#with: rafael femenias jr

[realjessicareyes]

On the fourth of February 2021, the Femenias cousins and Ikki Nakamura make their way to the Femenias Energy HQ in Canary Wharf for a press conference to announce the newest development in the company. Printed on loose-leaf sheets within media kits or scrolled through in the body of emails is a press release that will make its way onto the front page of major publications within the hour. It reads as follows:

Ikki Nakamura appointed as Femenias Energy Interim CEO

LONDON, U.K. — FEBRUARY 4, 2021. Femenias Energy’s Board of Directors announced today that Rafael Femenias Sr., Femenias Energy CEO, will be taking a temporary leave of absence from his duties, effective immediately, in order to recuperate at home following a minor operation. 

Femenias Sr. will be on leave for approximately one (1) month, after which he will return to duty on a limited basis. He is expected to make a full recovery.

During this time, Ikki Nakamura will step in as Interim CEO, temporarily relinquishing his role as Senior Advisor while retaining his own seat on the Board.

An experienced business leader, and Senior Advisor to the company since 2016, Nakamura will succeed Femenias Sr. and assume his responsibilities throughout his recovery.

“Ikki is a trusted voice at Femenias Energy, with a sharp mind and unparalleled knowledge of our business,” said COO Rafael Femenias Jr. “Until my father returns to work, rest assured that, with our acting CEO and the Board working together, the company is in capable hands.”

“I am grateful to the Board of Directors for appointing me to this position. I am confident that we can keep Femenias Energy working at full strength until Mr. Femenias is ready to return,” said Nakamura. “We all wish him a speedy recovery and a restful time with his family.”

Nakamura has worked at Femenias Energy since 2012 and has seen the company through its most profitable years in the past two decades. He graduated from Oxford University.

“Questions?”

( mentioned: @ikkinakamura @rfjofficial )

[itsmarcusreyes]

—  JULY 8TH,  FEMENIAS ESTATE,  WITH RAFAEL FEMENIAS JR.  ( @rfjofficial​ )

drugs & addiction cw.

the picture is burned into his brain. marcus sees it when he's eating lunch at his desk, alone, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, forcing his mind to focus on anything but the void that his uncle's absence leaves in his chest. posted by fletcher grey. it was just a harmless photograph at first glance, and then marcus catches the eyes of someone too familiar. rafael? what's he doing in PEST? fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

he makes plans to meet his brother at the estate after work, but it doesn't ease the worry that makes his head spin. in the car ride from london to surrey, marcus considers his options. his instinct is to go in guns blazing, stop the problem before it becomes more of one, send raf to rehab if they have to. but that would be assuming the worst, and not giving rafael the credit he's due. when ravi calls to ask why he hasn't yet returned home, marcus skips over the details, not wanting to trigger worry in anyone else. after all, it could be nothing. more than anything, marcus hopes it's nothing.

when marcus arrives, he freezes over. fear grips him. not only fear for his cousin's mental state, but for his own image. kidnapped uncle, a relapsed cousin, it all works out rather well for a man who's never shied away from wanting power. but when he finds rafael in his father's study, marcus forces a warmth to return to his features, even if he doesn't quite smile. “hey,” he greets, walking slowly over to the desk and perching on the edge. marcus inhales deeply, clearly burdened by something as he massges his knee. “i'm gonna get right to the point, man, i—” he sighs, hoping his words don't leave his mouth sounding accusatory, “what were you doing at PEST? last night.” please, brother, tell me this isn’t what i fear it is.

[omer-nacar]

WHEN: 17th July, post vote WHERE: Rafael’s and Jack’s room in the Manor  WITH: Rafael @rfjofficial​​

It’s quiet in the hallway, an unnerving quiet after the accusations that filled the air only a few hours ago, maybe it’s just the calm before the storm, or maybe everyone under this roof is all too familiar with the idea that that fingers could be pointed at you at any given moment. Who was he to question anything when he had been an unsuspected traitor to Famine only a few months ago? Climbing up the stairs to the third floor slowly, there is a hesitation in his step as he gets closer towards Room 11. Omer was no longer the brother that Rafael would seek refuge in at the times he needed most, and yet, despite everything that happened between the two, a part of Omer knew that this was where he was supposed to be tonight. A perfectly made grilled cheese in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, Omer pushed the already ajar door slightly, tapping on the wooden frame with his foot to grab Rafael’s attention.

“Can I come in?”

[hunterastrid]

with — @rfjofficial​ where — the conservatory when — noon on friday, april 30

Astrid taps her fingers on the table in front of her, eyes glancing towards the door at every sound and movement. She isn’t sure if she’s hoping Rafael shows up, or that her lunch hour will pass without his presence and she can forget that anything happened. This is easily one of the more impulsive things she’s done, mind swirling with emotions as she’d picked up the pieces of her life and moved them into Saint’s house the day before. 

She’d found the box tucked into the back of the closet in Juno’s home office, a place that, under other circumstances, Astrid never would’ve had reason to look. The unassuming exterior had led her to believe it’d be filled with files on Bellum Nova’s operations, or perhaps somebody’s birthday present purchased early and kept from prying eyes. Instead, she’d found a stack of photos featuring a bright-eyed couple clearly in love, bits and bobs kept as mementos from a bygone era. And what was an obvious burner phone, with only a single number saved on it and logs that showed contact much more recent than the photos suggested. She’d put the box in the keep pile, telling Saint it contained a few mementos (which wasn’t exactly a lie, so it was fine), planning on shoving it under her bed or in her closet and coming back to it when grief wasn’t still painting everything around her a hazy shade of grey. The plan only lasted a few hours before she messaged Rafael with instructions to meet her for lunch on neutral ground.

The door opens again, and Astrid contemplates getting up and leaving before he can spot her, instantly filled with regret over her impulsive decisions. What was she doing, confronting Rafael— a Seraphim for a rival gang— on her own? What was she even confronting him about? She feels the box sitting under her chair like one would feel the presence of a bomb in the room, waiting for the fallout from the explosion. This is a mistake, she thinks. 

And then he’s sitting across from her, and her resolve returns like a tidal wave. “Rafael,” Astrid says, “thanks for coming.” She pulls the box out from under her chair, places it on the table between them with a soft thud. “Explain.” An order, not a request. If Juno was keeping secrets, she needs to know. She needs to know if the past few years, the happiest of her life, have all been an elaborate lie created to lure her into War’s clutches. She needs to know the truth.

[queenwar-archive]

𝐒𝐓. 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐋'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐋, 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟖𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏, 𝟏𝟐:𝟒𝟖𝐏𝐌. WITH REMUS WARDEN & RAFAEL FEMENIAS.​

It’s strange, almost archaic, that in an age abandoned by god, the Horsemen still consider the Cathedral sacred ground. If any of them truly still believe in some reigning higher power, their faith certainly hasn’t held sway over the ruling of their kingdoms or sprawling conquest of London’s streets. The Wardens are not a religious people; it was the French, first and foremost, that decreed the separation of Church and State, and split divinity from sovereignty. But even Juno, despite her fidelity to scientific rigour and rationality, cannot deny the inimitable power of worship. Of believing in something greater than yourself — greater than the universe itself — that could not be touched or seen or heard. Religion, in and of itself, was power at its most rudimentary. The highest form of blind devotion.

As their parents and superiors hold court in the eastern apse, Juno, her brother and the Seraphim of Famine gather in the shadows of the crypts. Although they have the protection of darkness and the silence of the dead to shroud their meanings from the harsh light of day, the accusations and conspiracies fly hard and fast. As above, so below. It is the kind of debate that Juno loathes: one without a conclusive end or satisfactory outcome. Amidst murder and treachery, the buried tension woven between the three of them suffocates. The events of the Anniversary, and the morning after, fill each catacomb hollow and crevice until the air stretches thin and humid, heavy as grey sky before thunderstorms. They know better than to speak of it here, stalking amongst the tombs of the nation’s greatest heroes, poets and scientists, upon the holy ground of the truce between their families. To speak of such trivial, human sins would be sacrilegious.

Rafael departs first, and the ghost of his cologne lingers in his wake, cloying and reminiscent of a dozen wayward memories Juno has neither the time nor the heart for. From the depths of the crypts to the arching heights of the Dome, War’s Seraphims make their ascent. As they’re about to leave through the West Front, Juno catches sight of a familiar pompadour bowed deep in prayer at the edge of the last pew. Her Louboutins echo against the paved floor as she advances towards him, blood-red against the chequered tiles, the only colour in her chosen armour of bespoke designer suit. Bending in a movement akin to a ballet penché, her scarlet lips inches from his ear, she tilts her head in mocking curiosity.

“Praying for forgiveness, Rafael? Or confessing to your endless list of sins? You might be here all day.”

@rfjofficial​

[rfjofficial]

From the vault of Alejandra Femenias, wife to Rafael Femenias Senior, mother to Rafael Femenias Junior, and Tia to Marcus, Jessica, Kitty, and Ravi…. The matriarch of the Femenias clan, Alejandra Femenias, was a rose with no thorns. Innocent, loving, and true - her husband lavished her with exquisite and rare pieces of jewelry throughout their near 34 years of marriage. Due to the circumstances of her health, she has begun to pass along her most sentimental pieces to the next generation. Always, with a note written on her favorite stationary of green with leaves (a little dated, in Rafael Snr and Jr’s opinion, but she loves it)

Diamond Studded Multi-String Harry Winston Necklace with Waterfall Earrings: Gifted to @realjessicareyes on July 1st, 2002 for her 18th birthday, prior to her debut. A few weeks after Alejandra moved out of Femenias Estate and into the facility - she ensured that the set was earmarked for Jessica to wear on her big day. Although she would miss the event, her presence would still be felt through the dazzling set. The necklace and earrings are vintage, Harry Winston from the 60′s. A gift from Rafael Senior, during their early days of courtship. The pieces were specifically selected to fall in line with Jessica’s elegant and feminine style.

Bvlgari Limited Edition Gold and Diamond Serpentine Set: Gifted to @kittym​​ on November 10th, 2009 - four days after Kitty’s first and last day working at Femenias Energy. During one of her days of lucidity, she learned of Kitty’s quick departure from the company’s employment roster. Knowing fully well that Kitty is a serpent too bright for the 9-5, Alejandra decides to remind her. The serpentine piece was purchased by Alejandra at an auction, by accident (Rafael Jr, age 10, got his hand on the paddle and kept raising the bid). Much more suited to Kitty’s street savvy and tough style, she foregoes waiting for her 21st birthday and gives it to her months earlier.

Colombian Emerald and Diamond Harry Winston Set: Gifted to @ravireyes 2 week after his engagement to Marcus Reyes. As a result of her deteriorating condition, Alejandra was unable to meet Ravi in person throughout the courtship. But the father-and-son shared enough stories, for her to grow confident in the decision to part with her emerald and diamond set. A more recent gift from Rafael Senior, Alejandra had hoped to save it for her son’s future partner. However, after looking at Ravi’s multiple photo outfits - Alejandra decided that his eccentric and larger-than-life style is the only one that could carry such a set.

Reset Men’s Rings and Accessories from Van Cleef and Arpels Gems: Gifted to @itsmarcusreyes after his wedding on August 2020, Alejandra (with her son’s help) reset a number of her other pieces to suit Marcus’ tailored yet avant garde tastes. Dismantling a number of bracelets, earrings, and necklaces - the prized gems were redesigned by jewelry artisans to Marcus’ tastes. The extra effort in curating the gift was made, in part, to compensate for her inability to attend Marcus’ big day. Thanks to Femenias Energy’s IT team, however, she was able to watch the ceremony via livestream. And caught a glimpse of her new-in-law twerking in her husband’s near vicinity

[emilbecker]

TASK / supporting cast.

she was shy at first, tiptoeing around emil like they would snap at any second. once he convinced her he means no harm through weeks of smiles and "how are you?"'s, she blooms into the top source of laughter from any one person in a given day. heidi keeps them sane with her anarchistic and darkly humorous quips, even threatening to give rafael femenias jr a bruise of his own after he lashed out at emil. they often don’t let her do her entire job, writing some of the emails and collecting meals themself. it's a small thank you to someone who never fails to remind him of the fire inside that would kill him if he stood by and did nothing with the platform he’s been given.

[deathmaycome]

@rfjofficial location: pale horse media studios date: 28th february, 2021 time: 11:35pm

May was fucking fuming.

The success of Death's big debut had briefly allowed her to ride a high, happily poking around the bomb sites and tweeting conspiracy theories about who would want to target the three companies - the very picture of innocence. The knowledge that each of them had gotten out alive and unharmed didn’t hurt either, a small swell of pride in her chest at the thought that she had managed to protect those beneath her. She should’ve known that the feeling wouldn’t last long. 

Lurking behind the cameras of the chat show recording was always going to be a dangerous game when May was liable to throw whatever was in her hands as soon as she heard the smug voice of Rafael Femenias Jr., but she had wanted to watch him squirm under Emil’s questioning, see if he could take even a scrap of accountability for the damage his company had caused. She should have anticipated that he wouldn’t, she doubted that the word ‘accountability’ was even in his vocabulary. But she never could’ve anticipated this, a glorified coming out party that was the PR equivalent of pretending to throw a tennis ball for a dog and watching it chase after nothing.

And the worst part was, she knew it would work. Media outlets could never resist a romance, particularly one which had seemingly been building for years - and the fact that it was a gay relationship? They’d be falling over each other to post cringeworthy tweets plastered with the pride flag emoji, celebrating the fact that a member of the LGBTQ+ community was the face of a company who was destroying the planet. A win for inclusivity! It made her sick.

As the cameras wound down and their special guests made their way off the sound stage, she ran to catch up with the more detestable of the two. Her disdain for Ikki Nakamura could wait. Her personal vendetta against the Femenias boy could not. "Very nice, Mr Femenias. Slick.” Her voice laced with sarcasm, she spat the words at his retreating back as though hoping the sheer force of her hatred could wound him. “I'd congratulate you on your plan, but I think we both know that this was the work of some greasy spin doctor and not an original thought on your part."

[ravireyes]

ravi’s instagram — the 2020 birthdays, part iii. — rafael femenias jr

rafael, i don't think enough people know how warm you are.

i can't find a better word for it right now. i wanted to say "good" but i don't mean it like that. i know the world is built on grey matter, i know nothing is black or white, good or bad. i have a word for it in spanish (we all know how bad i am at it, but this one i know): acogedor. it means "welcoming", if you google it, but that's a shallow translation. acogedor feels warmer -- like comforting, like something that embraces you, takes you in.

you know, whenever i see you, i always remember my first time having dinner with the femenias bunch. first time being introduced as marcus' partner to the family. i hadn't been anyone's anything in years, and meeting the parents is always a nerve-wrecking experience; but meeting the parents, the sister, the cousins, the uncle? of one of the most famous families in town? i wasn't even operating on the same plane of existence as the rest of you, i was so nervous.

you and i had already sorta met, back when i worked at femEn, but we never talked much. you were still a stranger that night, someone else to impress. about an hour into the evening, we found ourselves alone together by circumstance, everyone else distracted by something in the other room. and then my dumbass, who was holding a glass of wine, tripped on thin air and spilled wine onto the rug beneath us.

horror. pure horror. i was mortified, i couldn't believe myself. it's the first time i visit my boyfriend's family, and here i am, ruining a rug that's probably worth more than all of my savings. i stared at the stain, the stain stared back at me, and i felt the overwhelming embarrassment already burning up my nose.

and then, you. before i could even fuss, before i could make a sound, you so carelessly filled up your lungs and called out, "papa! i spilled wine on your rug!"

you didn't even think before you said it. it was a split second reaction, it seemed like second nature to you, like habit. you took one look at the desperation in my eyes and you didn't hesitate to take the blame. and you didn't even know me by then. your dad groaned from the other room, you were grinning. i just stood there, still mortified, shoulders up to my ears, feeling like a kid who's about to be yelled at. you gave me a tap on the arm and went to join everyone else. 

i waited for the other shoe to drop, for a long time. for you to make fun of me (you could, you can now), or hold it over my head, or remind me, or something. but nothing happened. you never brought it up again. eventually, i figured out that that's just the kind of thing you do.

i'm not even sure if you remember it. it might've been just that for you, an everyday act of kindness, a funny, but forgettable moment in the grand scheme of all the good you do. i know it's a silly thing, i know there were no real consequences to this stained rug, i'm not trying to say this was a big deal. no, it really was just that. a tiny act of compassion, a favour, a hand offered without second thought. and i was never used to that. it was, actually, a big deal for me.

the rug got cleaned up eventually, but if i squint hard enough, i can still see the faint outline of that red stain. sometimes, when i visit the estate, i get right on top of it and stand there for a second. i guess it reminds me of that feeling. of feeling welcome. not just a guest passing by, but a part of the family. you always treated me like that. from day one, you looked at me like i'd always been there. i don't think you know (i don't think you can) how much that means to me.

rafael femenias junior, you really are a name for the history books. i know i don't say it much, but i appreciate you, even when you annoy the shit out of me. you are kind, warm, and you are good. don't ever change that about you. don't ever lose sight of it, will you? and if you ever actually spill wine on a fancy rug somewhere, well, i still owe you one.

 happy bday, @rfjofficial !

ps: of course you had to be a leo, our lionhearted man. can you hear me rolling my eyes. i hope so.

[oflightfeet]

with. – @rfjofficial where. – rafael’s car. when. – saturday 6 february. 

Wren has a feeling that they’ll never feel quite at ease in cars like these. They prefer rickety subway trains, where they can sit and stand wherever they please ( as long as it’s not too busy, of course ). And then there’s the person next to them: Rafael Femenias Jr, interim-Horseman and person who never fails to put Wren on edge. They glance sideways as they drive back to London, glad that their dispute is a thing of the past. Glad, really, for plenty of things that Rafael and his family have offered Wren these past days; even if it’s something as small as a ride. When he asks them to get his sunglasses from the glove compartment, Wren is quick to act, “Yeah, just give me a moment.”

The compartment unlatches and Wren’s eyes fall not just on a sunglasses case, but a significant stash of lube and condoms, too. “Protect your Wang?” A chuckle falls from their lips, as they try and act casual. Ears, however, grow slightly red. “That’s so ... such a bad pun.” They’ve heard, of course, of Rafael’s reputation ( and they’ve been slightly relieved that he’s overlooked them in his tendency to hit on interns and Angels ), and so they can’t say they’re entirely surprised. “So they’re true then, all those whispers of lothario Rafael Femenias Jr?” They grab the sunglasses, open the case and hand them to Rafael before closing the compartment again. “Here you go.”

[realjessicareyes]

JUNE 16TH, WEDNESDAY. AFTERNOON. A PRIVATE WEDDING BOUTIQUE IN KNIGHTSBRIDGE. GOWN BY BERTA. FT. @rfjofficial​. ( 🎵)

Long before Jessica knew what career she wanted to have when she grew up, she knew one thing: She wanted to get married. The groom—or bride, as she later realized—was immaterial, amorphous in her dreams and daydreams; it was the wedding that mattered: the church, the bridal bouquets, the entourage, the guests, and most importantly, The Dress. The one that would be immortalized for the rest of her life and beyond: something that would make her feel feminine and delicate and beautiful, like her mother and her grandmothers before her. Like the brides who graced the cover of Tatler and the models whose weddings took over entire magazine spreads, joy and laughter on their face as they walked down the aisle, had their first dance, or kissed their partner for the first, third, or 87th time that day.

As Jessica gazed at herself in the mirror of the dressing room, a love song playing over the ceiling speakers, she ran her hands wonderingly down the dress she was wearing. It was perfect, with its low neckline, the sheer white material that covered her upper body and slender arms, and the floral appliqués that trailed delicately down the skirt—nearly everything she’d ever dreamed of in a dress—and she couldn’t help grinning as she drew the curtains of the dressing room open and stepped through, striking a pose in front of the boutique attendants and the still-recovering man sitting on the couch.

“So? What do you think?” Jessica looked at Rafael expectantly, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Is this a good idea or would I be too irresistible for my partner to keep their hands off me throughout the entire ceremony?” She giggled, twirling around in her high heels to see herself from another angle in the boutique’s large mirror; her smile was so wide that she received amused smiles and chuckles from the attendants putting the Vera Wang and Monique Lhuillier dresses she’d previously tried back into their protective coverings. Then she leaned over to peer at what he was looking at. “And how’s the search going? Feeling inspired yet?”

[itsmarcusreyes]

—  FEBRUARY 2ND,  FEMENIAS ESTATE,  WITH RAFAEL FEMENIAS JR.  ( @rfjofficial​ )

he should have seen it coming. he should have done more. marcus has always had too much confidence in himself to ever feel useless, but in the journey to the estate with his uncle bleeding out and his cousin torn apart by distress, marcus felt useless. with tío rafael now in life altering surgery, that feeling is only heightened. it makes looking at himself in the impossible to miss mirror of one of the many lavish bathrooms hard to stomach. marcus is no stranger to the sight of blood circling a drain, just not tío's blood. it's almost as if his blood shines brighter, screaming at marcus not to let it go to waste. again, he is useless, watching the red fade to white because it was better than letting it sit on his skin.

on his way back to rafael, marcus picks up two cups of coffee from the kitchen, made precisely how rafael likes it, with a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar, while his stays black and unsweetened. pushing the door of tío's room open nimbly with his shoulder, he kicks it closed behind him and sets down the two cups of the coffee table in front of rafael. affectionate is not a word commonly used to describe marcus reyes, not unless you're family. he lowers himself down onto the sofa at raf's side, an arm instinctively wrapping around his brother, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

rafael's anguish is palpable, pressing down on marcus' rib cage relentlessly, but not a speck of it is shown in his expression. this is how he is useful to his family, by remaining level headed in times of panic, when doom hangs over their heads, taunting. being the one to keep pressure on tío's open wound and pulling rafael back from the edge of breaking down. “he's gonna be fine. he's in good hands, isn't he?” he speaks softly as fingers knead raf's tense shoulder. “come on, let's get you cleaned up. he won't want to see you like this.”

[omer-nacar]

Photos of Rafael Femenias Jr. and Omer Nacar over the many years of their friendship  ( @rfjofficial )

[nicochambers]

WHERE: some coffee shop xoxx WHEN: march 4th CLOSED for @oflightfeet​

Nico knows it's a gamble, to be walking around an area dangerously too close to FemEn, specially these days, when everyone's on edge. But there he is anyway, attentive eyes sweeping the streets at every turn he makes, searching for unwanted familiar faces. It's bright and busy enough that he knows he can push his luck -- no one's about to shoot him on sight with so many civilians around. 

And he may be conducting shady business, but it's not at War's orders. Does it make it better, or worse, that his motivation is purely personal and childishly petty? Ikki Nakamura, recently turned CEO and recently announced brand new boy toy of Rafael Femenias Jr, still has his favourite fucking rifle. He's pretty mad about it. He's sure the weapon isn't exactly at their place of work (and maybe it's already been discarded anyway), but still, he's been vulturing around the neighbourhood for the past couple of days in his spare time, hoping to get a glimpse of Ikki, perhaps in the hopes of learning the man's habits or schedule.

Today, he's a few blocks away, getting distracted by the window of a flower shop, when he catches sight of them in the reflection. The unmistakable hair, the way they walk, the familiarity of them -- he hates that his brain startles in recognition not a half-second after he sees their image. His feet move on their own accord. He doesn't have a plan, he doesn't have any words in his mind that he'd like to say. No grand motive, either. Nothing but a drive to meet them, to reach out, to enter the coffee shop and move until he's standing by their table.

"Hey." He hates that it's something like genuine concern that wraps around the empty greeting. He hates that he's not here with ulterior motives, he hates that it seems like he's not made of the hard stuff other people in this business are made of. He knows he can get things out of Wren, he knows he should be talking to them for that. But instead, he stands here, and feels just like he did that night at the truce anniversary. A little pathetic, and a little too soft. He knows he won't be invited to sit, but he thinks he'll feel even dumber if he just stays in place, so he slips into the seat across from them at the table. "Heard about the FemEn building." He remembers seeing that they work there now. "Everything alright?" At least he has it in him to deflect, instead of blurting out the are you okay that's hidden underneath that.

[marcusreyes]

LOCATION: The Savoy DATE: January 23rd, 2021. CLOSED: @rfjofficial​​

Almost conspicuously, as if deliberately, a chair had been left pulled out and empty by the Seraphim table, likening installation art at Tate Modern. It made it near impossible to miss that Rafael Jr had been missing in action for longer than could be considered necessary, or even mannerly. The scene reminded him of family dinners at the Femenias estate, how he and his cousins would leave their seats at the table a mess before running barefoot down the hallways, little laughs echoing off the walls. Childhood memories unfolding themselves as the pages of a storybook would, in which some chapters read like fairytales and others dark and obscure like something written by Edgar Allan Poe. 

It was in all loving heart that Marcus had signed on as a protector, realising what he sought to protect in his cousins he sacrificed in him. Still, he was not their babysitter, someone who would purposefully chase them down at every wrong turn – that much would seem an impossible task for any one man to handle alone. That’s why, contrary to what would be popular belief, when Marcus excused himself from the table moments later it was not to look for his cousin. Yet, it would seem at times the two were able to communicate through invisible smoke signals because when Marcus stepped into the men’s restroom and heard a strange noise coming from one of the toilet cubicles, he needn’t check to know it was Raf. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, RJ.” Disgruntled and concerned all at one, Marcus was quick to secure the door behind him. Recreational drug use came with the territory, but the heir to the Femenias’ throne had the knack for pushing boundaries and seemed to be working overtime to reinforce the idea that those born into royalty struggled to find it in themselves to behave. “I want to believe you and Ravi have an Escobar skit planned for tonight, that maybe the entertainment cancelled, but...” Even though he knew the white powder laid out in front of Raf was by no means cinematic prop, he dipped his ring adorned finger in it and brought it up to taste. At least, he thought, the young Seraphim had not yet lowered his standard. “A little too far, a little too early?”

[kashvis]

with. – @rfjofficial​​​​​ where. – PEST. when. – january 23, after party.

Kashvi did not like Rafael Femenias Junior for many reasons. For one, the famine Seraphim was a tiresome person to be around — his carefree nature grating, his hedonism infectious, his arrogance boring. And maybe more importantly, he was a bad influence on Remus. Kashvi had a feeling that she wasn’t fully aware of her friend’s problems with substance abuse, something that had been strengthened only when she had seen Remus tonight. Glassy eyed, absent, numbed. Going for long bathroom breaks with Rafael Jr, who was notoriously unsober most of the time,

She’s protective. Hypocritically and arrogantly so, wanting to bark at Raf for potentially dragging Remus down with him when she’s hardly a model friend herself. Kashvi, however, does not care much about logic when it comes to things like this: no, she burns for the people she loves. Logic does not come into it. And so when she sees Rafael leaving – for a smoke break, she presumes – she follows.

“Can I bum one?” The question is asked innocently enough, but Kashvi’s eyes aren’t kind. Her tongue has formed words of polite small talk all evening – she has no interest in pretending with Rafael. He knows how she feels about him: it’s not like she’s been shy about it in the past. “You’re quite fond of ... how shall I put it? Getting people to partake in your nasty habits, after all.”