#samar & amélie

[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?

[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]

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

[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."

[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."

[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.