time when you apply with an idea of character characteristics, personality trait, when the first time magic was seen from your character, school house, school year/age, parental history, and small bio. 

Open Sim Day:

Monday’s are considered open sim day. The sim is primarily only open to RP members every day except for Monday’s. On Monday they have a day where OOC (out of character) avatars can explore and experience the sim before considering applying to the RP. This is a way for people to experience the sim on their own, take pictures, and enjoy the sim itself without having to be a member of the sim or having the need to RP. These are great days to experience especially if you are a fan of Harry Potter but don’t want to commit to creating a character and RPing once or more a week to keep current. 

RP HUD:

Yes! there is an actual HUD created by the creators of the sim. The HUD is an added component to enhance the RP. In this HUD there is a link to bring you to the schools paper which is through your external browser. It opens up a link to the webpage with all of the information for classes, RP opportunities for the week, and events. Another added component is your bio. It tells your RP name, your house, and your wand information as well as what you are for example, I’m labeled as a first year student in Gryffindor. Yes I am a Gryffindor! There is a button on your HUD for your stats. In each location you have the opportunity to interact with objects and different things. An example of this is, if you go to Hogsmede and your RPing as an adult you can get an alcoholic beverage and it will fill up your food and beverage meter. There are different bars you need to keep full throughout your RP experience. It makes it more real and can kind of remind of the The Sims 4 health bars. The different bars and what you need to do is listed below to keep them full. This RP is truly a whole experience. 

Communication - When you RP inside of the Mischief Managed Sim you will fill your communication bar.

Food/Beverage - When you drink or eat in the dining hall or anywhere else on the sim you will fill your food/beverage bar.

Bathroom/Cleanliness - When you clean yourself in the showers or use the bathroom on the sim you will fill up your bathroom bar. 

the only way your bars will fill up is you you use your HUD on the sim you can’t use it off sim. 

The HUD and RP is beginner friendly to those who are fairly new to RPing but were accepted or for those who are fantastic at RPing but not the best at working add ons inside of SL such as HUDs in general. 

There is also a button for your inventory. Yes, you can interact with everything inside of your inventory. This HUD is a simple point and click interface. When you are in world paying for your school supplies inside of your inventory there are coins to help you buy things. Weekly an allowance is given to all members through your HUD. I currently have a cauldron in my inventory and the money I need to buy and interact with stores and objects inside of the Sim. This is very brief information about the HUD but I really love how it adds to the overall experience. It definitely immerses me more into the sim and the overall RP with others. 

The pics below are part of the HUD there is a skills section and more. They really went all in with providing the best Roleplaying experience. To learn more you can visit their website. 

Avatar Profile:

Inventory:

Skills:

My First Day Experience:

I’ll be honest with everyone I recently joined this RP sim but have fallen in love with the sim, experience, and how helpful, kind, and fun the people who RP on the sim are. It’s very drama free and the story is always developing, you are the story. This is something I’ve always loved about virtual worlds, the RP experience. Right after being accepted I needed to join the Discord server, I was so nervous but everybody was so nice and welcoming. Everyone who RPs and saw I was new and joined welcomed me with open arms and asked how I was. The people are just so friendly, in character and out of character. The group is close knit and you slowly develop your character and join the others. It is so much fun. Being able to go to different areas of the sim and see something new in each area is so much fun. The creators of the sim created an exact replica of Hogwarts castle and honestly the amount of creativity and time that went into this sim is simply amazing. You can tell how much work truly went into making this experience unique. If you love Harry Potter and enjoy virtual worlds and Roleplaying this is definitely the sim for you. The experience is unlike any other and I could spend hours just chatting and developing my character in this world inside of a virtual world. If you are unsure as stated before there is an open sim day on Monday’s I highly suggest participating and taking a look it is worth taking in the scenery. 

Other Photos of Scenery Explored in the Sim:

Please note that all of the photos are not edited. I wanted everyone to get a feel for the sim for how it is in it’s natural form. However, my avatars photo is definitely edited slightly. But all other photos that are mine and put into this post are RAW. I like producing RAW images inside of SL it shows how the place truly looks. Don’t get me wrong editing photos can improve the beauty in each and every place but everyone should see the place experienced for what it is. 

Diagon Alley:

Front of the Hogwarts Castle:

Grande Staircase (also the staircases do move and portray the staircase in the movies accurately):

Outside of the Dining Hall:

Dining Hall:

Outdoor Courtyard:

[x-dracospatronus-x]

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #68

Date: 14th of July, 2027

Dear Diary, 

Summer has been pretty great so far! I’ve been spending a lot of time in the forest, writing and playing and finding things. I’ve thought a lot about the kind of stories I want to write if I’m to become the next Beedle the Bard and I have a lot of ideas!

The first thing I started writing when I went to O’Keeffe’s tutoring was a story about a witch or wizard who uses magic to shrink down to faerie size. Then, they enter the world of faeries, and falls in love with one. There’s drama and such over the wixen not being a faerie, but I don’t know if it ends in tragedy or not. 

Then, I started thinking about writing a story for the phoenix I dreamed up over winter. She’s very strong, and full of power and rage, and she inspires me. Along that same vein, sort of anyways, I’ve thought about writing an autumn tale of a magical world full of pumpkin people, where everything smells like cinnamon and maple and apples and everything is orange and red, yellow and brown. I love autumn. I can’t wait for it to come back, even though the lush green of the forest makes me happy. 

I also remembered this muggle movie I used to love, Milo and Otis, and thought about writing a story like that for Puck, or Cornelius or our owls, Fable and Wander, or Genevieve’s rats. An adventure story with beloved pets as the stars. Or I could write fables in general, like Winnie the Pooh or Frog and Toad about rabbits, foxes, mice, deer… all sorts of animals! Mum told me fables are stories about animals that teach us about right and wrong, so I made a big list of all the animals I like and could write about.

I’ve been baking and gardening more lately, too. Genevieve and I made honey-cakes, and went out hunting for wild strawberries. Mum has had me help her plant her vegetables, and they’ve been growing so well. We do it the muggle way, when it comes to these plants. She says it’s more satisfying like that, and it reminds her of her grandmum - my great-grandmum. I remember going out into the field near my great-grandmum’s farmhouse, and there was this huge patch of wild mint just growing everywhere. You have to plant mint in a contained area, otherwise it’ll take over your whole herb garden! Anyways, we picked so much of it, and then washed it and boiled it to make tea!

I can’t wait until later in the season, when the blackberries are ripe. My aunt was talking about making elderberry wine. And I love being able to tell how late into summer it is by the flowers that grow. First there’s lily of the valley and honeysuckle, my favourites personally, and then tiger lilies, and then finally sunflowers. I never really noticed before until the past year or so. And I just love lilies, especially. Arum lilies are my favourite, but also lily of the valley, water lilies, tiger lilies… now the word lily sounds silly. Oh, I love bluebells, too, but I never see them. Anything bell shaped, really. I can’t wait to be able to practice orchideous again at school.

Anyways, that’s mostly what I’ve been up to. Playing outside, reading, writing. I haven’t been drawing as much, and I keep telling myself I should. 

Oh! And, because it’s been so long and I’ve fallen out of practice, I’m going to do a tarot reading today. Since Lughnasadh is coming quickly, in the next two weeks or so, I’m going to do a spread for that. Lughnasadh, or Lammas is the first harvest, and is all about work and reward. I also got a new deck as a sort of “congratulations on finishing your first year” present from my grandpa, and the artwork is really cute - very colourful, all animals! And since I haven’t done a spread in a long time, I’m going to do a big one. Grandpa helped me with this one, found the spread for me and everything.

It’s a six card spread. The first card asks where I am currently, and for this I drew temperance reversed. I think this means I’m in the process of sort of healing myself and balancing my life.

The second card asks me about ‘the fruits of my labor’ and what I’m harvesting this year. I drew the chariot. I translated this as meaning I’ve succeeded in some way, likely just with my magical journey and education in finishing my first year in fairly good standing, since that card means victory. Grandpa says it also means control and willpower. 

Thirdly, I am asked ‘what needs to be cut away’ to allow me to take the most away from this harvest, and I drew the six of wands. This, to me, means self confidence and progress, so it is perhaps saying that I need to not… be so confident? Or more like that I should be less insecure, I guess. 

Next, the fourth card asks me what I can share to maximise my good fortune. I drew justice. Justice is… justice. It’s fairness. It’s cause and effect. So I should perhaps treat everyone and everything as fairly as I can? 

The fifth card asks me what still needs to be nurtured and grown, and for that, I drew the five of swords. So what that’s probably saying is amidst conflict, defeat, competition, and the like, I should nurture the part of me that wants to keep going, and the part of me that wants to let those past experiences go and make amends.

Finally, the sixth card asks me what I should focus on transforming for the remainder of the year, and for this, I drew the wheel of fortune reversed. I guess that means a sort of warning against resisting change, and that doing so could bring me bad luck. I should break negative cycles.

I don’t know how accurate this reading is since this deck is very new and I’ve only ever worked with the very first one. But, overall, this makes me think about my current path and where my past experiences have led me. What I see in the future, and all that. Which, I think is overall telling me to push through my trials and to be as kind as I can be, to myself and others. 

I’m exhausted, so that’s all for now. 

Much love, Everly

[ Eve’s Wiki Page ] 

[ Flickr ]

[just-juh-blog]

Sorry for not posting in a long while! Was attending college, but now I’m back taking more photos!

attire featuring...

clothes: =Zenith=Long sweater with skirt (Dark purple)

boots: =Zenith=autumn long boot with socks(Choco) 

hair: Stealthic - Genesis (blonds)

head: Catwa Catya

skin: [PF] Liya <Vanilla>

shape: {EmVee} Meghan Shape for Catwa Catya (WITH some modifications...)

[bamsara]

anyway brain full of Thinking About Next SL chapter.

Moon Misbehavior. Intent to annoy. Commit Mischief. Sun crawling the same way Moon does in the jungle gym and it scares Y/N because the last time they were in close proximity in the play area like this, Moon almost killed them. Hiding complicated emotions behind jesterism and humor until something snaps. Deep talks. Plushies torn apart. Chase scene throughout the pizzaplex. Roxy shows up. Fazbear band sleep over! (DCA not invited) (or are they.) Monty showing concern. Robot upgrades. Managment is sus. Sun is getting more and more bold with these pick up line distractions. Moon has stolen the cleaning cart's wheels.

writing hard

[waynerhys]

Evander V. Lennox.

An old (graduated) character from Mischief Managed, Evander V. Lennox reduxed.

Suit Top: Deadwool - The Dandy formal jacket

Skin: Stray Dog - Seb

Hair: Entwined - Chloe (Found @ We <3 RP for 20% off)

[abbyanne-sari-sari]

Coming soon to Mischief Managed: Second Life Hogwarts Roleplay - Wizarding Faire! ✨ "Hosted on the Mischief Managed sim, a delightful Harry Potter Roleplay bringing the magic of Wizardry to SL’s lands."

🚂 We are inspired by vintage, railway, and travel - and have made this new set:

Sari-Sari - Luggage Cart 4 LI (for 2 sitters: f&m single poses, and 2 couples poses)

Sari-Sari - Porter's Trolley 5 LI (for 3 sitters: 2f & 1m poses)

All original mesh, textures, and bento animations 😍

Pack your acceptance letter! ✉️📃 Event opens July 27th! 🛤💼🧳

[crmmudblood]

In the rain the pavement shines like silver All the lights are misty in the river In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight And all I see is him and me forever and forever

Her patronus was a bird, and so was she, as an animagus, a parrot, to be exact. Not the best camouflage in Scotland.  

My Feeds:

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Got something you want me to review? How about a sim you want to show off? Tutorials? Send me a message with requests, or if you’re a store wanting something showcased, send me a message inworld to CassandraMiddles Resident. I normally review monthly events, FLF, Luxebox, and occasionally do full hauls of stores I really love. I also love showing off beautiful sims, get ready with me’s, and sometimes sing. I also post almost daily on my flickr and tumblr, when not doing vlogs, and would love to see your stuff as well! -CassandraMiddles Resident

Appearance: Maitreya Lara Mesh Body Ikon Charm Green Eyes Lelutka Head Simone Veechi Twiggy Lashes@ UBER Glam Affair Adley America @ UBER Tableau Vivant Hairplay Back Blow Rare@ The Arcade

Wearing: Izzie's Sheer Tights Applier Izzie's Over The Knees Applier Fri Elsie Janes Coal Edyn Oavianders Linda's Wand Alt by Truth Paddington Sweater Blueberry Tiffany Skirts MoonAmore Cureless Owlsome Scarf Static Burgundy Decor: .peaches. Expecto Patronum Shadow Box - Magpie @coming to lootbox {anc} nebra beads [Heavenlyblue] field 3Li

[b-radley66]

Payback: A Blackbirds Story

For @sl-walker. Hope you like it. Not considered canon to the Blackbirds universe unless the author does. You can ask what REMF stands for.

Shiv looks up from the datapad as the flap of the shelter over the courier’s ramp parts, allowing the dim light of Radnor’s primary into the hold. He feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise. Not quite to the level of a clanker incursion on the Nest, but at least to the rise of one or two droids lumbering up the ramp. 

He hears the conversation over the merits of the DC-15 vs. the DC-15S—one that had basically degenerated into a series of size jokes—fade to silence from the area that the two new shinies, Raze, and Smarty were sitting on their haunches, working on various tech. 

Okay. Maybe to the level of a B2 or a droideka, he thinks. 

The silence from both sides of the hold isn’t exactly deafening, but it is definitely attention-getting.

The very large Null with the slightly different face from the rest of the troopers—a large example of brother-dom last seen chasing after Raze in the aftermath of the Great Commander-Half-Pint-Green Paint Dipping and Bombing Caper, stands in the ramp, filling the hatch. Shiv manages to keep his lips from twitching at the remnants of the neon hue on Drop’s broad face and brush-cut salt-and-pepper hair.

Drop notes the movement, then gathers them all in with his glance. Shiv moves his attention to the two commandos now flanking their Sergeant-Major. One, wearing the insignia of a medic, seems to be on edge; uncomfortable with the whole affair. The medic, like the other commando is a baseline ARC with commando flashes on his armor. 

Shiv’s eyebrows raise  at the other commando; manages to stifle another laugh. If Drop had picked a crew to back him up with sheer intimidation; these two would be the last of those hard-chargers of the 332nd. The younger clone stares at them with a perpetual look of confusion on his face; the single headset of a comm-tech affixed to one very large ear. The mop of hair flopping over his forehead doesn’t exactly help his war face.

“So you’re the Sergeant of this motley crew?” Drop asks in an even measure tone. Shiv is sure that he doesn’t need to raise his voice, but will in dire circumstance. 

Shiv walks up to him, looks up at him, his eyes clear as he stares at the commando. “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

Shiv sees the comm-tech’s eyes widen; the medic rubs the bridge of his nose.

“I am,” Drop says. 

Shiv idly wonders if there will be measuring of distance involved in the pissing contest, or whether it would be decided by stream intensity. 

He catches a glimpse of a twitch of Drop’s lips. Shiv drops his arms from their crossed place on his chest, allowing himself to relax.

The grin escapes its camouflage on Drop’s face. He holds his hand out and clasps Shiv’s right wrist. 

Shiv can feel the loud exhalation behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he manages to glimpse Raze returning the safety pin to another surprise. He hopes that he wouldn’t have been caught in the blast as collateral damage. 

“Not bad, Blackbird,” Drops says, a hint of a gleam in his eye.

“Sorry about the extra paint job,” Shiv says. Raze starts to say something but closes his mouth at Shiv’s look. 

Drop nods after a moment. “It’s okay. Kinda worth it to see our vaunted smartass of a Jedi brought down a peg or two. Plus, he knows where the whole thing originated from. He’s kind of got a soft spot for that brat.” Drop looks away, his face grim. “I do too,” he whispers. “My Mouse.”

Shiv sees something in the Null’s eyes, a softness that he would’ve  bet that he would ever see.  A look that speaks of shared combat. He had seen the reports on Z’ambique from the 501st, the 212th, and the earlier incarnation of the 332nd, as well as the small commando task force that had been folded into the new version when Croft had been knighted.

He shakes those thoughts away. “So what does your Jedi say about your not burying the hatchet in our heads?”

“He’ll get over it. Especially since that reporter seems to like his boyish face now that he’s been shorn of all that wool. I guess he’ll turn on the so-called charm and go for ramming speed again, although she might miss the tickle of the beard. It’ll keep him out of our hair for a night or two.”

Shiv sees the comm-tech blush at Drops intimation that their Jedi is having sex.

He also sees the medic reach over and pull the medic’s face towards his behind their NCO.

Drop rolls his eyes at Shiv’s expression. “Come on, Peck. Not in front of the shinies. You can play smoochies with Bozo after we’re done here.”

He steps aside. Two other commandos walk up the ramp, bearing load-lifters. Load lifters piled with what suspiciously looks like several warming trays of food, cases of whisky—not the stuff they had been served, but Whyren’s, and a brand-new caf-maker.

“Thought you could use this stuff. It was just laying around at one of the REMF navy units. ‘Cept for the whisky. That’s Croft’s personal stash.”

“Won’t he miss it?”

“Nah. He gets easily distracted.” Drop looks over at Raze. “Didn’t get a chance to tell you. Good match the other day. Recognized the discipline. I think your LT has taught you well.”

Raze manages not to blush, thankfully.

“Paint, you’re one of only two who’ve ever beat me. The other is the one whose beard you dipped. Although it’s debatable as to whether I let him win or not.” He grins again. “It’s why we let him in the unit; figured he would put his money where his mouth was and keep us all alive if he was willing to go a few rounds with me. Although somedays his mouth tests us.”

Shiv would’ve probably paid money to see that match. He is almost certain that Croft had pounded Drop into submission with his face against Drop’s fists and feet.

“Nope, he hit me with his ribs a lot. Didn’t mess up his face. That was already done by genetics,” Drop says, as if reading Shiv’s mind.

Shiv nods. “Okay. So how will General Croft try to get his own back? He probably will be pretty mild with Commander Tano.”

“Yep, although I think he’s held his own with her.” Drop gives an evil grin. “Maybe he’ll challenge your LT to a drinking contest.” The twinkle in his eye belies the evil-ness. “Seeing how he’s sworn off the hair of the anooba that bit him a couple of days ago. I wouldn’t ever go against a Corellian in a drinking match, though.”

Idly, as the two units mingle and laugh, Shiv wonders if there was any way that they could get Maul into training for this match.

Nah. We’ll figure something else out. After all, I think Half-Pint still has a lot of mischief in her.

[sapphicscholar]

A/N: Once more, thanks to @lurkz for helping me to parse through what is actually illegal in business and what would simply be of dubious morality (and therefore, I assume as a flaming liberal, totally common)

Chapter Text:

“Monday, 11am, the slot’s all booked for you, alright?” Dirk said, settling into the driver’s seat of his SUV. After a pause, he nodded his head emphatically. “I told you, it’s better to spread it out. The emails will leak tomorrow.” … “Fine, I’ll talk to you then.”

“Here’s the thing, Dirk,” Alex drawled, looking at him through the rearview mirror, “if you’re going to do something illegal, you probably shouldn’t talk about it in public.”

“This is illegal! You’re breaking and entering!” Dirk yelled, scrambling for the door, only to find the lock jammed shut. As he turned and reached for the glove compartment, Alex simply laughed.

“You should know it’s illegal to travel with a loaded gun in DC. Thank god I was here to take it apart for you. Otherwise you might have gotten yourself into some real trouble.”

“I—uh—yeah…”

Straight to business, Alex ignored his spluttering. “I now have you on tape talking about leaking the emails.”

“You have nothing in the way of proof about which emails or who’s actually responsible for getting them,” Dirk shot back, once more finding his footing and the kind of fake courage born of enough money and privilege to avoid most consequences.

“No,” Alex conceded. “But I also did some digging…” He looked back at her. “I do wonder what your shareholders would think if they found out that you’ve been embezzling funds from your own company… Maybe they’d be more interested in learning that you were the owner of Metro Ink—you remember that little promising paper you pitched to the CatCo board a few years back, right? Didn’t end up helping CatCo, but you got yourself a new house in the Hamptons.”

“No one could have known that the paper wouldn’t help CatCo!”

“But they should have known that you owned a large share of it.” Dirk was silent, his arms crossed and his lip curled up in anger. “You know what I think the public would be most interested in, though? Your nephew Greg’s affair. And damn, cheating on a pregnant wife…that’s a new low. People just love a good, juicy scandal—but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Don’t drag him into this.”

Alex scoffed at the belated attempt at being valiant. “You already did, and you know it.”

“What do you want? Money?”

“You’re not going to leak those emails. You’re not going to come forward with anything more about Cat or her campaign or anyone tied to it. You’re going to fade away into your pitiful little life and not bother us again. Got it?”

“Or what?”

Taking a deep breath, Alex leveled him with a glare. “I found all of that and more in three hours. Come for us again, and every resource the DEO has to offer will be directed at finding out every single thing you and Greg have ever done wrong. Whatever the media doesn’t pick up, I will personally deliver to the authorities with a pretty silver bow on top.”

“Cat better stop counting on my campaign contributions,” Dirk spat at Alex.

“Oh, she wouldn’t want money from someone like you anyway.” With a wink, Alex slid across the backseat, using a gloved hand to open the door.

“Where’s my gun? It’s my property!”

“I assume you’re exactly the kind of lowlife scum who would shoot me in the back the second I gave it to you. So I think I’ll just hold onto this. Consider it an insurance policy.”

---

“It’s handled.” Cat reread Alex’s message for a second, then a third time, confirming that it was really over, there would be no more leaks, no mass release of her emails. She felt herself exhale fully for what might have been the first time since the whole scandal began the day before.

“You okay?” Kara’s voice broke through her haze of tempered relaxation.

“Yes,” Cat breathed out. “Better than okay.”

“What happened?”

“The emails won’t leak tomorrow. No more news. Now it’s just dealing with what we have.” Sure, before any of this happened, dealing with what they had now would have seemed a burden too heavy, but now it felt so very manageable.

“Cat, that’s amazing! How—”

“We don’t ask.”

“Alex?”

“We don’t ask.”

“Right.” Kara fell silent and found the floor was suddenly particularly interesting.

“Kara,” Cat’s voice was soft, but there was also a note of warning in it that Kara couldn’t ignore.

“No, I know. What’s important is that you’re all set for your interview tomorrow.”

“I think we did enough practice questions to last a lifetime.” Even though her patience had worn thin around the one-hour mark, she had to admit that Maggie had done her research. It might have been overkill, but at least she was prepared.

“It’ll be good for our trip too.”

“Speaking of, it’s not even your first week, and you’re already staying at the office until”—Cat glanced down at her phone—“ten at night. Go home. Go enjoy whatever life you might still have.”

“You hired me as your campaign manager. That means I eat, breathe, and sleep this campaign—I knew that going into it.”

“You haven’t even officially started yet,” Cat countered.

“I’m not going to abandon you, Cat,” Kara shot back—the unspoken, “like you did to me,” hanging heavily in the air.

“Well, I suppose I should head out for the night.”

Kara cleared her throat and stood quickly. “Alex said you’re spending one more night at her house?”

“Apparently Vasquez has deemed it unsafe for me to deal with the handful of vultures still lurking outside my home.”

“What’d you think of Alex’s house?” Kara asked, figuring it was better to change the topic than to let Cat get riled up about a decision that was probably for the best.

“Decidedly uninteresting.” She looked up, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Unless you want to tell me where the hidden rooms are?”

“She’d kill me.”

“That means she has them.”

Laughing and shaking her head, Kara held the door open for Cat. “Come on, let’s get you back to her place so you have plenty of time to investigate before bed.”

“You laugh, but I was an excellent reporter.”

“You think I haven’t read your columns? Please, you won awards for them. Of course I had to see for myself.”

Ignoring the flutter of excitement at the idea that Kara had cared enough to look up her best articles, Cat strode through the doorway and out into the hallway. “Do I have to leave through Alex’s little dungeon again?”

“One last time. Vasquez is already here for you, though.”

“Fine,” Cat sighed, traipsing down the creaky stairs and through the basement once more.

---

The next morning, Kara was waiting for Cat in her office when she arrived.

“Isn’t some chipper for being in the office early on a Sunday morning?”

“Some of us didn’t go hunting around Alex’s house all night…”

Cat’s cheeks turned a very light shade of pink. “I was simply looking to see if she was home yet.”

“Behind padlocked closet doors?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I think that’s exactly where I’d find her,” Cat drawled.

“What?”

“Oh god, you’re both useless,” Cat huffed, sinking into her chair and turning on her computer. “Now tell me, is that first room with all weapons just for show? Is it to keep people from going any further?”

“Why? Were you too scared to investigate more?” Kara teased.

“No,” Cat shot back, looking beyond indignant. “Alex simply arrived back home.”

Kara tried unsuccessfully to hide a soft laugh behind her hand. “Right… How are you feeling about the interview?”

“About as excited as I was for my last root canal.”

“Well, I sort of figured you might need something in the way of encouragement…” Kara trailed off, pulling something from her bag. “Here, I know we’re on image patrol for a while, but I thought you could use a boost of the old Cat Grant confidence before the interview starts.”

“Did you just call me old?” Cat asked, though she couldn’t quite hide the way her gaze softened at Kara’s holding out one of her favorite necklaces—a gold statement piece that went particularly well with the black suit she chose for the day.

“Not a chance. I’d like to live, thank you very much,” Kara teased, moving behind Cat and quickly doing the clasp of the necklace. She pretended not to notice the hitch in Cat’s breath or the way Cat went rigid at the feeling of Kara’s fingers against her neck. “Now that’s the Cat Grant who took California by storm.”

Swallowing harshly, Cat nodded stiffly. “Right.” A moment later she added, her voice significantly softer, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

As if she’d planned to interrupt the perfect moment, Lois took her cue to stride through the door of Cat’s office, a smirk curling up the corners of her mouth as she found the woman seated at her throne. “Kitty.”

“Lesser Lane,” Cat shot back, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and gesturing for Kara to leave the office.

Once Kara left, Lois settled in at the seat across from Cat, pulling a recorder and a notebook out from her purse. “I see the world finally got to know what you really think of me.”

“Mm, shall I sic the older Danvers on you and let her find everything you’ve ever said about me?”

“What? Think Kara couldn’t manage it?”

“Of course she could. The problem is that she wouldn’t.”

“They are quite the pair, aren’t they?”

“Only the best women working on my team.”

“Casually weaving in the gender issue. Well done,” Lois conceded, gracing Cat with a small smile.

“Would you expect anything less?”

“From you? Not a chance in hell.”

“As far as verbal sparring partners went you were always…adequate.”

Lois tipped her head back slightly and let out a loud laugh. “Want that to be my headline? Cat Grant on Female Staff: They’re Always Adequate.”

“Oh hush, you know I’m better than anyone else running.”

“Certainly better than Daddy Dearest.”

“Oh god, of course I’m better than any of the Republicans,” Cat scoffed, feeling grateful that she would only have to deal with one of the motley crew of contenders—likely General Lane, though Miranda Crane had been slowly climbing in the polls too.

“Well what about those Republicans?” The shift in Lois’ demeanor was stark as the teasing disappeared, replaced with serious looks and her best journalistic tone. “Do you still think that you’re the best person to face them in a general election when you come bearing the weight of this much baggage this early in the game?”

“I think no one would have come after me this early if I weren’t already the best candidate to beat a Republican challenger,” Cat answered smoothly, arching an eyebrow in challenge. “Obviously being hit with such a low attack this early in the race is not ideal, but I like to think of it as an opportunity—an opportunity to address critiques and to persevere in running a clean, issues-driven campaign even in the face of all this negativity.”

“Does this mean you have nothing to say about the other hopeful nominees?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever been without something to say,” Cat chuckled, “but our records speak for themselves. Just look at the policies I put in place at CatCo or the legislation passed under my leadership in California; you’ll see that out of everyone in this race, I have done the most to advance the rights of women, minorities, and everyday Americans.”

“How do you balance what your record says against those quotes, the stories that were released?”

“If you’ve been following the news, you will have seen our responses. So much of what was leaked to the press is demonstrably untrue, and even more of it is ripped from context. Of course, there are moments in the past when I could have done better—and I like to think that I have grown as a person and a candidate since then. Think of the things we’ve said about one another over the years.” Lois’ mouth twisted into something that almost looked like a smile. Leave it to Cat to remind her on the record that she’d said just as much in return. “We started out together at The Daily Planet, thrown into the pit with men who didn’t think we should be there and spoke crudely in some vain attempt at scaring us off. But we don’t scary easy—no, we women have learned to fight for our places in newsrooms and boardrooms, in the streets and even in the White House. But sometimes that’s meant picking up those same bad habits to show we could take it,” Cat conceded.

“So how would your White House be any different?”

“It’s been a long time since I left that first newsroom. I’ve learned that there are better ways to act and to treat my staff. I’ve found that a workplace founded on mutual respect and, yes, high expectations,” Cat added with a small smile, “is one that encourages my team to do its best work. I’d bring that kind of attitude to Washington. I’d build on the progress President Marsdin has made in encouraging cooperation over competition. And I’d surround myself with people from a variety of backgrounds to stay informed about the concerns of all citizens, not just those of the privileged few who have historically held the ear of those in charge.”

Outside of the office, Kara beamed as she listened to Cat answer with practiced ease, staying positive and bringing her answers back to what she would do and all that she already had done—just like they’d practiced with Maggie the day before.

“What has you all smiley?” Lucy asked, pausing at Kara’s office, which she’d already started decorating, figuring she wouldn’t have much time before she left with Cat for Iowa the next morning. “That’s an ‘I spent last night getting laid’-level smile, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Stop,” Kara hissed, her cheeks coloring slightly. “I did no such thing! I was here last night helping Cat prep for the interview.”

“Then what’s with the megawatt smile? Because it’s a Sunday, and we’re in the office, so it has to be something.”

“I’m just proud of Cat, that’s all.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes, filing that detail away for later. “Weirdo. Anyway, we’re doing brunch after Cat’s done with this interview. Wanna come with?”

Stuck between the lure of delicious breakfast foods and the desire to be there for Cat if she needed help getting ready for the trip, Kara finally answered, “Let me see how the interview goes. I might need to stick around here or help Cat get home if the reporters are still camped out at her place.”

“Damn, I need to find myself a woman as devoted to me as you are to Cat,” Lucy laughed, stopping only when she realized that Kara had turned a deep shade of red. “Oh my god, do you have a crush on Cat?” Lucy hissed, shutting the door to Kara’s office and throwing herself into a chair. “I mean, she’s hot—I’ll give you that. And now that it’s confirmed that she likes women too, it makes her that much more appealing.”

“Stop!”

“Aww, little Danvers is in lo-ove,” Lucy crowed in a sing-song tone, only to be silenced by a death glare. “C’mon, you know I’m only teasing. Pretty cool that she’s bi, though, huh? Did you suspect it?”

Kara flashed back to Cat’s breathy sighs, the way she had possessively looped her arms around Kara’s neck and pulled her in closer, how she had let herself be picked up and pushed up against a wall, tipping her head back and baring her neck to Kara’s heated kisses, until a crash from down the hallway had startled them apart. “I, uh, I don’t know, maybe.”

“Hmm…I always thought she could be. Though there’s always the wishful thinking thing too—really throws off my gaydar. Is she gay, or do I just desperately want her to be gay?” Lucy mused, shaking her head at herself. Forcing a laugh, Kara nodded along with Lucy. “Anyway, let me know when you figure out if the Queen will let you eat pancakes with us.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

“I promise it’ll be fun. Plus, I need some more bodies there in case Alex and Maggie decide to go at it again.”

“Oh god, did something more happen?”

“No…or at least, not that I know of.”

“So then no,” Kara teased.

“If anyone could hide something from me, it might just be your sister.”

“I’m telling her you said that. It’ll make her happy.”

“I need her even happier if we’re going to survive this campaign. Set her up on a date or something instead—get some of that pent-up energy out.”

“Ew, Luce! She’s my sister!”

“Well take comfort in the fact that she clearly hasn’t gotten laid in ages if her temper’s anything to go by,” Lucy snorted, laughing at Kara’s spluttering.

Once Lucy left and Kara cleansed her head of any images she decidedly did not want to remember, she tuned back in to the interview next door, listening as Cat artfully redirected a pointed critique to a discussion of her policies. She sent an emoji-filled text to Maggie thanking her for all of her hard work the night before. When she heard the interview wrapping up, she sent James a reminder to have his camera ready for the shot of Cat and Lois looking as friendly as they could manage to be printed alongside the interview.

Once the pictures had been taken and Lois walked down to her car, Kara hurried back in to see Cat. “How’d it go?”

“It was me. Of course it went well.” But she couldn’t quite hide the small smile at the knowledge of just how well it went.

“I’m still glad to hear it.”

“As am I. Now it’s on to the next stage.”

“Do you need any help getting ready for the trip?”

“Since we’ve added a few days and new stops, I want to go over details about what to say to each group, how to maximize the positive publicity without seeming as though that’s the only reason I’m there.”

“The State Fair will be a big one for publicity even without us, so that should make it easier. And when we go out to some of the farms and factories, I’ll make sure James keeps it to just one or two cameramen and photographers.”

“Good,” Cat mused, drumming her nails against her desk.

“Do you want me to stick around and help you plan out stops for those extra days?”

Cat looked up suddenly, as though just realizing Kara was still in the room. “Surely you have a life—better places to be on weekends than with your boss.”

Kara just shrugged. “I don’t know how many times you’ll need me to say it, but I’m committed to this, Cat. You’re trusting me to run your campaign, and that means I’m going to make sure it’s the best it can be.”

“Well, at least let me order us some food, then. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay!”

Cat bit back a smile; apparently Kara hadn’t lost her enthusiasm for food over the years. “You go order. Use my card to pay.”

“You sure you want to subsidize my eating habits?”

“Kara, the whole world now knows exactly how much I spend on shoes. I think we both know I can afford brunch.”

“Right.” Kara accepted the offered card and walked out into the hallway to call in an order, making sure to include a few “healthy” dishes that Cat would insist on, even if she’d steal a bite or two of the more sugary and fatty items Kara would pile high on her plate. Once she’d gotten their order in, she walked over to Lucy’s office.

“You free for the day?” Lucy asked.

“Actually I’m gonna be stuck here for a little bit helping to get ready for our trip.”

“Boo, you whore.”

“Don’t Mean Girls me!” Kara shot Lucy a look of mock indignation that couldn’t last as she broke out into a grin. “I expect text updates if Alex doesn’t stay in line.”

“Gonna tattle on her to Eliza?”

“I am the campaign manager.” Kara puffed out her chest slightly. “It’s now my job to make sure the team runs smoothly, and if that means keeping my sister in line, so be it.”

“I can’t wait to tell Alex you think you’re in charge of her,” Lucy cackled. “Have fun strategizing with your crush!” Her voice was low, but Kara still let out a squeak of protest. Lucy grabbed her coat and darted out of her office before Kara could say any more.

Determined to have a sit-down chat with Lucy about what could and could not be said around the office, Kara headed back to her desk to respond to emails until the food arrived. When it did, she nearly sprinted down to the door and left a generous tip for the speedy delivery.

Popping her head into the doorway of Cat’s office, Kara held the bag aloft. “Food’s here!”

“Perhaps we move our meeting down to the smaller conference room? Wouldn’t want another catastrophe…”

“It was one time,” Kara grumbled, dutifully toting the bag of takeout down to the conference room anyway. “Seven years ago!”

“It took almost as long to get the syrup smell out of my carpet,” Cat shot back.

“Okay, but at least maple syrup smells amazing.”

“No, Chanel No. 5 smells amazing. Syrup smells like the floor of a Denny’s.”

“Have you ever even been inside of a Denny’s?”

“Depends. Does it make me sound more like a relatable, everyday American if I say yes?”

Kara laughed loudly as she popped open the various containers and boxes. “I don’t think anyone would believe you went voluntarily. Or sober.”

“Does anyone go to a Denny’s sober? Or voluntarily, for that matter?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Kara shrugged. “I’ve always been a bigger fan of the all-you-can-eat pancake special at IHOP.”

“Well there’s that down-home charm I hired you for,” Cat teased, feeling almost human for the first time since Friday.

---

Within the hour, Lucy, Vasquez, Alex, and Maggie were settled in at a booth at The Diner, four mugs of steaming hot coffee settled in between menus on the table. Lucy had crammed in next to Alex, though Vasquez moved too slowly to get in the booth first, leaving Alex and Maggie facing one another. Figuring she had done enough to prevent carnage and deserved a relaxing meal, Lucy ordered a bloody mary with her eggs benedict and sat back while the rest of the table ordered.

“I need to start biking or something if I’m gonna keep eating like this,” Maggie groaned, looking around the restaurant at plates piled high with delicious food.

“Oh please, you got the tofu scramble. It’s like you went looking for the healthiest item here,” Alex scoffed.

“You got an omelet,” Maggie shot back.

“Duh, I’m not trying to throw up on my run later.”

“Where do you run?” Maggie asked, looking genuinely curious.

“The better question is: where doesn’t she run?” Vasquez chimed in between sips of coffee.

“Normally in Rock Creek Park,” Alex answered.

“Ah yes, she likes to go show the Cross Fit boys how it’s done.” Maggie tilted her head until Lucy elaborated: “They meet up at that old-school gym equipment down by my apartment and go all macho bro mode. One time one of them made the mistake of trying to tell Alex she was in the wrong form to do a pull-up and would hurt herself.”

Leaning in as if she were divulging a secret, Vasquez whispered, “So obviously she waited until he’d started at one of the other bars, then matched him until he collapsed.”

“And then did ten more for good measure,” Alex added, looking beyond pleased with herself.

“So wait, where is this workout equipment? The gyms down here are so expensive.” Even with the pretty generous salary she was making working for Cat, Maggie didn’t want to spend her savings on exorbitant gym costs when her rent was already startlingly high compared to what she’d paid out in Chicago and Nebraska.

“Just follow Alex on a run—she’ll lead you right to it,” Lucy teased.

To Maggie’s surprise, Alex just shrugged. “If you want help figuring it out the first time, I can show you.”

“Really?”

“Why not?”

Maggie could think of about a dozen reasons already. Instead she agreed, “Okay. Just tell me when.”

“It should be quiet with Cat and half the office out on travel this week. Tuesday morning work for you?”

“Sure.”

“And ya know, Luce, we’ll be right down the hill from your apartment…”

“So tempting,” Lucy drawled. “And yet, I think I’ll sleep in like a normal person.”

“Sometimes I see James there… It could be a slightly less terrible version of those office bonding activities we’re supposed to do.”

Lucy didn’t add that most mornings she woke up with another staff member in her bed and they did plenty of bonding on their own, thank you very much, though she did smirk at Vasquez from behind her coffee mug. “Hard pass.”

“Alright then, Sawyer, it’s just you and me. Hope you can keep up.”

Holding Alex’s gaze, Maggie arched an eyebrow. “It’s on.”

Pulling out her phone under the table, Lucy texted Vasquez: “Dude. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this was flirting.”

A few seconds later, Vasquez coughed and choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Just gonna…run to the bathroom.”

After a moment, Lucy followed close behind. “I’m gonna go make sure she didn’t die.”

“So…” Alex trailed off, looking significantly more awkward than she had a few minutes ago.

“Think they’re hooking up?”

“What?”

“Or is that just a drunk thing?”

“What?” Alex repeated, blinking slowly.

“Oh shit, do people not know? Fuck, okay, act like I didn’t say anything! Maybe it was a one-time thing.”

“What? Lucy…and Vasquez?”

“Sorry, god, I don’t want to be the one spreading gossip this early. I’m sure it was just that once.”

Alex nodded slowly, trying to figure out how many things she’d apparently missed over the years. Ever since Cat had suggested she might be gay—not that she was, of course—Alex felt like suddenly everything around her was designed to bring it up. There was the fact that she apparently worked in the gayest office ever, but then smaller things started appearing too: the line of rainbow flags strung up outside of restaurants and bars all around Dupont and Logan Circle; the background character in one of her favorite shows had come out last week; some Facebook event for National Coming Out Day this week kept popping up on her timeline.

“Are you okay?” Maggie asked, growing increasingly concerned at the way Alex seemed to have completely checked out of the conversation.

“Oh, yeah, fine!” Her voice was higher pitched than she would have liked, but at least Maggie looked less concerned. “Sorry, I just—took me by surprise about Lucy.”

“What about me?” Lucy asked, throwing herself dramatically back into the booth and looking up at Alex.

“Uh, that you aren’t going on the trip,” Alex tried, wincing slightly at the stupid comment.

“Oh, nah. They can always call if they run into legal trouble. Sadly it’s just Vasquez we’re losing for this one.”

The words seemed to have all sorts of new connotations, and Alex forced herself to nod and smile. “I’m sure Kara will have plenty of fun games for you to play on the ride.”

Their food arrived then, giving Alex a bit of time not to worry about saying the right thing as she shoved eggs into her mouth and tried to ignore the vague sense of anxiety that had been nagging at her since Friday.

[rebelrosepetels]

•OUAT VERSE•

Bᴀsɪᴄ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

♔ ɴᴀᴍᴇ — Roselyn Turpin-Mills

♔ ᴀɢᴇ — (Varies depending on SL )

♔ ᴘʀoғғᴇsɪᴏɴ — TBA

♔ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴ — Enchanted Forest

♔ ʀᴀɪsᴇᴅ— Enchanted Forest, Storybrooke, Maine, Wonderland

♔ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs — TBA

♔ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs — Half witch/ Half human

♔ ʀᴀᴄᴇ— Caucasian

ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

♔ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ— Maggie Agatha O’Reily- Turpin

♔ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ— Edmund Turpin

Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

♔ ғᴄ— Amanda Seyfried

Bɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ

♔ Sɪᴢᴇ & Sʜᴀᴘᴇ—

Slim but curvy, porcelain colored skin, 5’ 4” height, fit

♔ ᴇʏᴇs & ʜᴀɪʀ—

Big bright emeralds with long flowing blonde curly hair

♔ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ—

Though naive Rose was a special child, She was more intelligent then most her age. Being a rebellious runaway caused Rose to enjoy mischief. She is known to be very sarcastic. If she trusts you which is very seldom she will be very caring and rather kind hearted. But if you break her trust, you will feel her wrath till the day you die. She is quite wise, but her actions and attitude covers a lot of that up. Rose is rather independent and enjoys reading. She has great confidence but can act arrogant and cold at times. Rose can be very flirtatious sometimes but that’s only her personality, she doesn’t mean anything by it. Usually Rose enjoys pressing people’s buttons and sometimes she presses the wrong buttons and finds herself in a trap she can’t escape. Way deep down Rose cares greatly and loves deeply but she rarely will show it unless you can dig under her extremely tough shell She is committed to fighting for what she wants till she can no longer fight. Rose is known to be a stubborn and rather hard headed girl, she always is trying to prove some one wrong and sometimes she actually enjoys arguing. She’s always longed to be free of the hell she lives but inside she has accepted the fact that she could never truly escape and that another reason why she is so rebellious and pretends to not care. She persists to keep her reputation, whether it’s a good or bad decision or not. She tends to prefer animals to humans and is used to being alone. She comes off as a bitch but she’s nothing of the sort.

♔ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ(ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ)—

Rose doesn’t have many friends and will be found in the library, A forest, or somewhere where she could be completely alone, and if she isn’t there , Rose will most likely be at Granny’s place sipping on a whiskey

Born into royality but raised completely opposite. She won’t talk about her past to just anyone and is very classy, and sassy. She tried to win approval from those she admires but often fails because she’s plucky and pushes people away too much.

♔ ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ—

Before Rose was born her father made a deal with Rumplestiltskin to be given a potion that would get the woman of his dreams to fall in love with him, for a magic bean. However, instead of doing as he said, the man gave Rumple an ordinary bean. When he found out about this, he got his revenge by cursing the man’s wife, on the day she had her first child, she would become deathly ill and die. This curse proceeded to happen and instead of taking responsibility, he blamed Rose. As Rose grew older, her father would often times abuse her, he was always found with alcohol of any type and would drink till he would beat the girl.

Rose’s mother had been a witch and when Rose became older she began practicing her magic becoming more aware of it, she would often times heal her own wounds or use a spell to not look beaten. When she was thirteen, Rose had enough of her father and stabbed him in the chest with a knife.

This was when Rumple reappeared in her life, he guided her into using her magic more, teaching her how to draw the darkness out, however Rose resented him and tried to hide her magic.

That was when she ran away from her home and ended up in the forest where she met Cora Mills. Of course being naive, Rose didn’t know who Cora was but Cora saw potential in Rose, she sensed the blonde had magic and instead of turning her away, Cora took her under her wing. Seeing that Rose had blood on her attire, Cora had manipulated Rose into telling her what happened. Rose lived with Cora, becoming closer to Zelena than Regina till Cora forced Regina to become queen then the blonde left and tried to find her way to Wonderland where she could find her step-mother.

By trading her heart for a magic bean to Rumple, she managed to create a portal to Wonderland. Still young, the blonde was a bit rebellious and because of this, Cora saw Rose as a disappointment. By the time she returned back to the Enchanted Forest, Regina’s curse was in action causing the blonde to be taken to Storybrooke along with the others but because Regina didn’t know about Rose’s return she was sent back with all of her memory.

Eventually when Rose made it to Storybrooke, She worked at Granny’s and stayed on the down low side till Rumple approached her about her past. He made a deal with her that she would be able to go back home with her heart if she would kill the Savior when Henry brought her there. Instead of listening to him, Rose denied his request and when Emma came, she used her magic to cross the town line. However, still having her heart Rumple kept a hold on the blonde using her as his assistant for the shop once it was returned to normal, she agreed to it out of fear.

Once Emma found Storybrooke and the curse was lifted, the blonde asked Rumple to return her heart. Having his focus on other things he decided to let her free.

When Cora returned to Storybrooke, Rose was finally reunited with her, she explained that she was coming back for her heart and though Cora was heartless at the time, she understood because deep down she cared for Rose just as Rose did with Cora. While they were there, Cora convinced Rose to get close to Henry thinking that if she was close enough, then she would get through to Regina, however instead Emma and Rose ended up becoming best friends, this didn’t happen till after Cora’s death.

However when Rose had the chance to leave Storybrooke she did and moved to New York to attempt at a normal life. Realizing that wasn’t possible, the blonde returned back home.

When Emma visited The Underworld, she snuck a ride there to talk with her mother where she explained what happened with Emma even though Cora saw the entire thing. Managing to fix their unfinished business, Rose left once Emma had the portal open. When she left, Rose found a way to talk to Zelena who used her wand to allow Rose to have a way back to the Enchanted Forest where she felt safe.

♔ wᴇᴀᴋɴᴇss(s)— Family, her partner, chocolate, alcohol, weed, smokes…

♔ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜs— Mature, capable of handling just a bout anything, physical fightingAnd magical fighting, intelligent and drop dead gorgeously

♔ Fʟᴀᴡs—Stubborn, awkward, head strong, conceals way too much, rebellious, annoying, dramatic, hates everything, possessive

♔ ʙʀᴏᴡɴɪᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛs— Really sweet when you get to know her, loyal till the end, will do anything to make sure someone is safe and happy, protective

♔ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)—Easily annoyed, loves to poke and pester people. Jokes a lot, and pretends to be sexual but really she’s anything but! ( Unless you’re her partner) , where trouble lies so does Rose, can be irritating but eventually you get used to it, outspoken but silent, she tends to observethings from afar unless something sparks her interest. She loves to make deals, can be sly and manipulative at times, Rose pulls off that ‘I may look innocent but I’m not’ face extremely well, and in her school years she was lucky to not get thrown out. Claims to be heartless but had the biggest heart deep down and loves puns but won’t admit that to anyone. Comes off mean and rude but really she’s not, Rose doesn’t always know how to love properly either which was due to her past but she’s attempting to change her ways

Especially when her daughter came into her life, Belle became everything to Rose, her pride and joy and she would do anything to give her everything she deserves.

[missmungoe]

A CERTAIN KIND OF ELOQUENCE (In Other Words, There’s A Whole Lot of Tongue) // Shanks x Makino // pre-series; rated M // because Shanks’ godawful 4kids dub will haunt me forever and I decided to remedy it (and I really wish accents and regional dialects in One Piece were a thing)

He has an accent.

It takes her a little while to notice, because there are so many other things fighting to claim her attention first, and she’s been too busy pretending that she’s not paying such close attention to what he’s saying to even notice how he says it.

It’s not an obvious one, demanding attention like everything else about him (hair so red it’s almost hard to look at, and the smile that’s so attractive it’s hard not to look at). And it’s odd, she thinks, as she listens attentively to the smooth variation of his vowels and the quick, laughing leap of his consonants. Like good scotch watered out, his inflections are softened, made mellow by that underlying chuckle that seems to cling to everything he says, every syllable and word and sentence.

But under that again, she finds it, a slight twang in his speech, discovered in the slow, purring roll of a single r. A rich vibrato, but subdued, like honey spooned into a sharp drink to sweeten the kick. It seems to sit on the back of his tongue, an echo almost forgotten but not entirely.

“Years on the sea will do that,” Shanks tells her, when she musters the courage to ask, and Makino pretends she doesn’t notice the way his eyes fleet downwards, curving with amusement. She’s been wringing the life out of the dish-rag in her attempts at feigning causal interest. “You’re on a ship with people from all over the world. Doesn’t take long before you start to forget things. Old habits, accents…”

“Inhibitions?” she interjects, before she can stop herself, and with a glance at his open shirt that fails rather spectacularly at being discreet (the glance, that is. But the shirt, too).

The grin she gets in return is both an answer and a suggestion, and it takes her a moment to compel her eyes to look elsewhere. Subtlety might not be a particular virtue of his, but it’s not hers, either, although that’s not for lack of trying (and she does try, god help her, she’s been trying since they met).

Going by the grin that’s only gotten wider, Shanks hasn’t.

She listens while he speaks, and tries to catch it again, that fleeting thing that comes and goes but refuses to stay; a slight ebb sinking back on his tongue, before swelling gently with his enunciation, but it’s slipped through her fingers before she’s had the chance to register it properly, and to catalogue the different stresses, the small quirks and tonalities.

“Get him drunk,” Ben tells her, in a rare lull of silence where his captain has relinquished his claim to Makino’s personal space to join in the singing across the room. “You’ll hear it.”

She tries to keep her face blank, she really does. “Hear what?”

Ben only lifts his glass to his lips, and looks at her.

Makino is sorely tempted to chuck the dish-rag at his face.

She doesn’t, because then Shanks is back, and her personal space isn’t hers anymore, although it feels less like an invasion and more like a relief, his presence filling cracks and fissures she didn’t even know were there, everything about him claiming space, from the width of his shoulders to his laughter to his voice.

He’s still singing, an easy rhythm tapped with his fingers against the edge of the bar-top, and the words sitting under his breath, as though it comes as naturally to him as breathing. As though it’s one and the same, breathing and laughing and talking.

And he’s not drunk yet but getting there, and it’s increasingly difficult to pretend she’s not noticing the accent slipping through when Ben is still smiling into his drink.

She manages to maintain her composure for a whole thirty seconds, but then Shanks looks at her and smiles, the last, lingering note and words of a final refrain offered up like a token, a deceptively tender lament about the sea’s dark loveliness and a poor, infatuated sailor’s fate, swallowed by her generous depths – at which point he winks, his grin as shameless as the vulgar suggestion, and it takes every ounce of control Makino has not to seize in place like she’s been shot.

And she thinks it can’t get any worse, but then the word lover leaves his mouth, the poor sailor condemned as such, or the sea (she forgets, she’s too busy staring at his mouth to focus on what he’s actually singing). He elongates the sound of it, the slight upwards curl of his tongue after the last syllable seeming to hold it back, before he lets it go, and it drops like a shot of hard liquor down her throat, straight through the bottom of her stomach to her core, and she nearly shouts an excuse to escape into the storeroom.

She hears his laughter as it sends her off, and feels his eyes on her back as she makes her retreat, but like the slow warmth of his voice burning through her body, the word lingers in her mind much, much longer.

—

Ben wasn’t kidding, she discovers later, when she’s reemerged from the storeroom back into the fray, still with her wits half in tatters but clutched with the last, stubborn ounce of self-preservation she possesses that his voice hasn’t stripped away.

He lets the accent slip when he drinks.

Just as the stories he tells her become progressively more improbable, the vowels seem to cling a little longer to his tongue, and the constants have a sharper bite. He still laughs the same, if a little louder, but the accent creeps forth a little bit more with each drink knocked back.

“Another?” Makino asks, fingers curled loosely around the long neck of the bottle. Night has gathered in the far corners of her bar; soft, seductive shadows lengthening along the legs of chairs and tables, slipping under and between like thieving fingers up a woman’s skirt, and the low-hanging lamp weaves gold between the tightly woven straw of his hat, tipped back to reveal his face.

The sweep of his gaze lingers a moment on the placement of her hand, and Makino’s brows furrow, but just before she can ask what that look means she sees it – the suggestive image prompted by the way her fingers are wrapped around the base of the neck, and the slow raise of his brows has her dropping her hand from the bottle so fast she nearly knocks it over.

His eyes flick up to hers, laughter in them. “Slippery bottle?” he asks, innocently.

She glares, but fears the furious blush in her cheeks renders it somewhat ineffective. “Slippery fingers,” she counters, and with a look that dares him to comment on it.

Her look is ignored, and cheerfully. “Hmm. I’m surprised,” Shanks says.

The purse of her mouth betrays her irritation, but she doesn’t let herself stop to wonder why she’d expected more from him than presumptions based on an old, persisting stereotype. “Why?” she asks. “Because all tavern wenches are supposedly adept at handling – bottles?”

She stumbles over the last word. She doubts it slipped him by, from the warmth of humour in his eyes.

He didn’t mean offence, she realises, but the amusement on his face is so bright she feels like screaming at him anyway. “I don’t like to make assumptions about people based on their professions,” Shanks tells her, eyes glittering. “And I’m sure your bottle-handling is perfectly respectable.”

His smile crooks then, full of sensual mischief. “You have very deft hands,” he quips, and before she can choke out a protest, he’s forged on, “A firm grip, I’ll wager, but friction is a tricky thing. I should know – I’m a swordsman. You need a good, sure grip, or you’ll fumble your sword. Then awkwardness ensues, someone usually cries, usually me…No one wants that.”

She’s flushed so spectacularly Makino wonders if she isn’t about to pass out (and if it might be for the best, with the promise found in his eyes now, of even worse innuendo than he’s already subjected her to), but, “Another?” she asks, a half-strangled word, and doesn’t know if it’s meant to sound like a question or a command.

From the look on his face, she thinks Shanks might have preferred the latter.

“You know,” he tells her, nudging his tumbler forward for a refill, and she keeps her gaze on the glass, not his hand, tanned skin and strong fingers wrapped loosely around it, the pad of his thumb rubbing distracting circles on the crystal, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”

She studiously looks at the tumbler, and concentrates on pouring his drink. She tries not to think about how she’s holding the bottle; if it’s as suggestive as it suddenly feels, her fingers curved around the long neck, gripping until her knuckles bleed white. “I’m just doing my job, Captain.”

“Mhm,” he says, the low hum followed by the lift of his glass to his lips, and it’s a feat to keep her eyes from latching onto his mouth now, and the bob of his throat when he tips the tumbler back, the glass fogging with his breath and his lips grazing the rim with an obscene smile.

She drops her eyes, and regrets it, finding little mercy in the open shirt that threatens to make her forget that she’s trying to run a business, taking in the distractingly bare chest and the hairs fanning downwards, from his sternum towards his abdomen and the loose sash hanging low at his waist, disappearing beneath it–

She shoves the bottle away and out of sight before she has to look at it another second.

Ben has made a strategic retreat, the traitor, and it’s just the two of them at the bar now, the din of the room behind him barely holding her attention despite the noise level, pushed to the back of her mind in favour of the way he’s enunciating his words, the incentive given by the drink coaxing forth odd little inflections from deep in the back of his throat, and after his most recent glass his voice yields a timbre she hasn’t heard before, a rough-edged, seductive purr.

“One more, my dear,” Shanks says, and by the deliberate stress put on the last word, the slight lilt of his accent sending it skipping across his tongue, Makino knows she’s been caught, even before his grin sweeps, wide and laughing along his mouth. “If you haven’t stashed that bottle away permanently, that is. Saving the rest for a special occasion? And here I thought my presence was occasion enough. Guess not.”

He doesn’t call her out on her poorly concealed scheming. Instead all he does is talk, but it’s not much better, Makino discovers, because he might not accuse her outright of trying to lure out old speech habits, but he’s more than ready to let her suffer for her curiosity, and happily, by the way he’s deliberately rolling his rs.

She’d be more upset about it if she had a mind to focus past the fact that it’s not a diluted accent that greets her now, but a concentrated shot of the real thing, sitting on his tongue like it’s always been there – the way it sometimes feels with him, sitting at her bar like he’s always been a regular, in her business and her life, patron and companion and something that she doesn’t have a name for yet, even if he does. And she doesn’t need him to say it for her to hear the implication, trickling between the syllables on his tongue with the promise of a kiss (and quite likely one with a good deal of tongue).

Except he doesn’t kiss her. All he does is continue to talk, about every conceivable topic between sky and sea, not a single touch offered, even accidentally. Instead all she gets is the occasional, fleeting glance and the knowing edge of an impish smile, but the way it leaves her feeling makes her wonder if this wasn’t more effective.

And knowing him, wholly, unashamedly deliberate.

—

She imagines it later, after closing when it’s safe to do so, when it’s just her and the quiet solitude of her bar, and his voice, an always-laughing caress against her memory.

And he has a fondness for endearments, but she imagines how her name sounds, each syllable tasted and spoken, rolled back and forth across his tongue, like the push and pull of a mouthful of scotch, smoky and sharp, or the sea against a ship’s hull, a salt-tinged kiss. She pictures the shape of it on that attractive mouth, and thinks about how he would speak it, laughing or gasping; as a plea, as an order.

She skips her chores halfway through her closing routines, thoughts otherwise preoccupied and her hands finding other means to keep themselves busy, the cool quiet of the storeroom swallowing her sounds and offering nothing else back where she’s hiked up her skirt and shucked every ounce of shame she’s ever possessed.

It takes her a little while, hands fumbling a bit (deft they might well be, but they’re small, slender fingers and knuckles without scars, her callouses rubbed soft and gentle, and his would be different, she thinks, and that’s what nudges her the rest of the way, imagining the feel of them within her, along with the rumbling sound of his laugh, and one more, my dear).

She’s so mortified later by her complete and utter lack of restraint she downs three glasses just to drown out the sound of him.

(it doesn’t really work, and in her half-embarrassed, half-sated daze she forgets to mop the floor)

—

The next morning she can barely look him in the eye.

He takes notice, of course, because she’s not exactly subtle about it, and when he tilts his head, bemusement pulling at the corners of his smile, and asks her, the accent just an echo now but his voice as warm and laughing as ever, “Did I come at a bad time?” Makino very nearly drops the glass in her hands at the underlying suggestion, although for once he isn’t even trying to be lewd.

It doesn’t help that there’s something like the beginnings of realisation kindling in his eyes, and for a whole, terrifying second she’s sure he knows exactly what she’s been up to.

But, “Nice day we’re having,” Shanks chirps, taking a seat at the bar, and the blatant redirection doesn’t even try to be anything but painfully obvious.

She feels like screaming again, but all it does is remind her of what she’d been doing the night before, and the memory has her fumbling so much with the glass in her hands she drops it in the sink.

“You okay?” he’s asking her then. “You look a little flushed.”

She curls her fingers together. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You seem tense.”

She feels, a twinge hysterically, like laughing. “Believe me, I’m not.”

“Mm yeah. After last night, I didn’t think you would be.”

She fumbles the glass again, and it clatters back into the sink. When she looks at him, panicked, Shanks only blinks. “You seemed very relaxed, I mean,” he says, brightly. “With us. I’m tempted to say we’ve finally grown on you.”

She doesn’t manage to release her sigh discreetly enough, but it will have to do. She claims a small victory, and makes to pick up the glass again.

Then he smiles, and, “Sated is a good look on you, though,” Shanks says, and there’s nothing ambiguous about the tone of his voice or the look he gives her now, and when she drops the glass this time it shatters.

She scrambles for the shards, and for something to say – anything that will salvage the rest of the morning, and to keep her whole dignity from shattering as well, before she up and announces to his face that she’s been fantasising about him.

As it is, what she settles for isn’t much better.

“I like your accent!” she blurts, with about as much grace as if she’d downed a whole bottle with her breakfast (although at the rate this conversation is going, Makino wonders idly if she wouldn’t have fared better if she’d done just that).

“It’s, ah, nice,” she’s quick to amend, although it doesn’t really feel like she’s mending anything, just digging a deeper hole for herself, as she watches his grin widen with every word that sees fit to leave her mouth. “Is it common for West Blue?” she asks, and considers shoving the dish-rag into her mouth, if only to keep it from running.

Shanks is still grinning. “Variants of it,” he says. “A particular legacy of my mother’s, this one.” He cocks his head, and for a moment his eyes are far away; his smile too soft to be teasing. “I chucked it when I set out to sea. Wanted to sound more worldly.”

“Worldly?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. His grin turns suddenly sheepish. “When you’re trying to convince your captain that you’re not in fact thirteen years old, it helps not sounding like you just stepped off the farm in some remote, godforsaken village.” He slips her a wink. “Not that I have anything but the deepest fondness for godforsaken villages. Every good pirate knows you’ll find the loveliest treasures in the most remote places.”

She’s gaping now, too surprised for the compliment to even faze her. “You were thirteen?”

Shanks waves her off. “By the time they found out, Captain liked me so much he let me stay.” He shrugs, smile crooking a bit. “The accent didn’t. Guess it became part of the person I left behind when I decided to become a pirate.”

Makino just looks at him, seated on the other side of her bar – thinks about the whole life he’d lived before the moment he first stepped through the doors; the little tidbits offered like the occasional slip of his tongue, his thicker inflections and harder consonants (his mother, his village, his old captain).

She tries to imagine him at thirteen, a show of skilful misdirection put on to convince a ship’s captain to bring him aboard, and then all the cheek and innocence he must have offered when he was ultimately discovered.

“You’re making me reconsider the wisdom of that decision now,” Shanks tells her then, and her eyes leap up to meet his. And she’s sure her blush is as brilliant as she’s ever managed, by the open delight on his face now.

“I’ve heard that accents are usually a big hit with the girls,” Makino says before she can think it through, the attempt at a smooth redirection failing at redirecting anything. “I’m surprised you haven’t considered it before.”

His delight deepens, warming his expression with something that leaves her suddenly short of breath. “I guess it took the right girl liking it,” he tells her simply, the accent not an accidental slip of the tongue now, and she hears how he cradles the sounds on it, as though rediscovering the feel of them.

There’s a moment where all she does is look at him. And they’ve toed this line for weeks, stolen looks and touches and breaths, but she’s tempted to erase the whole thing completely now and drag more of the sound from his throat, with whatever means would do the trick.

By the way he’s looking at her, Makino doesn’t think he’d be hard to ask.

The doors to her bar swinging open shatters the moment like the glass in her sink, the arrival of the rest of his crew filling the cracks, and he’s quick to regain his composure – quicker than she is, heart still racing at a breakneck pace and her hands shaking, from his eyes holding hers and the lingering echo of his voice in her ears, imagined and real, the two overlapping until she can’t tell them apart.

A glance stolen over her shoulder tells her that her distraction hasn’t escaped him, and she doesn’t think he has talking in mind when he looks at her now. And if she’d been bolder she might have suggested he keep her company in the storeroom next time.

She doesn’t, because she isn’t – bold, that is.

Of course, going by the dry, enduring look Ben slides between them, Makino doubts she needs to say it aloud for either of them to hear it.

“Oh just eat your eggs,” she huffs at Ben, dropping the plate on the counter before him before striding off, steps short and want fisting her fingers in her skirt as she seeks an escape, preferably somewhere safe, except nowhere really feels like that, with Shanks’ laughter still in her ears, and his voice, that languid caress of his accent along the words, and I guess it took the right girl.

—

They eventually reach the point where flirting over the counter of her bar eases into something more physical, although she’s not surprised to discover that talking still features into it quite a bit.

She learns that in between everything else (he’s enthusiastic, he’s loud, he likes her on top, likes her back turned, he’ll steal her kerchief before any other piece of clothing; will tie her wrists and kiss her fingers with no less care than the rest of her), but it’s not a nervous habit, it’s as deliberate as everything else he does, and he knows what he’s doing, like he knows it doesn’t take more than his voice to unravel every single inhibition she’s ever cradled so safely, and every ounce of shame to go with them.

The low-spoken invocation of her name against her is what does it, the first time; the sound of it on his tongue and his tongue on her, the slightest flick of it against her entrance discarding the last syllable, before his mouth shapes the sound in a firm kiss. It doesn’t ease her into a climax, it shoves her clean off the edge, and his laughter is both delighted and amazed when it carries her down.

(his fingers are rough, just like she’d imagined, but there’s nothing rough about his handling, only that same, deliberate care shown, ever-mindful of her reactions, and the feel of them inside her is so good it’s almost too much to bear, they’re too large, too warm–)

The sound that leaves her takes Makino a second to recognise as her own, such a loud, unashamed declaration of pleasure that for a moment it’s all she hears, the echo ringing in her ears, between the walls of her bedroom, and punctuated by the almost startled grip of his hand on her thigh. Like he hadn’t expected it, either.

And she might have felt a twinge of vulnerability at having offered up herself in such a way, and so much of herself at that, but even if she does there are few regrets to be found in the eager and reverent kisses cushioning her descent, seeking the soft mound of her stomach, the insides of her thighs.

“Should have known,” Shanks tells her after, sunlight on the sheets of her bed and his hair a tangled mess from where she’d gripped a fistful of it. His laughter sounds sated, his accent thick and dripping rounder vowels from his tongue, savouring them, as though they taste of her now.

He’s draped himself across her bedding without reservations, stark naked and making no excuse about the fact, one large hand with a firm grip on her rear, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her hip.

She allows her eyes to rest on his chest, the hard, toned muscles that make up the shape of him the long-earned legacy of years of training; a swordsman’s life found in the pale scars on his skin, darkened from years on the sea under the sun.

Gaze sweeping lower, it’s to find him hard, the almost cheerful press of his length against her making new heat rise in her cheeks, but when she flicks her eyes up there’s no shame on his face, only a slowly widening smile that looks curiously adoring.

“A girl of words, you are,” he says then, the smile softening. “I should read you one of your books next time, see how that goes.”

She slaps his chest, grinning into his skin, smelling of him, and of her. It’s warm to the touch, the soft hairs on his chest pearled with sweat. Her bedroom smells like sunlight and sex, and she’s never been more ready to just curl up in his arms and sleep.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?” she asks, the words murmured into the skin at his collar. Her eyes have slipped shut, the sunlight burning red through her lids, heavy like the rest of her body, half-wrapped around his.

The hand curved around the back of her neck trails down her shoulder, to cup one small breast. It fits into his palm, a delicate contrast of size and shape; like the rest of her fits against him, smaller limbs and gentler curves finding harder edges to soften, and to lay her claim.

The flick of his thumb across her nipple precedes his mouth, the warmth of his grin around it leaving her lightheaded and the scrape of his beard against her skin prompting a small, mewling sound from her parted lips, and there’s still laughter in his voice when it rumbles out of him, “Let me stay the night, and you’ll find that no, I really don’t. I talk in my sleep, but I’ve been told it’s delightful.”

Her own laugh sounds breathless and spent, and when he tightens his grip on her Makino moves closer, slipping her arms under his to rest her cheek against his chest.

He kisses the top of her head. Her responding hum trickles out, a small sound of contentment.

“People are always telling me I’ll talk myself into an early grave,” Shanks muses then. She feels the rich tremor of his voice beneath her ear, the slight vibrations, deep and lovely; hears the slight curl to his rs, and the twang of his consonants.

She starts when he gives her ass a cheerful squeeze, before he quips with an audible grin, accent as thick as she’s ever heard it, “But if death is what my talking will give me, I’d rather it be a little one. And I’d rather it be yours.”

She snorts so hard she chokes on it, and then she’s laughing herself out of breath, all thoughts of sleep forgotten, feeling him returning her laughter, his naked body curved around hers, large frame protective and claiming and just a little bit insufferable, with the way he tries to trap her arms and her laughter both.

A kiss has him yielding, before a full surrender is offered to the careful brush of her fingers along his length, tempting a shuddering groan into her mouth. He’s large in her hand, all of him large compared to her, but when she nudges him onto his back he goes, strong limbs slack under her touches and the whole of him sprawled across her bed without pretence.

And he’s still talking, filthy promises and lewd jokes offered up to her kisses and no pause for breath between them, before it hitches with his words at the deliberate grip of her fingers, curled around him without embarrassment where he’s hard in her hand.

It shuts him up, she discovers, even before the first stroke turns a wordless groan of her name. He doesn’t even have the voice to make a quip about her respectable bottle-handling skills.

(understandably, Makino takes the opportunity to demonstrate them)

—

It starts to feel a little bit like hers, that part of him – the one that remembers who he was before he became a pirate, West Blue waters in his voice, and a heart that didn’t always belong to the sea.

He doesn’t let it slip often, the accent. It comes out when he drinks, and when he’s trying to make her laugh. When he sings he’ll hold her gaze and make a point of exaggerating it, but it’s a conscious effort, made for her, and it’s such an odd little thing to do just to make her happy, but she’s not the least bit surprised that he would.

And it’s a distraction, Makino knows, whenever the subject of their approaching departure for the Grand Line comes up. And maybe that’s for her sake, too, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s a little bit for his own sake, remembering the young man who’d had a home on land, once, before he found it on the sea.

It doesn’t make things better, not really, but – ten years, she thinks, and kisses his knuckles, and takes the promise like she takes his laughter, and everything else he can give her.

(it’s more than she thinks, she’ll realise one day, but wisdom in hindsight is an easier burden to bear than hope in the present)

—

It comes out when he drinks, when he sings and when he comes, but there’s a final thing that tempts his tongue to stumble over old, forgotten habits and vowels, although it brings her no joy to know it, and sitting at his bedside, eyes fixed on the bandaged stump of his left arm, Makino wishes she didn’t have to discover it this way.

“Hey,” Shanks says, voice a tired croak, the word seeming to pull loose of him before he’s even dragged himself fully into consciousness. And there’s a smile in the speaking, even as he seems too exhausted to manage one, and he slurs and stumbles over the words when he tells her, roughly, “You should get some sleep.”

It’s said with kindness, although the dip of his brow holds a quiet reproach. She hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and Makino knows she looks the part.

She also knows she can’t lie, but that’s never stopped her from trying. “I’m not tired.”

The corner of his mouth juts upwards, and the word curls off his tongue like a caress, an endearment rather than a reprimand, the two syllables bleeding together, into each other, every part of them touching and the last sound lingering a little longer before he lets it go. “Liar.”

She tries a different approach. “I don’t care that I’m tired,” she says. Pushing her hair behind her ears reveals it coarse and brittle to the touch, and she tries not to grimace at the feel of it. “Or that I look it.”

“You look beautiful,” he says, not a beat missed, despite the fact that everything else seems to take effort, his breaths heavy and laboured. “I’m the one with a three day beard and the violent fever sweat.” He spares a glance at his shoulder, and for a moment she can’t read the expression on his face. “Oh, and then there’s this. God, that thing really took a bite out of me.” He looks at her, his eyes bloodshot but his smile still quirks, tired and cheeky. “This is what I get for claiming I could get you off with one hand tied behind my back. I’m actually more surprised the irony didn’t kill me than I am that the amputation didn’t.”

Despite herself, Makino laughs. She can’t help it.

She can’t help the sob either, clinging to the back of it.

She doesn’t bother reaching up to wipe at her eyes, settling for wrapping her fingers around his instead, tucking them into his palm.

His expression softens – eases from lightly teasing into something a little more earnest. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from saying, “That look either means ‘Shanks, you’re being unfairly irresistible on your sickbed’ or ‘if you crack one more insensitive joke I will make sure it becomes your deathbed’.” He flashes her a half-delirious grin. “Of course, by deathbed you know I mean something else entirely. I’m ready to go when you are. Well, I’m not really fit to go anywhere, so you’ll have to come here.” His smile slants a bit, into a suddenly goofy thing, “And yes, I do mean that as a promise. You know I always deliver.”

Makino snorts into her sleeve. It does little to stem the tears, or her laughter. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry with you.”

“Are those the only alternatives?” he asks, and she tries not to be distracted by the way his tongue wraps around the last word. “I can think of a few more that are much better. Like that delightful little noise you make when–”

One of the discarded pillows finds his face, before she realises what she’s done, and then it’s a scramble to make sure he’s alright, although his startled laughter chases her touches away even before his fingers wrap around hers to keep them still.

“I was wondering what it would take,” he says, and holds her fingers captive when she tries to tug them loose. “You don’t have to treat me like I’ll fall to pieces,” he tells her, but not unkindly. “I’m not dead yet, although I know I probably look like I have one foot in the grave. I really hope I get it back, though, seeing as I’m a little short on limbs at the moment.”

At her unamused look, his grin only brightens. “I know, I’m terrible. Want to whack me in the face with the pillow again? I promise you that you’ll feel better. If you need other incentive, I have a few more comments in store, although I’m warning you, some of them are spectacularly filthy.” He seems to ponder the words a bit, and then, “You know what, some of them are actually my best work, so I think I’ll tell you either wa–”

She cuts the rest of the words off before he can finish, fingers slipped from his to cradle his face, and she feels their speaking, the shape of them on his mouth and the honeyed drip of the vowels on his tongue, pushing back against hers in a fierce kiss. The hand that had been gripping her fingers fists in her hair, and there’s no laughter in this kiss when she sinks her whole body into it, and into his.

Drawing back finds him slightly dazed, fever in his eyes and in the sweat coating his brow, but he doesn’t let go of her hair completely, the unrelenting grip loosening only slightly, before the weight of his palm settles over her neck.

“Don’t you ever stop talking,” Makino says, the words thick with a sob she hasn’t let go yet, and she can’t tell if she means it as a question or an order, the first a familiar, teasing quip, the second holding the desperation that had been left to fester while she’d sat at his bedside after the surgery and he’d been silent so long she’d started to imagine what it would be like if he never woke up again.

(she can’t remember the last thing he’d said to her before he lost consciousness; knows it must have been an assurance of some sort, but she doesn’t want it to be – doesn’t want anything he tells her to be the last)

Shanks looks at her, smile lifting slightly, and he probably has more to say to that, Makino knows (he always has something more to say; he’d chatter all the way across the river into the afterlife until the ferryman tips the boat and tosses them both in just to escape, but she’s not ready to let him go there yet, not into the river or beyond it), but all he says is, “You’ll live to regret those words one day.”

One day, he says, and this time she lets the sob go, along with a laugh that shakes something loose within her, but she doesn’t come apart, only sinks against his chest when he wraps his remaining arm around her back. And she doesn’t doubt what she means to say now when she speaks the words against the living throb of his pulse –

“You better make sure of it.”

—

He lives, and he leaves. Ten years pass. Things change – the world and the sea and the people on it, eddies of a new era stirring in once-familiar waters, reaching even as far as the quiet surf of her home.

She changes – grows a little more wary, and world-weary. She misses noise in her life, the one he’d brought once and left as an old echo, in her bar and her heart. She misses the loud boys who’d filled it after, gone now, too.

She watches the broadcast of the war, like the rest of the world. It’s the first time she sees him in ten years, the first time she hears his voice (her memories haven’t managed to hold onto it; not the laughing cadence, or the accent, or the way he’d say her name, and my girl, and heart), and she’s never felt so starved for it, but there’s little that’s familiar about the hard, clipped tones that greet her now. There’s no undercurrent of laughter and none of that smiling, teasing lilt to his words, just a sparse practicality of speech that sounds wrong, wrong on his tongue and wrong in her ears, and when the broadcast cuts off it severs something within her, too.

But the very worst thing is that it sticks, the memory of how he’d spoken on that battlefield. It sits in her mind, until it’s driven out everything else, those last few bits of him that she’d been keeping; the cheeky young man who’d set out to sea at thirteen, and the captain who’d barged into her life with all the intention of staying.

He didn’t stay, of course. She doesn’t know why she thought holding on to those parts of him would change that.

And he’s not coming back, she thinks, with a detached sort of acceptance. Or if he does, it’ll be a different man than the one who left her.

She doesn’t know which alternative is kinder, or even which one she’d rather have, if kindness isn’t what’s meant for her.

But then – are those the only alternatives?

The memory finds her, a small, long-forgotten thing, like a shard of glass having slipped between a crack in the floorboards, escaping the sweep of the years across her memory, tucked away and safely out of reach. And she finds his laughter in it now, finds his voice; the elusive sound that had been slipping through her fingers, long before the broadcast.

She doesn’t know whether or not to hold on to it now, or if it’s just disappointment it will bring her, trying.

(of course, the futility of trying with the expectation of failure has never once stopped her from doing just that)

—

She’s on the docks when steps off the gangway, months after the war. She’s been waiting since they spotted his ship, anticipation and hope and longing leaving a twisting knot of her insides, and she doesn’t know what to expect, or what she wants to expect (she’s afraid she expects too much, and that’s the worst thing, really; worse, even, than not remembering the sound of her name on his tongue).

She notes the differences that she knew would be there already – the harder edge to his movements, and the sharper lines of his face. The years have leeched away the last of his boyishness, the cut of his jaw a blade’s edge sharpened long past gentleness, and his features made severe by a thicker beard, a dark shadow on his sun-warmed skin. His eyes sit deeper in his face, more lines at their corners and between them. She finds the weight of the last ten years carried on his brow, in his eyes, on his broad shoulders.

His mouth is a hard, pensive line, the once-sensual curve of it yielding little of the smile she remembers, and the ache in her heart bleeds bruises under her skin, leaving her feeling raw and hurting, but then he lifts his eyes to find her –

The grin cleaves through the differences, but not to cut them away. Instead it settles, makes room for itself on his face like it had never been missing, all teeth and a bright, boyish delight that lights up his whole countenance, and so much she almost takes a step back in surprise. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepen, and she knows then that he’s spent the years laughing, and often, even before he does so now, a near-breathless chuckle that doesn’t even come close to the volume she knows he’s capable of, and all she can do is stand there with her heart cut open, bared to the air and the sting of salt from the sea.

Then he’s talking – an apology first, for keeping her waiting, followed by another for not having shaved first (“although I think it’s a good look on me. I don’t care what the guys say, I’m the prettiest vagrant this side of the Red Line”), and another for not calling in advance (“would you believe me if i said our Den Den Mushi escaped? Yeah, I figured that was a stretch. Truth is I wanted to surprise you, which by the looks of things I’ve managed pretty well, although I realise now that mortified look might also be because of the beard…”)

He doesn’t stop for breath, and Ben looks one second away from pushing him off the docks into the water, and still all Makino has managed is to stare.

His smile softens then, draws his altered features into something she knows, the harder lines making little difference to the warmth that settles across his expression, along his mouth, and deep in his eyes.

“Regretting your words yet?” Shanks asks, and that hasn’t changed, not the inflection or the desperate fondness behind it, his accent bleeding through, and with more ease than it used to. As though it doesn’t take him long to unearth it now; as though he’s reclaimed that small part of himself, one tether among many, to a life that doesn’t shift with the tides.

And he has more things to say, she knows, but she doesn’t give him the chance to open his mouth again before she’s covered the distance between them, hands gripping his cloak and her mouth pressed to his in a kiss that nearly knocks them both off the pier.

And that hasn’t changed, either, she thinks, his laughter swallowed by a kiss that has so much tongue the feigned mortification from the crew at his back chokes on their own mirth.

She’s always had a knack for shutting him up.

[bondedbrotherhood-blog]

Angel style recruiting - by Lassiter and Rhoar.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcsr

#SL #AngelStyleRecruiting

Co-written by @HeedMyRhoar and @LordshipHalogen

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcfe

Lassiter: Humming lines of ‘the party don’t start till I walk in’, I sashayed towards the entrance of the Iron Mask, not at all surprised when the bouncers merely stepped aside for me. My presence was becoming increasingly frequent at the bar, enough that the staff knew me by name, my preferred drinks, my eccentricities, and not to blink too closely at my eyes. That last one I really fucking appreciated.

Giving Silent Tom a broad grin and a wink, the kind that made the man shuffle awkwardly on the spot, I breezed by and made a beeline for the private booths toward the back. Without thinking I threw a mental ‘HAI, HOW ARE YA?’ to Trez in the back, wanting the vampire’s attention.

Trez was one of the few that didn’t flinch, groan, bitch, curse or grumble whenever I came near him, something that made the Shadow all the more endearing to me. Then there was the whole, ‘helping keep him and his brother alive during that nasty thing with the other Shadows’ business that occurred a while back. Yeah, totally have a man crush for Trez. No BFD. Whatevs.

Picking my favorite booth I flop into it and give a charming smile to the bar staff, who immediately brought over a shot and a drink.

“Thanks babe. Trez busy out back?”

“I think he’s interviewing for a new spot on the floor with the girls,” she murmured, glancing around. “But he probably knows you’re here. He’ll be out soon.”

“Thanks dollface!” I reply with a wink, taking the shot and downing it in one, placing the empty glass back on her tray then reaching for the beer. “I’ll wait right here then. I’d hate for him to miss me.”

“As if anyone could miss you,” she replied with a wry grin and a wink of her own, purple lipstick gleaming as she turned to head back to the bar and a collection of barely legal pussy waiting to get sloshed.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcg8

Rhoar: I’d been in my little section of ‘paradise’ for what felt like hours, but I knew it wasn’t nearly so long. I was becoming bored. Again. And it was driving me fucking nuts. I used to come to the Iron Mask and feel enthralled, but much like when you see a hooker the morning after a night of work, the allure was fast losing it’s appeal. The booze didn’t whittle away my time the way it used to, the civilians and humans didn’t entertain me like they once did.

Hell, I’d even considered picking fights with some of the larger males that inhabited the joint, just to fucking feel something, but I wouldn’t do something as stupid as that. Reputation was everything in the vampire world, and mine was already shot to shit because of an asshole of an ancestor. When you desert your Brothers, and therefore the Brotherhood? You put a black spot against your name, and the name of every child born into your line. Trauhma is the source of my family’s shame, and the three generations before mine have paid the price for his actions.

Fucking hell, I was being morose tonight, and I needed something to pull me out of the tailspin. I considered briefly the idea of inviting a couple of the civilians or humans to join me, but then I remembered how much effort it took to play the jovial prince, and I wasn’t in the mood to pretend tonight. Instead, I raised my empty glass so one of the waitresses could see; it had been dry for some time now, come to think of it, the realisation causing a muscle in my jaw to twitch. That said, the waitress was hotfooting it to me with two fingers of Lagavulin and two rock cubes quicker than you could say ‘scotch’ once she realised, a smirk tugging the corner of my lips as she neared. “Sorry Rhoar,” her voice holding a sunny warmth along with the apology. “I would’ve brought you something sooner, but the bar-”

“It’s fine, Shelly. Gotta keep the masses wet and coming back for more, after all,” my previous impatience replaced by a dark humour as she set down the drink, her blue eyes casting up through her lashes to catch my gaze. Though my smirk stayed in place, hinting at mischief and amusement, it didn’t quite meet my eyes. Not that she realised, taking my expression as encouragement.

“Speaking of wet-”

“Shelly!” the barman yelling out to the bottle-black waitress, causing her to pout as she straightened her posture and stood.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out to see if you need a top up,” the woman throwing an extra sashay into her walk as she made her way back to the bar.

Great, just what I needed. The working girls didn’t even bother coming to my booth anymore, I’d turned them all down so many times. They’d realised I wasn’t even remotely interested in their company; the bar staff had yet to catch on, apparently.

Letting out a slow breath, I leaned back and let my legs sprawl, getting my ass comfortable as I raised the glass to my lips to take a languished sip.

“I’ll wait right here then. I’d hate for him to miss me,” a male’s voice breaking through and causing a wicked smirk to curve my lips once again. I’d seen him here from time to time, and the waitress was right: he was hard to miss. Somehow, I managed to withhold a snort of laughter, my defences finally relaxing as I allowed myself to enjoy my scotch.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobch9

Lassiter: My acute hearing caught the snort behind me, and without being too obvious, like turning on my personal inner light switch or jumping the fuck up to look over, I let my seemingly sightless gaze drift across the crowd until it came to rest on the stranger. Let’s give a round of applause for all white eyes; without a pupil most were oblivious to my stare.

“You make nights more interesting you know.”

Looking back to Trez as the Shadow strode over to his booth, I offered a beaming smile, just shy of a glow.

“Yo Trez! What’s up? I was bored at the mansion. Everyone’s being a fucking spoil sport of late and not letting me go out for a fight. Even Tohr is cock blocking me for some action.”

I paused, making a face and taking another swig from my beer.

“That sounded really fuckin’ wrong. Okay, new plan, what should I be doing to entertain myself, other than causing havoc here?”

Shaking his head in a way that was all too familiar, the Shadow moved into the booth and sat beside me. The smile was refreshing though; none of the Brothers at the house ever looked this happy to see me unless it was the back of me as I was leaving. Glancing toward the civilian one more time, I leant closer and dropped my voice to be between the pair of us.

“That one over there. Who’s he? What’s his deal?”

Trez shrugged and glanced toward the patron, then away, eyes fixing on his bar and taking in the staff, the humans drowning themselves in liquor and the other civilians assessing potential.

“He comes for a drink on occasion. Keeps to himself.”

Dark eyes looked to white for a second, a small smirk curving his lips.

“Male of worth though.”

I perked.

“Really?”

Trez gave another nod, a serene, almost knowing expression on his face. It was one of the things I liked about the Shadow, a trait we shared, the ability to look into people at times, see them, know them, and take them on that merit rather than any façade presented to the world.

“Well then… the night is lookin’ up.”

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobchu

Rhoar: As I saw the owner emerge, I gave a respectful dip of my head; while in the eyes of the glymeria and the Brotherhood I may be without value, that didn’t mean my manners would suffer. The male had been nothing but professional, ignoring the usual social protocols of vampire society to acknowledge that my wealth, despite my ruined lineage, placed me in a position of influence.

Male of worth, through and through, that one.

Other than that, I paid little attention to the meeting, or whatever it was, the male was having with the damn near iridescent character he shared the booth with. Instead, I let the music wash over me as I lay the arm not supporting my drink along the back of the plush seating, the scotch raised methodically to my lips as I savoured the subtle burn of the liquor down my throat.

At least Shelly was good to her word, bringing me another two fingers of Lagavulin before I’d set down my empty glass. “Thanks, sugar,” the girl practically preening before she made her way back to the bar. As much as I wanted to discourage her from thinking she’d be able to find a way to get me interested in her ‘graces’, it wasn’t in me to be rude to her for the sake of it. She was a good barmaid, and an attentive VIP attendant; the last thing I’d want is to ruin her night.

I’d just have to find a way to let her down gently; the same way, but different, to how I had the working girls. They’d been simple; you just made it clear that despite their ample charms, you weren’t interested in paying for it.

It was always the girls with the less obvious price tags that were harder to dissuade.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcia

Lassiter: Downing my beer in several large gulps, I set the bottle down with a dull thunk and smacked my lips.

“Hits the spot. Alright, well, since you’re a busy little bee n’ I’m bored as hell I’m going to go bug your local male of worth and find out his deal. I mean, what’s the worst he could do when I already live with a bunch of assholes that talk about setting explosives in my bed?” I mused dryly, only half kidding. Hell, hardly kidding at all.

Trez grinned and nodded, getting back to his feet and stepping out of the booth.

“Don’t drive him off completely, Angel. He’s a good customer.”

“You wound me with the assumption I could drive ‘anyone’ off,” I declared boldly, getting to my feet and exiting the booth as well.

Offering my hand, I was pleased and warmed when the Shadow took it and shook it firmly.

“Lemme know if you need anything, Glowstick.”

“Cute. Also, go fuck yourself,” I replied airily, grinning as I turned and sauntered over to the male’s private booth and dropped my ass right on down opposite him.

“Hi there!” I exclaimed with wry cheer and a grin. “How you doin tonight?”

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcie

Rhoar: Apparently, my night was going to go from blasé to booth-crashed, the damn-near glowing figure deciding to join me. At first I simply arched a brow, taking another swallow from my drink before I set down the glass.

“Well enough,” the answer offered with the slightest curve to the corner of my lips while I mulled over what his agenda might be. After all, you didn’t just make yourself at home in one of these expensive slices of heaven without an invitation, and you didn’t crash in on someone else’s without a reason. So of course, I was curious.

Raising the glass once more, I spoke before I took another measured mouthful. “And yours, friend?” swirling the remaining scotch and generally ignoring the clink of the rock cubes against the glass. A pretty easy feat, given the throbbing music and pulsating energy at work in the club.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcjv

Lassiter: “S’lookin up,” I replied honestly, openly staring at the other male and sweeping him from head to toe. While a lack of iris probably hid some of that appraisal, there was no hiding the fact I was checking him out. Well… not like ‘that’. Though there was an appeal…

“So, my main man Trez tells me you’re in here often enough. You ever lookin for company or doin anything special?”

I paused. Well fuck. Didn’t /that/ sound all kinds of wrong.

“For the record,” I added quickly, “I am not looking to suck you, fuck you, or do anything else that requires parts south of the border. You’re nice to look at n’ all, but I don’t swing my piece in all directions unless there’s a good fuckin’ reason.”

Now that I’d cleared /that/ up…

“I was just curious as to the reason you frequent this space, other than the fact it’s the best damn club for males n’ females that wanna relax in the city.”

I’d move onto his profession and what not next, assuming the male didn’t smash that glass over my head and walk out. Considering this introduction, I wasn’t sure I could blame him. Tonight really was an off fucking night. I was about to cock block myself for entertainment, for fuck sake.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobckr

Rhoar: While the lack of pupil allowed a modicum of discretion there was no disguising as the other male raked those white eyes of his over me, a smirk tugging only gently at the corner of my lips as my head shifted slightly to the side and my left brow ticked. But that along with the rest of his statement? Well, didn’t that just have me wanting to snort all over again.

But, in the interests of not being an asshole, I let the male finish. Nothing like interrupting someone in the middle of a tirade to get things all kinds of fucked up, and not in a good way. I was marginally mollified to find out the guy wasn’t after the package between my legs, though I wouldn’t lie and say he was all that unappealing. I was just starting to doubt whether you could even shut him up if he had a cock in his mouth.

“I’m trying to decide if I should be thankful or offended, for the moment,” raising my glass and swallowing the remainder of its contents. Hopefully Shelly would be smart enough to bring a top up for my new companion when she traipsed over here with her desperate hopes and a new glass.

“But if you’re asking whether I come here to fuck and be fucked? Then the answer is no,” turning the glass in my hand rather absently as I shifted and made myself more comfortable. I had no qualms about the male’s scrutiny, though I was intrigued to know why he gave a fuck.

“What I come here for,” and I couldn’t believe that I was actually considering answering that, “is the same as everyone else. An escape from reality,” lilac eyes unwavering, daring him to question it as I let the moment hang suspended. “Why do you?” giving an absent nod to Shelly as she set down my drink, along with a shot and bottle of beer for my companion. She looked like she was waiting for something, pausing by the booth with a smile that wavered the longer she stood there.

All I did was keep my attention on the gently glowing figure, and push my empty to the side. She’d probably take the exchange as my preferring the attention of males; her ego would demand it. With a slight huff, she picked up the glass and flounced off, my poker face cracking enough for my lips to twitch as I heard her bitching to the other staff.

So typical.

http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1sobcme

Lassiter: “Most people are offended by me whether m’ tryin to be nice or not, so it’s not like you’d be outside the norm,” I replied dryly, stopping shy of rolling my eyes, though it’d be a wasted gesture. “Feel free to be offended. I have that effect on people. My presence seems to offend most males.”

Stopping shy of mentioning the brothers outright, I cocked my head at the male as he finished his drink. Copying him, I set down the empty in the hopes of getting a fresh one too. The staff here were decent at keeping me liquored up. Some argued it was one of the few times I was tolerable.

The answer made me wonder what it was the male needed to escape. It was a question I could ask outright, sure, but if I was hoping to take this conversation further than the male flipping me off and leaving, I might need a fuckin’ modicum of tact here. Nodding to the waitress at the fresh beverages, it took great restraint for me not to comment on the woman’s desperate need for attention from the other male. Brownie points to me.

When she was finally gone, and complaining at that, I snorted.

“Ya know, I can lay one on ya if it helps keep her from trying to climb ya like a light post,” I offered easily, perfectly comfortable with macking on with a perfect stranger. “M’ Lassiter, by the way. Figure I should share a name before I start offering make out moments for free. And as for your question… well, I come here out of sheer fucking boredom. Nights like these I have nothing else to do. And the owner’s a real good friend of mine.”

Though there was the possibility Trez wouldn’t sponsor the ‘real good’ part. Oh well.

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Rhoar: I mulled that tidbit over in my mind, lilac eyes unwavering as I considered the other male and his temperament. He certainly wasn’t a vampire, but he was definitely ‘other’, and considering the dull glow about him, it was probably a bad idea for me to start guessing. Of course, I’d heard rumours about the pupil-less inhabitant of the club, but I didn’t put stock in gossip. I wasn’t a snitch, and I wasn’t a bitch, so I didn’t see the point in it.

Rumours and gossip were what had kept my family a slave to our reputation, so I flipped it the bird as often as I could.

“And why’re they so offended by your presence? Is it because they’re intimidated by you? Or is it because you threaten their masculinity?” another slight twitch to my lips as Shelly’s bitching continued on in the background.

The offer for a makeout session though had me arching a brow and cocking my head, straightening it as introductions were finally made between us. “Rhoar,” I offered, and I felt the niggling of some random fact in the back of my mind as I considered the other’s name. “And though I appreciate the offer, if she doesn’t take heed to the most simple expressions of my disinterest? Then feeding her fuel about me being interested in males will only exacerbate the smarting ego she’s sporting,” though I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of bringing two or more human females into my booth to make things clear.

It was his admission of boredom though that got me. “I can understand that. You support a friend’s business, while keeping yourself entertained,” something still nagging at me about his name. “But forgive me for being blunt. While I have manners, they aren’t as cultivated as they once could have been,” raising my drink to take a languished sip before setting it back down. “Why is it that I have the…” trying to find a word other than ‘pleasure’, “honour of your company? Because we both know that your boredom isn’t it.”

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Lassiter: Well hot damn, I was really starting to like this male. Saving that happy phrase of ‘intimidated by you’ in the back of my mind to enjoy later, I grinned and shrugged my shoulders, reaching for my shot. Dipping my head toward the other male, I then threw it back and set down the empty glass.

“I could ask them that,” I mused, “but I’m pretty sure every single one of them would take it as an opportunity to ‘prove’ they’re not, and shank me with their shiny black blades.”

That small, purposeful implication was left in the air for a second, so that the male, Rhoar, could make of it what he would. Most of the civilians knew enough about the Black Dagger Brotherhood, and why they were named that way. As for the rejection of a make out session…

“Naw, shame for me,” I replied, bemused and giving a wink to show I was teasing. “N’ your manners are damn fine really, specially compared to the rough bastards I’m used to. Well, apart from Trez. Got mad love for that male back there, I tell you,” I admitted carelessly, taking a sip from my beer. “As for the reason why… Well, let’s just say I’m interested in males of worth, and I hear you ring all the right bells for what I’m after, Rhoar.”

Now wouldn’t /that/ no doubt catch the male’s interest, and probably connect a few dots after his little black blades comment. Frankly, if I could get this male into the program, I’d be feeling a lot more inclined to help out with the training they kept bitching about.

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Rhoar: At the mention of the shiny black blades I felt my muscles tense, though I didn’t let my body freeze. Instead, I relaxed back into my seat and drew my drink back towards me, a quiet hum lodged in the back of my throat. So, the male was a consultant, of sorts, for the Brotherhood. And suddenly, the name clicked. There’d been rumours of a Fallen Angel running around with the Brothers, and as I said before, I didn’t usually put stock in such things… until they were proven to be true.

What the hell he was doing with me, then, was a complete mystery. If the Brothers knew who he was talking to? They’d be fucking pissed.

After all, they didn’t take too kindly to traitors, or the families of them.

I listened though to the Angel’s tirade, the occasional twitch to my lips to show I was, indeed, taking in what he was saying. It was at his mention of ‘male of worth’, however, that finally drew a snort of laughter from me. “My man, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here,” taking a sip from my drink and savouring the slow burn, “but you’re wasting your time.” Many of the upper echelon families had heard of the training program the Brotherhood had renewed interest in, feeling that a significant enough time had passed since the raids so that they might start to once again train soldiers, if not Brothers, to protect the race.

“If those boys of yours knew you were talking to me about this? They’d take your left nut, sauté it, and make you eat it with a side of ‘slaw,” my gaze unwavering as I downed the last of my drink.

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Lassiter: I gave a snort of equal measure, rolling my white eyes even if the effect was lost on my companion. The notion that the Brother’s might want to hurt me for ‘actually’ doing something was laughable, considering they wanted to hurt me even when I was doing nothing at all.

“Look man, here’s the sitch, the training program needs bodies n’ yours seems damn fine for the job. The Brother’s ain’t picky. Or at least, they aren’t no more. They’re letting anyone in. They’re letting anyone join. Just recently, they accepted a male of no blood line into the fold of the ‘actual’ Brotherhood,” I pointed out, thinking of Qhuinn with a bemused grin.

That male was all kinds of entertainment.

“So I dunno what your deal is, or why you think you wouldn’t be making the cut, but with my endorsement there ain’t no reason you can’t train and fight. Unless you don’t ‘want’ to fight, n’ I’m wasting my time with this rather awesome pitch.”

Tilting my head back, I swallowed the last few mouthfuls of my second beer, setting the bottle down and lightly pushing it away from us both. My seemingly blank gaze fixed on the vampire and I gave him my approximation of a hard look. Sure, I dicked around with the Brother’s, but at least they all knew if push came to shove, I was there. I could fight. I had their backs, however much they wanted to gripe about it. Ungrateful ticks.

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Rhoar: The insinuation that I was, essentially, a pussy that didn’t want to fight for my race had a snarl dragging across my lips, and had I been facing the bar at that particular moment, I’m fairly certain I would’ve scared the pants off a number of the staff. “Fighting, and dying, for my race is the greatest honour that could’ve ever been bestowed on me,” having leant forward as I spoke.

They’d let a male of no blooded consequence into the fold, and yet me, a legacy, and a direct descendant of a Brother, would in all likelihood still be sneered at. The only reason I didn’t fight alone was because I knew it would kill my mahmen to lose the one chance of restoration our family had known in generations. The Fallen Chosen had gone through enough; seeing the way I’d turned out post my transition had left a fine tremble in her body for weeks, because she knew, just by looking at the size of me, that I’d want to fight.

I’d taken up a personal trainer early, worked my musculature into a formidable presence. I found others who trained in guns and other weaponry, trying to find some constructive way to manage the energy I had amassed, the drive. She could have lived with that, I think, but what scared her cold enough to glimpse the Fade was the fact I wanted to fight… alone. It wasn’t like civilians wanted to band together and perform their own version of justice on the creatures that despised our very existence, and males of the glymeria certainly didn’t. Which left me, on my own, out in the black of night looking for a fight.

And I’d gotten it good, one night, coming home bloodier and in worse shape than when I was birthed, sending mahmen into a spell. She’d made me swear I wouldn’t go out again, not on my own. I was her only son, and too precious to the family line to waste on something like dying young.

Of course, I’d sworn, and from that night on, all I’d been able to do was train. I had no outlet to vent my frustrations, until I decided to stick it to the glymeria, who treated us worse than second class citizens, and built an empire for my family to be sheltered under. If the race couldn’t respect me for my fighting, and my protection of them, then they could at least respect what I’d accomplished for my family.

What I wouldn’t do to be able to go back in time and beat some sense into Trauhma. Make him realise exactly what he was doing to himself, and to the eons of family he was leaving behind to sully.

“So unless they’re taking in the family of Brothers that betrayed them in the past,” fire damn near burning in my eyes as I sat back, “then I don’t see how the Blind King would allow it.”

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Lassiter: ‘There we go,’ I thought, smug and pleased with myself when I finally got a real reaction out of the male. There was a fighter in there, ready to do battle and bleed, to protect the race. He had the bearing of a Brother, the shoulders, the muscle, and the almost manic gleam to the eye when he spoke about fighting for his people. Yep, I had hit the nail on the head with this one. Thank you, Trez, you fuckin’ beautiful Shadow.

“That’s what I want, right there,” I purred, leaning forward just as Rhoar did, bracing myself and meeting that incensed stare with my own determined one. “You’re trainee material. You’re warrior material. Fuck the past. This is the present n’ your species is ‘dying’,” I said forcefully. “No one knows that better than the King, n’ he’s not about to hold a grudge over some shit that happened how long ago?”

Sitting back, I ignored my drink and shook my head. The blonde and black locks whipped around me for a second, some weaving their way around my piercings so that they gleamed in the light.

“The Blind King changed the laws so he could marry his half breed shellan n’ have a babe with her,” I continued, voice low, just for the two of us. “He greets the people. He trains with female fighters, for fuck sake. N’ he’s letting in civilians to train now. Look at ya,” I add faintly, gesturing at the specimen across from me with nothing short of admiration. “You’re ‘perfect’ for it. You got the build, the body, n’ the brain. The King can be an ass but he’s not n’ idiot. He’s not about to throw away a good fighter over a historic feud, man.”

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Rhoar: “You think I don’t know we’re dying?” I snarled, trying to control the anger that flowed through my veins like the very blood that sustained me. “You think I don’t know how much trouble the race is in? I feel the lack of the Scribe Virgin’s touch in our world with every passing day. The light of us is fading, angel, and the people are ignoring it for their own petty pursuits or because they’re too afraid to practice their religion after what happened to Wellisandra. She was a wonderful female, and very kind to my mahmen, despite our social disgrace,” sitting back and waiting to see if I’d get a reaction for calling my ‘companion’ by what I suspected him to be. “Ignorance, for them, is bliss, because they have no goddamn idea how to deal with the big picture.”

Trying to calm my breathing, I focused for a moment on unclenching my jaw, much of my tirade hissed at the other, in case we were overheard. The last thing I needed to deal with was the fallout in case others of the race heard our discussion.

“And if you think who I descend from won’t matter to them, then you don’t know your boys as well as you think. The Brotherhood, training, fighting… it’s all about trust, and you couldn’t pay those males enough money to trust the spawn of someone that literally left his Brothers in the middle of a fight with no regard for whether they would live or die.”

Taking a deep breath, I raised a hand to rub across my eyes, slumping somewhat in my chair as I dropped my hand to regard the blond-and-black haired male. “I’m not saying I won’t train with them if you can convince them to let me in. But I’m sure you can appreciate that I won’t be holding my breath.”

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Lassiter: “Well, glad m’ not the only one that feels the loss of her around these parts. These days I’m the only thing that floats around n’ glows, and I’m nowhere near as pretty. Though don’t tell anyone I /actually/ admitted to that. They all think I’m fabulous,” I added calmly, no hint of a lie in my voice. “But even angels aren’t deity style awesome.”

The mention of Wellsie made me flinch slightly, looking away as I thought of the female, trapped in the In Between. That I’d managed to help Tohr enough to get her out of there, get her to happiness with that babe, was one of my greatest achievements. It was that thought I hung on to as I drew in a deep breath and looked back to the male.

“I know that trust is earned, n’ you haven’t been given the chance to earn it yet. Wrath is all about settin’ new standards n’ judgin’ his people based on /their/ merits, not some stupid shit their dipshit ancestors pulled. I’m vouchin’ for ya, n’ hell, I’d be willin’ to bet Trez would too,” I added firmly, gesturing toward the back or wherever the fuck the Shadow had ghosted his ass off to.

“You let me deal with the grumpy fuck club n’ you just get your ass to training when n’ where I tell ya, okay? Survive it, kill some Lessers, n’ show everyone what I already suspect is there. Time to let go of the past, sunshine, n’ prepare yourself for a new future, cause soon it won’t be the fuckup ancestor that everyone knows ya for. It’ll be your own damn name. Something to be proud of. Feel me?”

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Rhoar: The fact he could talk about the Scribe Virgin, the mother of the race, in such personal terms just about had me slack jawed. Jesus Christ, he’d not just confirmed what I thought he was, he knocked all pretence right out of the park. “I’ll keep it under my hat,” I rasped out, though there was a wry curl to the left corner of my lips. This character was becoming increasingly interesting… and yet, I still had no idea why he would want to take a personal interest in me. I was a big male, sure, but there were plenty of those around. I had the pedigree, which he hadn’t known, or at least was convincing in pretending he didn’t. I had the fire of anger burning in my gut to keep my people safe, and though it seemed he had no idea what I did for a living.

This ‘Lassiter’ could be all kinds of trouble, and yet, the (more than) small part of me that wanted to prove the blood of my ancestor wrong all but roared for me to believe him. Though in business… if something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

“What’s the catch, angel. Gifts of this magnitude are rarely given without a silent price tag attached to them, and you have no real reason to vouch for a male you’ve just met. And neither does the illustrious owner of this fine establishment. Trez is a good male, and I have a lot of respect for him, but what do either of you get out of putting up my candidacy?” a dark smile on my lips as I continued.

“I’ve plenty to be proud of already. Would I love the chance to prove the assholes who’ve persecuted my family for generations wrong? You bet your ass I would. But you don’t get to be where I am right now, in this glittering assortment of the debased and the debaucherous without becoming successful in other ways. Don’t assume I’ve nothing else to restore my family’s name.”

I was a proud male, so sue me.

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Lassiter: “Maybe m’ fuckin’ tired of some of those pompous ass little shits traipsing their way in and boasting about being heroes. Maybe I want actual fuckin’ heroes watchin my back,” I mused, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on the table. “Not these glymeria brats convinced o’ their own self importance and thinking they have something to prove. You’re strong, you’re capable, n’ you’re not about to be led by your fuckin’ ego, am I right? Not when it /matters/,” I said calmly.

“As for what else it is you do? Don’t care man,” I said honestly. “You can deal drugs, women or fuckin’ diamonds for all I care, so long as you’re set on protectin’ your race and watchin’ everyone else’s backs. The only thing I want?” I add, grinning as if I was finally bringing up the ‘payment’ part of this little conversation. “I want someone to be on rotation with that isn’t about to bitch and moan about it. I want a partner to have my back that I can count on, n’ hey, maybe I want a fuckin’ friend to drink with when I come here. Gets real fuckin’ lonely, lookin this awesome in public. Everyone’s shy,” I mused, glancing around and taking in the club, the music, the civilians.

Looking back to Rhoar, I grinned and winked. “So, how’s that? You feel me?” Whipping out my phone, I placed it on the table between us and made a kissy kissy face. “Let m’ think we’re about to exchange numbers for sex. Cause Lord fuckin’ /knows/ that’d be real entertainin’ shit right there.”

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Rhoar: A sneer cut across my lips as the angel mentioned the glymeria brats. My my. How many of them would be running back to their parents crying foul when my ass walked into training. That in and of itself did a world of good for the angel’s proposition. To hear him talk though, you’d think he was having a hard time finding a partner; someone to run with into the fray when the day went dark and the night welcomed into its hold the blood of vampires and Lessers. What could be so wrong with the male that no-one wanted to roll with him? Or what was so wrong with the others, that they didn’t know an alley when they saw one.

I wasn’t able to withhold the snort of laughter at his honesty though. The guy didn’t care what I did? Fantastic. One less thing to worry about. While it wasn’t strictly speaking illegal, many frowned on dealings with humans. Private security was the name of the game, and I could charge exorbitant prices… if I didn’t want to know what it was I was really protecting. Like I gave a shit. All that mattered was that I could provide for my family, and that I could provide them the luxury they deserved.

“For you, when you’re wondering if I’m sincere in returning the attention you want?” a dark, mischievous curl to my lips as I raised my chin in an upward nod of ‘how you doin’?’ at the angel. “Or for them? When they’re thinking about what it’d be like if we really did the nasty?” taking the male’s phone from the table between us, keeping eye contact as I did. Probably looked to be imbued with meaning, for anyone watching us. I could practically hear Shelly howling from here.

Without breaking my focus on the male, I input my details, finally relaxing into the exchange and lowering the guard I’d amassed in small increments. Sliding the device back towards him when I was done with it, I lounged back against the booth and a gave a slight hum, probably sounding almost content. “So, Lassiter. When should I be expecting your call?”

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Lassiter: “Right now,” I reply smoothly, hitting dial and giving it a minute to ring. “Now, you’ve got my number n’ I’ve got yours. Tit for fuckin’ tat, right?”

Flashing a grin at that, the kind that made you think of what was going to happen later and just how R rated it would be, I leant back in my seat and resisted the urge to lift my shit kickers up onto the table. Doubted that’d fly in Trez’s house, even if the male was fond of me.

“But seriously… gimme a few days,” I muse, “at max. Gives me time to talk to those in charge n’ secure you a spot, aight? Then I’ll be in touch with deets about when n’ where you can rock up. I’ll come to the trainin’ as well.”

The words were a promise, my own personal guarantee that I was going to help this male as much as I could to get him in and get him through.

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Rhoar: Tit for fucking tat indeed, my cell vibrating incessantly in my pocket as the angel availed himself of my number. He was quick, I’d give him that; he just took the bull right by the horns and rode it down to the ground. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

Returning the devious smile he flashed me with one all my own, I left it in place a few moments as the other gave me a more serious answer to my question. “A few days it is,” I mused, raising an arm to lay along the back of the booth once more. “And are you coming to see me in action? Make sure I’m as good as you seem to think I’ll be?” stopping shy of saying what I actually wanted to, which was to make sure that his boys made good on admitting me into the program, like they said. They were males of worth, and as bad as the blood was between my family and the Brotherhood, I would bite my tongue until I had reason to otherwise.

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Lassiter: I laughed and shrugged, keeping up the flirting display as I winked across the table at the male. Lacing my fingers behind my head and leaning back into that bracket like it was a pillow, I lifted my shoulders in a half shrug.

“Yeah. That’s it. Wanna make sure you’re not about to get me killed. Cause pretty as you are to look at, Lessers ain’t gonna give two shits bout that. Might distract me,” I add airily, “n’ I’ll need to see that you’re capable of covering us both when m’ starin’ at your ass.”

I held my breath for all of a moment before snorting and shaking my head, letting my arms fall as I laughed.

“Nah, m’ jokin’ man. I wanna be part of the training these days n’ it’ll give us a chance to get a feel for each other, yeah? That’s all. If I get a say in the recruiting process I won’t feel so jipped when I gotta teach.”

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Rhoar: Fuck me, I was already getting used to the angel’s demeanour, the rough infusion of teasing, smartassery and rare gems of pure honesty. It was a refreshing change to what I was used to. The civilians, well… they were nice enough, but one look at the size of me, and many balked. The glymeria didn’t condescend to look at me, unless they needed something of my services, which was rare; and even then, they sent their doggen to do their bidding. Human men either wanted to pick a fight to make themselves feel more manly, or fucked right off in the other direction. The women, of course, just saw it as a challenge, like I was some big bad bear that needed their love and attention to change.

Jesus Christ, it was pathetic.

“I’ll be sure to flex, so at least the view is worth it when you take a bullet in the chest,” my smile taking on a roguish quality as I drummed my fingers against the top of the booth. “Assuming I don’t catch the bastard in the chest with something sharp myself,” taking the ribbing easily.

I listened intently though, as one of those rare gems of honesty were explored. “Makes sense. If you’re looking for a partner, you’d wanna make sure you have a similar rhythm, and instincts that are in tune,” my expression having become more serious as I spoke, or at least, more appropriate for the topic of conversation. Already, I knew the male would likely see the gutter in my expression, but I didn’t give a fuck.

It was in that moment though that a ‘trouble just waiting to happen’ idea slammed like a star picket into my mind, and a slow, dark smile curved my lips. “Unless you’d rather a preview right now, of course?”

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Lassiter: Well /hello/. Now wasn’t that a fucking great idea, I thought happily, finishing my drink and leaping to my feet, jostling the booth as I grinned.

“I’d fuckin’ /love/ one,” I breathed out, white eyes glowing in the dark light of the club as I made my way out from the reclusive area and back down onto the floor, beckoning the male to follow me like a child on crack.

If the vampire wanted to demonstrate what he was capable now I wasn’t about to say no. I’d been cock blocked for the night but with a male that actually wanted to fight with me, maybe I could get some action! The brothers didn’t have to be the gate keepers of my god damn fun.

Half skipping past Silent Tom, even pausing to blow him a kiss over my shoulder and earn one of those uneasy shuffles all over again, I grinned and threw my arms wide, breathing in the Caldwell city air like I could turn bloodhound for Lessers. Now wouldn’t /that/ be a sucky job, tracking those smelly fucks.

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Rhoar: Snorting as the male all but knocked over the booth with his enthusiastic leap, I swallowed the last of my drink and uncurled myself from my seat. As I stood, I caught the glare of ice blue eyes in Shelly, and I couldn’t hide my smirk as I sauntered up to the bar to square the tab.

“You could’ve just told me you were interested in men,” she hissed while attempting to seem pleasant, a slight uptick to my brow as I paid with my black Amex. Leaning down across the bar, a dark, more purposeful form of mischief played across my expression as I spoke.

“It’s not just because I’m interested in men, Shelly. It’s because I’m not interested in you,” slowly leaning back as she balked, looking hurt and wide eyed, as though she’d never come across a male that didn’t want her. “I prefer not to fuck the women who work in the establishments I frequent,” not that I owed her an explanation as I tucked the card away. “It causes tension and unnecessary bullshit. In another situation…” I let the moment hang, to let her think that had this been anywhere but her place of business, I’d have considered her. “But now? We’ll never know, will we? Have a nice night,” the sarcasm thick on my tongue as I saw her stumble to form some kind of apology.

Nodding as I passed the bouncers and headed out onto the street, the sight of the angel with his arms outstretched like he was about to proclaim himself a ‘golden god’ and jump off the roof of a house into a pool just about called another snort of laughter from me. “You ‘bout done, basking in the moonlight?” I asked with wry humour as I stepped down onto the pavement, and made my way to his side. “‘Cause I thought we were going out to find us some Lessers?”

And sure as shit, on a night like tonight? We’d find them.

Our kinds always did.

Angel style recruiting - written by Lassiter and Rhoar.

[why-persephone]

Can I rp someone who grows up to drive the Knight bus?