#samar & amélie

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @samar-sehgal EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: The Firepit, evening.

Amélie didn't want to spoil his fun, and even as she walked over, heart thumping in an off-beat rhythm, that familiar sheepish look in those doe eyes, and it was there, she stumbled...considered turning around. Maybe this could wait, she thought, because this was meant to be a party (something she'd never been good at.) and...the other part of herself, the one that lived in doubt and regret told her that...if she didn't? She never would. That anxiety had been embedded in her very being from the moment she'd screamed as a fresh babe taking her first breath.

But Amélie didn't want to live her life in fear. She couldn't.

"I'm, uh, sorry, I'm sorry for interrupting." a meal smile on her lips. "Is there any chance we could talk?"

[mobscene-london]

THE EVENT IS NOW STARTING. Please postpone all non-event related threads until I post an admin note to tell you it's okay to resume them again.

A refresh of the current pairs and their tent assignments is as follows:

Nevra & Hasan – Tent type: Poor.

Vincenzo & Emine – Tent type: Poor.

Ayaz & David – Tent type: Rich.

Ayda & Olivier – Tent type: Poor.

Odile & Giorgio – Tent type: Poor.

Izabele & Sveta & Valérie – Tent type: Poor.

Amélie & Isla – Tent type: Poor.

Maksim & Nora – Tent type: Poor.

Damon & Delphine – Tent type: Poor.

Roman & Benjamin – Tent type: Rich.

Jean & Ophélie – Tent type: Poor.

Nadezhda & Varden – Tent type: Rich.

Lara & Samar – Tent type: Poor. 

Konstantin & Étienne & Lisette – Tent type: Poor.

Aviv & Cassandra – Tent type: Rich.

Catalina & Kerem – Type Type: Rich.

Maria & Lyudmila – Tent type: Poor.

Félix & Carla & Jessica – Tent type: Poor.

Gideon & Melissa – Tent type: Rich.

Yvonne & Giordana – Tent type: Poor.

Spencer & Eleanor – Tent type: Poor.

Misha & Yves – Tent Type: Rich.

Adriana & Gianna  – Tent Type: Rich.

Jordana & Elaina – Tent Type: Rich.

Olivia & Vika – Tent Type: Rich.

[drrutherford]

LOCATION — Outside Amélie’s workplace. DATE —  July 1st, 2023. STARTER — Closed for  @samar-sehgal​​

Since the tragic but over-sensationalized events that happened on the night of the Awards a few months ago, Gideon has had special cause to avoid any media person in his path. Rather successfully, he’d managed to avoid Samar Sehgal among them.

Others had tried to ask him questions, naturally, but most lacked that Sehgal level of persistence, and so he’d dodged questions, whenever he hadn’t been able to dodge journalists in their entirety. 

... Until now.

He’d known it was risky to approach the lion’s den, but Amélie had pleaded and as time goes on he’s found it harder and harder to deny her any request. But as Samar exits the building and claps eyes on him, Gideon fears it’ll come at a steep cost.

“Not now.” The Rutherford hums under his breath, wary gaze darting over Samar’s shoulder to one of the doors of the London Advocate. Amélie could be exiting the building at any second. It really would be just his kind of luck.

“If you have a single merciful bone in your body — Not now, Samar.”

[samar-sehgal]

If Samar had to choose a favorite and least favorite family, who would they be?

I don't know if Samar would have a favorite family in London, and that probably includes his own considering how distasteful he finds playing the social status game to be. If he had to pick, it's probably the found family of journalists at the Advocate if anything. While he's as competitive as they come, he's also protective of those who work with him (case in point, Amélie).

As far as a least favorite family, it's the Rutherfords by a mile though he also doesn't have any particular love for the St. Clairs either.

@amescastaignede

[eleanorxshipley]

Comfort and protection. That was what radiated from Gideon's hug, and Eleanor reveled in it until they withdrew. It was a reminder that despite not being blood, she had loved ones and family around that did care. Even though Eleanor mostly felt at ease while in Austria, she understood the concern of those close to her. For a naïve actress that mostly kept contained to her own bubble, she knew there were dalliances with the Russians that she didn't want to dip into.

Konstantin had been charming and kind to her during their trip; while that didn't erase whatever dark history encompassed him, it was enough for her to reconsider her initial judgement. "I promise. I try to be careful, even if we've established that trouble seems to seek me out. He was charming, but not in the way one might think. He wasn't trying to get anything from me. It truly was just two strangers enjoying the view." Eleanor paused briefly before speaking again.

"I know everyone thinks I'm too--" she searched for the word. "Gullible. But just because I don't know the dirty details of everyone's business, doesn't mean I'm going to believe everything I hear. I just choose to be civil unless given reason not to be." A soft smile still lingered on her lips, as she didn't want Gideon to think she was inferring that others talked down to her. She was stronger than she let on; it was just that no one really knew where that strength came from.

Eleanor was thrilled that Gideon was still with Amélie, and her grin grew at the mental image of the woman dazzled by the spectacle that was the night. She had grown to adore Amés; although they came from different worlds, she felt they were more alike than different. As much as she enjoyed the lavish lifestyle at times, Eleanor was more invested in people and her passion rather than material things. "Good. I'm hoping I run into her. I genuinely enjoy our conversations, and I'm so happy you two found each other." Her eyes rose, meeting Gid's with sincerity. "For the record-- I voted for you two for favorite couple."

She would have much rather continued talking about Gideon's love life than her own, but technically speaking, she had escorted herself. "My date must be invisible, because I have yet to see them," Eleanor mused lightly, her eyes drifting quickly to Samar across the room before back at Gideon. "I suppose false hope it is. Perhaps someday I'll come to one of these things with a date on my arm. But I doubt that will be anytime soon." Eleanor didn't feel guilty because she wholly believed that. As much as she was harboring feelings for a certain someone, she knew that it would never come to fruition. It would have to remain behind closed doors like her last relationship. And was that really a relationship at all?

"So in case there's ever a bet going around, you know which way to lean," the actress teased, hoping he didn't noticed the way her voice slightly quivered. Partly it was her own demons, but also this dangerous world that would cause her to grow old alone. But she wouldn't dare take a chance on losing someone else. She might not survive it this time.

He releases her a little reluctantly, having felt relieved for the tactile reassurance that she's here, safe, in one piece. After her date with not just any Russian mobster, it isn't something that could have been taken for granted, no matter how nicely Eleanor was treated on her date. "Be careful," He warns, feeling a bit like a broken record but unable to help himself on her account. "They're good at that, y'know? 'Made men'," – he won't use another word for it in so public a setting – "appearing charming. Showing you what they want you to believe of them... They don't tend to get so high up without that trait."

His own adoptive father is a prime example of that. Charisma is often more persuasive than morality, more seductive, even, and he knows too many people who've paid the price for that shortsightedness. Still, if only because he can't bear to be the one who wipes the smile from her face, Gideon mollfies the sentiment with an affirmation.

"I'm glad you're safe and that you had a good time. We all are."

He wonders how quickly the Russians might've paid the price if she hadn't. Eleanor Shipley isn't only one of the country's onscreen favourites — she's good friends with Lara, and their families tend to rub elbows not infrequently.

"Amélie's fine." He adds, happy to change the topic. "Floating around here somewhere, likely being simultaneously awed and terrified by all the excess." It's said with a smile, as if to say you'll have to forgive her. Not that her feelings on the matter are anything but valid. They are indeed surrounded by an obnoxious degree of wealth, and having grown up around much the same, he normally wouldn't bat an eyelash. But being with a woman from humbler means serves a good reality check every once in a while.

... It's one of a long list of reasons he's grateful for her.

"Where's your date, missy?" He grins. "... Or are you committed to selling false hope to all your fans in having come unspoken for?" He knows how many vie for the chance.

[amescastaignede]

Texting Samar

Amélie: Sassy queen, I see you. 😂 Amélie: I assume we're going to get to see you in full form at the awards ceremony?

[amescastaignede]

Texting: Samar.

Amélie: Hey, can you meet? I have some things I'd like to run by you regarding what's going on around London.

Amélie: Sorry for the out the blue text, would have sent an email but it's a little more urgent than that.

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @samar-sehgal​

WHEN: 28/06/2023

WHERE: London Advocate Office. 

Amélie found herself in the office at her desk, surrounded by the clamor of keyboards clacking and phones ringing. It was the heart of their journalistic world, the space brimming with energy and urgency. People rushed about, their faces etched with determination, deadlines looming.

Amidst the chaos, Amélie caught sight of Samar, a familiar face amidst the frenzy. Samar, in this cest pit, was a friend. Pushing up, she walked over with hesitant steps, navigating her way through the maze of desks and chairs, anxiety heightening with every passing second.

"Samar?" she said, her voice barely audible above the cacophony. "Um, hi! It's me, Amélie -- well, you knew that. You have...eyes." Awkward was her middle name, apparently. Her face flushed, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. "You know," Words tumbling out in a rush. "It's so busy, isn't it? I mean, I'm always so anxious here, with all the noise and deadlines. But I guess it's a good thing, right? Being busy, I mean. It means we're doing something important, something that matters. At least, I hope so."

[drrutherford]

hasan-demir​:

Hasan laughed at the last assertion. “They have in fact or some variation of that.  If keeping quiet is the price for free drinks it is a small one to play.  I’ll probably have whatever costs the most, there is nothing better than a drink paid fully by someone else.  You make it hard I would ask your favorite drink, but perhaps I’ll just let you order this time.  It’s only fair that you get a drink for each award that you won isn’t it?“ He smiled giving a small chuckle at the joke a bad habit that he indulged almost as much as drink. “So we’ve talked about family and our lack of empathy for reporters. You have to remind me one day I’ll tell you about this woman I met in a coffee shop she was such a bundle of nerves.  She pretty much asked me to leave. I think she made Ayda look calm and collected, but that’s another story.  What about your goals Gideon.  You’re man of the year and most successful you must have something in your sights for the future?” Hasan was curious what the man who seemingly had everything could want.  It would be interesting to see how he side stepped the question if nothing else.  Something to be gleaned out of the answer even if nothing was said.  He held up his hands defensively. “I know you said too many questions already, but I figured I should ask one more before I let you drag me off for drinks.  Oh and you can’t really kill someone by pushing them into a pool can you?  I think they were just trying to scare me or act offended.  Just a harmless prank.  Besides I was instigated and promised boundless wealth if I did it, and it was fun.”

.

Hasan both asks a surprising amount of questions but also reveals a near-constant stream of information about himself, albeit mostly trivial. Gideon wonders whether it’s a genuine quirk in his personality or something more pre-meditated; a strategy to seem casual and open, saying a lot while simultaneously revealing very little. 

The rumination is put on hold when Hasan begins describing someone who sounds an awful lot like Amélie. Then again, she’s hardly the only bundle of nerves in London, so he chalks it up to the fact that his mind’s been on Amélie for the better part of the evening and doesn’t inquire further as to the identity of the woman in Hasan’s tale.

His date isn’t a topic he’s too willing to discuss with a man who might one day be considered his enemy. “Struggling to believe you were entirely innocent. What; with your penchant for earning black eyes, stab wounds, and engaging in questionable revelry... Ever considered that was the reason this woman asked you to leave?”

Asked about his goals in light of the awards he’s won, Gideon remembers a similar question asked by Samar, and smiles thinly. “Why does everyone love to ask that?... Is it unambitious if my only answer is to hope I’ll be happy?“ He’d won Man of the Year last year, too, but rather than a good prognostic, 2022 had been chaotic and largely miserable. Still, Hasan races so quickly from one topic to the next that he doesn’t need to elaborate much on his answer, this time around.

‘You can’t really kill someone by pushing them into a pool can you?’

“Depends. Were they unconscious before you pushed them in?” The surgeon adds drily, before ushering the Turk in the direction of a bar. “Sounds like you’ve been a menace tonight, Hasan. Let’s get you that drink to keep ya quiet and preoccupied for at least the next fifteen minutes...” Quiet, he doubts. Preoccupied, there’s still hope.

— End. 

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @samar-sehgal WHERE: London Advocate. Post Shooting. LOCKDOWN.

Felicity would be furious that we weren't the first to get the story out.

In all honesty, nobody really cared.

"Have you heard from -- "

"Is there someone who knows anything?"

Eventually, the questions had stopped.

Every time the doors opened, her heart stopped. Was it someone coming in to deliver the bad news she was actively avoiding reading. Amélie was aware it was weird, considering her job. The need to know was ingrained into their very beings. But there seemed to be a general concesnus. The newsroom, for once, wasn't unbearingly loud, there was no sound of clacking keyboards, or printers warring. Instead, they stood. Sharing the odd word of comfort, or nod. Some scrolled endlessly on news outlets, while others, like Amélie nervously nibbled at her cuticles.

Felicity would be out here in a moment, to ream them for not trawling for news, reaching out, and finding the story...but shell shock had infected them all. Amélie had just been on her way out when she'd been ushered back into the building -- a hand on her back as they told her to "get back inside."

When the door opened this time, and she snook a glance at who was entering from her cubicle, she jumped up as her brows furrowed. "Samar."

[mobscene-london]

MOB SCENE ADVENT CALENDAR: DAY FIVE.

Your ‘Mistletoe’ nominations for 2023 are as follows: 

Adriana Amaro & Aviv Kasyanenko

Adriana Amaro & Henry García

Alexis Larsson & Hasan Demir

Alexis Larsson & Varden Lefebvre

Amélie Castaignède & Berat Yalaz

Amélie Castaignède & Vincenzo Vespucci

Ayda Demir & Kerem Doğulu

Ayda Demir & Maksim Kurylenko

Azra Yavuz & Kerem Doğulu

Catalina Rojas & Nicoleta Rădulescu

Elaina Halévy & Yves de Metz

Eleanor Shipley & Ayaz Ateş

Eleanor Shipley & Varden Lefebvre

Emilia Lefebvre & Théodore Chaussard

Emine Yalaz & Hasan Demir

Emine Yalaz & Olivier Fontaine

Giordana Rossi & Ayaz Ateş

Giordana Rossi & David Pavoncello

Giordana Rossi & Giorgio Pecatti

Giordana Rossi & Maksim Kurylenko

Giovanna Palazzolo & David Pavoncello

Giovanna Palazzolo & Maksim Kurylenko

Isla Hunt & Maksim Kurylenko

Kathleen Zhao & Francisco Vidal

Lara Rutherford & Anatoly Veselov

Lara Rutherford & Laurent St. Pierre

Leyla Yılmaz & Berat Yalaz

Leyla Yılmaz & Henry García

Lyudmila Korshunova & Konstantin Vorshevsky

Lyudmila Korshunova & Maksim Kurylenko

Lyudmila Korshunova & Mikhail Vorshevsky

Melissa Lin & Gideon Rutherford

Melissa Lin & Vincenzo Vespucci

Nevra Erdoğan & Berat Yalaz

Nevra Erdoğan & Kerem Doğulu

Olivia Coppola & Vincenzo Vespucci

Sofie Dekker & Viktoriya Kurylenko

Sofie Dekker & Théodore Chaussard

Valérie Dautremer & Jean Palfroix

Valérie Dautremer & Varden Lefebvre

Viktoriya Kurylenko & David Pavoncello

Viktoriya Kurylenko & Hasan Demir

Yvonne Rutherford & Ayaz Ateş

Yvonne Rutherford & Henry García

Yvonne Rutherford & Konstantin Vorshevsky

Yvonne Rutherford & Samar Sehgal

Yvonne Rutherford & Théodore Chaussard

Don't forget that if you didn't get a nomination for a character, or would just like a few more of them to have some fun, send me a message and I'll think up a few for you myself. It's not an issue. ♥

[drrutherford]

Reaction @mobscene-awards​​

╰─▸ ❝Man of the Year❞ x

A slight frown creases his forehead as he hears his name called out for the award.

There’s some cosmic irony about winning two of the same awards as Delphine St. Clair – a woman he properly loathes – this year... Something at play he doesn’t like. The fact he’s won this award by a more significant landslide doesn’t sit well with him, either. It’s not that he wishes any of the other men had won this one in his stead, but rather that he can’t shake the feeling it all portends some sort of farce.

He isn’t a superstitious man (a recent conversation with Samar hitting with particular irony right now...), but winning this category last year hadn’t exactly brought him a boatload of luck, either. At the time, he’d hoped it would... Been naïve enough to think that maybe a page was finally turning in his life, and several years of being hated and heckled by the media and general public were finally coming to an end. Instead, the damage had turned inwards. Whatever his public reputation had apparently regained, his private relationships had suffered. And while Gideon isn’t stupid enough to think the award could be blamed for that, it had added salt not only to the wounds of his friends, but to his own resulting cocktail of misery as well.

He doesn’t move. Paralyzed in apprehension until Amélie jostles his arm, sweetly oblivious to every reason making him dread going up on that stage right now. With a sidelong glance at his family, the surgeon rises to his feet again, slowly, reluctantly.

The flash from the cameras seem more irritating this time, scattering his thoughts with every clic!, making it impossible for him to string two words together in hasty preparation for a speech. He doesn’t clock Diana’s expression this time as she hands him the trophy with a kiss to the cheek. He doesn’t clock much of anything except for the gnawing unease as he turns to face the crowd. Gideon takes a steadying breath.

Half a minute later and he’s retreating down the steps of the stage, relieved to have it over and done with. He doesn’t remember much of what he’d said in his acceptance speech either – something horribly vague about hoping to spend the rest of 2023 in a pursuit becoming of the honour – but privately he isn’t so sure. Isn’t sure that he’s capable, even if he does try. Isn’t sure some of his loved ones want him to try, at all.

He wishes Yvonne had won the category, instead. He could’ve been uncomplicatedly proud of the award then... That would’ve been more than enough for him.

[amescastaignede]

Hearing Samar repeat himself bubbled a laugh to her lips, even if it fell somewhat flat. "Samar, I've seen you at work and we all know you love it," Amélie said the words, eyes still downcast as she refused to meet his gaze. Fear that he'd see that pain that swelled there. Still, she forced a smile on her painted lips. "...uh, and we know, and you know, you could fund the city with those sassy comments. I'd be a millionaire if I got a penny for every time."

'How're you doing, Amés?'

Amélie wasn't truly sure how to answer that question. Physically, she was perfect. Emotionally? She wasn't trying to be this way, hoped she'd be able to shake it off as the night proceeded. But something told her that Berat's death would take far longer than she'd ever understand to stop it haunting her. "Surviving public hell," She decided on saying, as she finally made eye contact and shrugged with a sigh breaking from between her lips. "I'm just happy to be here, and trying to make it through one day at a time right now. Y'know, I, uh, I just..."

She couldn't talk about him. Not yet. Not here.

"Ever thought about writing a TV show? You'd make comedy gold."

"I said if you ask me, they should be charging an entry fee per outlandish color on every outfit. That'll fund the city for years to come." Samar could tell there was something off with Amélie, and though he waited for her to respond to his intentional word salad, he had a feeling she was a million miles off and not paying attention at all.

Concern for her coloured his face for a moment, but not enough to cause a scene or tip anybody else off. "How are you doing, Ames?"

[drrutherford]

Slowly, surely, the pieces begin to crumble. This picture-perfect love, the hope of a future with her. Between the mosaic of his heart – painstakingly collected after the cruel end of his marriage – and the stained glass windows of Amélie's rigidly austere morality, only one of the two can survive.

Unfortunately for Gideon, it isn't the former.

He's outmatched. A beggar in the cathedral of her beliefs. And he would beg, if doing so wouldn't risk offending her further. But he can already sense her shutting down, pulling away, and the last thing he wants is to be the monster who takes away her freedom to do just that. Instead, he answers her questions.

"Yes, Samar knows. It's why he doesn't like me– Us. My family." The Rutherford can't help the sardonic note that creeps into his voice. How badly he wants to tell her that her office 'chum' isn't exactly all he's cracked up to be, either. Gideon shrugs, looking away. "I also dated his sister, long time ago. I suppose that makes it more personal."

As for his own little sister...

"No. She isn't." This time, his tone is firm, uncompromising, as his gaze slides back to meet his girlfriend's eyes. "Yvonne has no part in the family business." Before she can ask about the others, Gideon moves forward, dropping to his knees before her in front of the couch. "Amélie." He whispers. "... Amélie, this is about us."

But is it? If that were the case, they wouldn't be arguing at all. The ache deepens in his chest, the bitterness with it. Will it always come to this?... Condemned for his family's crimes unless he cuts them out completely? Always having to choose between the people that he loves?... He reaches for her hands; they feel cold between his own.

"I do trust you, Amélie. That's why I'm telling you. But it takes time to build trust... Don't you see it? It would be incredibly reckless to share something of this magnitude before I was sure. Do you understand how much it could hurt them?... I couldn't take that risk."

But when she hits him with her own question – 'Do you understand the risk you put me under by not telling me?' – his lips part wordlessly, and then slip shut. Because it's true, her ignorance was a risk to her as well... From criminals who might've circled her like hawks, purely for being connected to him. They're lucky it hasn't happened, but he knows he shouldn't have relied on luck. In his life, it's always run out.

"I'm sorry." He says, voice cracking on the plea. Falling back on the same tired word, the only one that might still mean something to her right now. "I don't know how I was supposed to choose." Between a rock and a hard place; between the family that gave him a second chance, and the woman he'd begun to hope might be the love of his life.

'I will not destroy your life, I won’t do that... But I can’t stay and watch it either.'

He watches her for a moment, which seems to stretch into a painful eternity. Sees the red rims around her eyes, the tear tracks, the frissons that run through her with each shuddering sob. Hating that he's the cause. He leans forward, kissing the gentle hands tucked in his own. With guilt, with reverence, with every tender thing he feels for her.

"I love you."

The words are hoarse, the pressure in his chest steals the space from his lungs. The man rises to his feet, reaching out to cup her cheek. "... I love you, and I'm sorry." One last, fleeting kiss to the crown of her head and he turns to go; stricken with each step, afflicted with the terrible fear that he may never see her again.

— End.

The way Gideon scoulds her, does little for her mood, but in true Amélie fashion: she sits, nervous as hell, breath shallowing and tries her hardest to find a reason to stay. Every corner she turns, however, she's met with the biggest blockaid of them all.

Her beliefs.

"Do you understand the risk you put me under by not telling me?" theres disbelief in her voice, shattered and jaded by the suffocating crack happening in her chest. She wasn't thinking straight, because a small part of her understood. But it was miniscule. "There is danger I would've never even fooled with, and you left me out there completely blind." a shake of her head, tears blurring once more.

Stop crying, she begged herself, stop it.

Amélie heard him, just. In a room of one, her social anxiety skyrocketed and that in itself was a concern that she’d not had to shoulder for a long time. Not in Gideon’s presence, anyway. The way she’d moulded herself, and grown in her time with him, had been monumental, but now was unravelling quicker than it’d taken to gather. Over a year of work, undone.

Memories flashed: a day out in Birmingham, passing coats on the street, a stolen kiss outside of the tube, those first times. Ones that she’d wanted to hold on to forever…

Now it seems impossible.

"Yes," the shift in his voice only drives those nerves to new heights. "Yes, I'm a journalist! But newsflash, that's not something I hid from you..." she trails off, her head pulling back, horror clouding her vision. "Does Samar know?"

Realisation setting in. The chess pieces moving into play.

"And Yvonne is involved, I assume...?"

Lara, unfortunaltey, me some amount of sense.

And Ayaz -- new sickness coiled. What about Spencer? What of Alexis?

Her world narrowed. The relentless ache that had settled deep within her told Amélie everything she needed to know – the life she’d known, the people she’d grown to love…was all over. Even as doe eyes slid up to look at the man she’d envisioned her future with in recent months…eyes she could get lost in, a voice she wanted to drown in and hands that felt so familiar they could’ve been her own – the love still there, though, now a stifled reminder of what would become the past.

Shoved behind a slap of iron and concrete, her walls rose. What had been real? Real, the word was almost laughable now. Gideon had said it was real. But how could she trust him, trust anything after this? She blinked, dazed, as the word echoed, reverberating against the walls of her skull, louder and louder until it drowned out everything else. 

It was real.

Yet, it didn’t feel real anymore. None of it did. Not her life, or her love, or her friends, or family. Everything felt like a ponzi scheme that she’d never been privy to. 

How many people had laughed at her naivety? 

"I..." She tried to speak, tried to find something that would make sense of it all. Every memory of them together now tainted. Was it all an illusion? Squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself not to crumble. But she was already too far gone, the tears no longer a stream, but a river. Endless, unforgiving, and a changing riptide of sadness that pulled her along the ever-changing current.

But Gideon wasn’t the problem, not really. It was her. The Amélie who'd prided herself on being observant — instead, she'd been naïve. She'd wanted so badly to believe that there could be good, that someone could choose her without involvement with the very thing that ripped her favourite person from her life, and was doing so all over again. Was she destined to be abandoned? Would her career be the thing that killed her relationships? She'd wanted so badly for him to be the exception. Mathis had been a loss she’d barely recovered from due to his involvement with the mob.

And now, she was reliving that all over again. 

Losing Gideon, as she knew she would, was worse than physical pain.

Her breath hitched as she forced her eyes open, staring at the man she still loved despite it all. There was a sickness coiling in her gut, knowing full well that any minute now…they’d part. The other part of Amélie begged for her to stay put. But her pride? It wouldn’t recover. "Gideon..." Trembling, as she busied her hands. "I know you think you were protecting me. Uh, y’know…well -- " the words confused, as she blew out a frustrated breath, and re-started "keeping me in the dark was the only way to... keep us – I don’t know, how you thought leaving me blind was smart. But you didn't trust me. You didn’t let me in." Her throat burned, as her eyes blurred once again, cutting her open once more. "And without that...we have nothing."

Gideon’s eyes, those beautiful brown that she’d never seen before: the same ones she used to get lost in, now…full of sorrow, regret. But Amélie could feel the finality of it all. Trust, a fickle thing. The foundation of everything. Without it, they were nothing more than strangers.

Wasn't afraid to lose you when you know I'm in lo-...

It's enough to set her tears into something akin to a sob, as her back hunches. She hates that she's breaking down before him, losing the dignity she'd hoped she would've kept.

"I can't..." wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand. "I can’t do this." Her voice cracked, the words tasting bitter on her tongue, but they were true. For as much as she wanted to fight for him, for them, the cracks were too deep. She wasn’t easily mended, and while he’d spent the time to put some pieces back in place: eventually, like a house of cards…she’d come tumbling down.

“My job is to literally, no joke,” and there was no irony in her voice “I amount employed to take these people down, do you understand that?” a frantic hand running through her hair. “Do you realise the position you’ve put me in?” she paused, features falling. “I’ll have to lie for you now, because I will not…” lip trembling as she felt her resolve collapsing in on itself. “I will not destroy your life, I won’t do that.”

She wasn’t Catherine. 

“But I can’t stay and watch it either.” And offering him an ultimatum wasn’t in her nature

I'm sorry.

It was enough to knock that resolve, but as her lips shuddered once again, she shook her head. "I wanted it to be real" her voice a barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, too."

[drrutherford]

Truth be told, where Gideon's own luck was to be considered, it'd lasted far longer than he'd have hoped. He'd stopped meeting Amélie outside of her workplace after the last ugly run-in with Samar that had very nearly come to literal blows — after which he had enjoyed several months of reprieve from the irritating man's company.

It didn't mean he was ready for the lucky streak to come to an end, however.

"You happen to be looking at my personal chef." Which was to say, himself. "I guess you could call me multi-talented, Samar." Hardly, given the ten or so very straightforward dishes he had on perpetual rotation in his kitchen, but given he and Samar had never been friends, the man needn't know that.

The next remark earns the investigative journalist a grunt, however. "And what the hell's a 'carbonara man'?" He can't help but ask, even though he feels like he's taking the bait as soon as it's out of his mouth. "Nevermind. I'm sure I can live without the explanation." More like the opportunity for Samar to take another dig at him.

"And sometimes you just need to step away from the personal chef, right?" Samar couldn't believe the unwitting luck, or lack-thereof, to wind up at the same tiny restaurant here as Gideon Rutherford tonight. That was the last time he let a potential source pick the time and place.

"Funny, I wouldn't have taken you for a carbonara man." The chance to needle him, deserved or not, proved to be too much to take. "How's tricks, Doctor?"

[eleanorxshipley]

“That means a lot, Amés. Thank you. Especially coming from you.” She meant it. Amélie was one of the kindest people she had met, and anytime she was at an event that Eleanor was, she felt some reprieve. A kindred soul, perhaps. Even if she had been in the limelight for years now, these extravagant parties always felt out of her realm. She just tried to remain graceful and social. Eleanor laughed softly in understanding, her hand waving any concern away. “Trust me, I get it. It’s a lot. It’s overwhelming for me sometimes too and I’ve been at it for some time now.” 

Amélie’s question earned a thoughtful hum from Eleanor. In reality she would rather have Samar at her side officially; something more serious than their casual agreement. But she knew they couldn’t be more, for his sake. Not to mention she wasn’t sure he would even want that. “It’s fun. I mean, there are things I would love more if we’re talking the ultimate dream,” Eleanor admitted. “But I’m having a nice time, and honored for the awards. How about you?” Her smile returned wholly. “I feel like a broken record, but you look stunning as always.”

"I think you deserved it." Amélie's smile brightened, for a little while, those worries melted somewhat. It was never truly gone, that feeling that everything was going to be upended at any moment: that she might actually enjoy herself if she didn't let it consume her. But here, around Eleanor, she always found some comfort. A little bit disappearing as she nodded. "I'm...it's going..." she laughed, brushing it off as casually as she could. "I think I'm still getting used to all...of this." gesturing around the room.

Even if Alexis was her best friend, there were some things that still amazed her. "How about you? Is it everything you hoped it'd be?"