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[vvrcths]

where: a café on the east side of london when: midday, plenty of daylight whom: @airiblackwood

Lucretia was known for few things beyond being out in public, being rich, and getting herself onto Page 6 more times than she could count. Most saw her as an airheaded socialite with a penchant for spending money and very little else.

It was the furthest thing from the truth, obviously, but she loved that it was her reputation. It made her job easier and it made her life (to some degree) easier. The only thing she loathed about it was keeping UP that appearance on days when she'd rather be tormenting her ex-husband.

So she sat in a café with a latte in front of her and a trashy book (her go to move) settled on the table in front of her, not expecting to see opportunity walk in.

Of the people who knew this side of Lucretia, there was only one she'd met thus far who didn't buy it at face value: Colin Blackwood. So imagine her surprise — and, if she's honest, a tiny bit of delight — when Airi walked in.

Of course she knew who the young woman was, both for her position at the Times and because of her father. She had dossiers, after all, of anyone who might prove to be troublesome and she knew who Airi was because of that.

Lucretia was decidedly a monster, but not so much that she'd ever harm Colin's child just for funsies. She might, should her buttons get pushed or he try to get froggy, but it wasn't in her to just drag other people into drama that didn't concern them... unless you were Javi.

She wasn't sure if Colin would have talked to his daughter about her, to make sure she avoided the possibility of danger, or if maybe he trusted everything he'd learned about her to know she wouldn't harm his daughter even if she was a 'right murderous cunt'. It wasn't her style, and honestly she just wanted some company to sell the ruse... this company would just have the added benefit of pissing off Colin.

"There's a seat here, luv, if you can't find one." Lucretia offered, sweet as honey and with a smile that should melt hearts... it didn't quite reach her eyes, though she desperately wished it had. Some people read faces and she wasn't sure if any of her father's bloodhound nature had come out in his daughter.

[vvrcths]

The real and true kick in the ass of the whole thing was that this hadn't been Lucretia's intended plans, either. No, she'd had other things in mind, not least of which was texting her ex-husband under false pretenses to see how riled up she could get him... though she guessed this attempted mugging and run-in with Colin might get his dander up as well.

A sigh escapes her lips, eyes following his to her feet as he mentions walking and she shoots a glance up at him briefly, corner of her mouth tugging into a grin — oh, she could run in these if she wanted to, Colin, don't you worry... and it was very unlikely he or anyone else would catch her — but the smile faded, as did the thought, as she had zero plan to book it. This was all part of the charade... sometimes you need to be on Page 6 for the sake of a scandal of a different variety.

Rich heiress and renowned party girl attacked on her way home only to have her would-be muggers halted by the MET police. Would they mention Colin by name? He'd hate that, so she kind of hoped so. Time to make the best of a bad situation.

"Oh of course, officer. I do not wish to cause you any further distress. You saved my life!" Ugh, ugh to all of that, "Just lead the way and I will follow, Colin."

She used his name. They knew each other publicly, she had every right to use his name, but it felt foreign in her mouth in that moment, like trying to eat a piece of plastic fruit while you're extremely hungry only to realize after two bites you've made a mistake. She preferred being stupid and calling him officer, but she could feel herself getting far too hammy for the crowd and decided to tone it down.

vvrcths​:

The strange irony of everything is all of Lucretia was an act AND she never left enough evidence behind to be found out. Phone conversations were not a convenient way to get one’s targets — completely a burn upon reading situation — or words directly from Jefe himself…

So it meant that while Colin was absolutely right about her and what she could do, because he could sense it, see right through her and to her very rotten core, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it even if his boss had offered him more time and money; to be fair, she could have put a stop to it early on with her own sway but didn’t… she wasn’t going to let him know he might have, at some point, had her sweating.

No, Lucretia LIKED holding all the cards and wasn’t going to overplay her hand. She pulled back as he asked for a statement and gave a swift nod, smiling (shakily, how did she manage to look so terrified of a situation she was never in danger of), “Of course, anything I can do to help!”

So helpful, that Lucretia.

Beneath it all she was cool as a cucumber, but nerves wracked her body for the sake of show. She looked over at the man who’d been her would-be mugger and recoiled away a bit herself, folding her arms loosely across her torso and the smile wilted as if practiced, “I do not have to ride with him, do I?”

She could kill him if she did. Oops, finger slipped. No, she wasn’t that sloppy. But, if you look at it this way… he really was a mugger trying to hurt people and Lucretia HAD, in her own way, helped apprehend him.

She should have been a cop. No, no, then she’d have to deal with bloodhounds like Colin and their incessant need to put morality into every action. No shades of gray in that world and she wasn’t having it.

“Ride with him?” Well that would not be very responsible of him, now would it. That would be against the MET police code of conduct, and a PR disaster (though he’d established a while ago already that he didn’t give a flying or swimming fuck about PR). As far as he was concerned, PR was just synonymous to a charade, an hypocritical piece of screenplay performed to the public to keep them happy. Fucking politics, in short. He hated that. 

When his brother passed, when his father lost his job, PR did their best trying to sugar coat it, instead of protecting them, the small folks who made things possible.

“You’re coming with me, by foot, to the station. It’s a hundred meters from here,” he glanced down at her feet. He didn’t precisely care for her choice of shoes, and he knew she wouldn’t try to run off, not with him around. “Let’s get going, shall we?” He wasn’t really pleasant, but there was his quiet evening watching telly or reading a book by the fireplace gone. “I’d rather we don’t spend all night sorting this matter through,” he reached in his pocket for his phone, to get officers to join them halfway on the pavement. “Let’s get moving, and no funny business,” hard to tell who he was speaking to then.

[vvrcths]

LENA HEADEY

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Lena Headey

[vvrcths]

There was something in Lydia beyond the innocence that had drawn Lucretia in. She needed the young woman for smokescreen (who would imagine a contract killer having an oddly aged best friendship with someone like Lydia, after all?) but it was also a sort of fascination.

Much like Lydia liked to discover new things and explore the histories of the things around her, trying to uncover new worlds, Lucretia liked to do the same with people. Anthropology of a different kind, however. It wasn't that Lucretia liked people or wanted to know people, she just liked knowing what made them tick and how exactly that could be manipulated into some kind of use for her.

That being said, Lydia was not just the sweet, doting person she presented to everyone at first glance. Inside her, Lucretia thought, beat the heart of a lion. Were she anyone else she'd nurture and encourage the notion. If she were willing to divulge and put herself at risk she'd cultivate it in a different way, but her care only goes so far on most days.

"I am sure they have plenty of materials, though I do not know if any of them are put out yet. We'll have to have them squirrel around in the back and root us out some for you. The exhibit is technically still in progress so I doubt they are promoting it too much in the shop yet." But Lucretia had pull, and she'd use that pull to keep the little dove happy as much as she could.

"I am saying that he is handsy, luv, that's all. I don't think you need me to warn you but I'm glad to know that you can use what they tried to make a weakness in us as a strength." Lucretia said with another soft smile, reaching over to pat Lydia's arm as they walked.

She didn't necessarily worry about Lydia's ability to take care of herself. Sure, she'd 'protect' her should there ever be a contract on her or should she get herself in trouble she couldn't get out of — at least right now, who knows what the future holds for these two — but it didn't mean she'd hold her hand through every step. Lucretia would lose her fucking mind trying to babysit.

Lucretia didn't have maternal instincts. She has animal instincts.

vvrcths​:

There was a moment where Lucretia’s hands, mostly known for maiming and eviscerating those she’s been told to, found soft purchase on Lydia’s face, before smoothing out her hair and kissing her on the forehead, “Hush, luv. It’s really fine, we all get busy sometimes. Lord knows I’ve had my days where things run together and I can’t find a second to myself.”

It was strange, even for Lucretia, to see herself in such a manner. Like she was watching someone else through their eyes as they showed her how love and affection should be. The soft brush of Lydia’s bangs back from her face before releasing her followed by a smile was something foreign to her, and yet it seemed so natural to any bystander… well, as long as they didn’t know Lucretia that well.

She shifted then, tucking her arm to loop with Lydia’s and giving her forearm a pat, grinning slightly, “I figured you’d like it. We haven’t done this one in a while and I heard there’s a new exhibit about Stonehenge and Druids somewhere abouts.”

Lucretia wasn’t necessarily one to like museums on the whole, but she did enjoy SOME museums… natural history was often fraught with depictions of violence that has permeated history through all species — animal and man alike — and tickles the cavewoman parts of her brain that want to club someone with a rock for the sheer fact that they exist…

As far as her public persona goes, however, she loves them for the novelty. The way the exhibits are done and the prestige that comes with being one of the first to see them. In fact, the museum was in a light load right now because of Lucretia’s influence. There were patrons, sure, but the general public had been shuttered away for a bit and it was mostly donators and debutantes that were getting their way.

A foreign dignitary and his children were shuffling nearby as Lucretia leaned in to murmur to Lydia, still leading her towards the aforementioned stonehenge exhibit, “I’ve met him before at an event. He is very handsy.”

Gossip. It made her seem like everyone else.

“Hopefully not too many of those, though?” Lydia looked up at the other woman. “I think everyone deserves moments to breathe.” Even if she preferred to stay as busy as possible whenever possible, that didn’t mean that she wanted the same for everybody else.

She smiled at Lucretia. “We haven’t done this in forever, and you guessed correctly. You know I’d always go to a museum like this, and those new exhibits sound utterly fascinating.” Part of why she’d gone into research was because of her love of uncovering new things, of either rediscovering or discovering for the first time what different parts of the world had to offer. “Do you think they’ll have books on the topic in the gift shop?” Because, knowing her, the exhibit alone would only serve to further pique her interest and curiosity, and she’d be left with the desire to go and discover even more about whatever she’d seen.

“Sorry to be already thinking so far ahead, but I suppose that on one level, I cannot entirely help myself.” Lydia grinned. “Though perhaps I can assume you don’t mind all too much, if only because you seem willing to hang out with me again and again.” She glanced down at her feet.

“I -” Lydia made a small face. “Is that your way of telling me to not go and introduce myself to him?” She glanced toward the man as he made his way past the two of them, “or just a fair warning?”

“I’d respect either way. As much as my brother or my best friend would say I’ve used a smile to get what I want, I’m certainly not bothered by letting people know when I’m not comfortable. Usually, at least. I figure that’s got to be an important skill to have, both as a woman and as a journalist.” She continued to follow Lucretia towards the exhibit. “There’s no way I can try to persuade you to go and get a coffee with me after this, is there?”

[vvrcths]

The strange irony of everything is all of Lucretia was an act AND she never left enough evidence behind to be found out. Phone conversations were not a convenient way to get one's targets — completely a burn upon reading situation — or words directly from Jefe himself...

So it meant that while Colin was absolutely right about her and what she could do, because he could sense it, see right through her and to her very rotten core, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it even if his boss had offered him more time and money; to be fair, she could have put a stop to it early on with her own sway but didn't... she wasn't going to let him know he might have, at some point, had her sweating.

No, Lucretia LIKED holding all the cards and wasn't going to overplay her hand. She pulled back as he asked for a statement and gave a swift nod, smiling (shakily, how did she manage to look so terrified of a situation she was never in danger of), "Of course, anything I can do to help!"

So helpful, that Lucretia.

Beneath it all she was cool as a cucumber, but nerves wracked her body for the sake of show. She looked over at the man who'd been her would-be mugger and recoiled away a bit herself, folding her arms loosely across her torso and the smile wilted as if practiced, "I do not have to ride with him, do I?"

She could kill him if she did. Oops, finger slipped. No, she wasn't that sloppy. But, if you look at it this way... he really was a mugger trying to hurt people and Lucretia HAD, in her own way, helped apprehend him.

She should have been a cop. No, no, then she'd have to deal with bloodhounds like Colin and their incessant need to put morality into every action. No shades of gray in that world and she wasn't having it.

vvrcths​: @vvrcths​

Lucretia’s lithe form darted back as Colin intervened. Of course it had to be the one detective in all of London intent on finding out who she actually was. She couldn’t be saved by a random citizen who would just dote upon her for a moment and then, once she had sufficiently stuttered her way through ‘calling a car’, let her go.

No, it had to be London’s #1 bloodhound detective and his duty to protect.

She knew, on some level, that he’d probably known it was her and may have hesitated. He believed with all his heart that she was not remotely who she said she was — he thought of her as a virus that needed to be eradicated from the city, not a socialite who poses no REAL threat — but there was that underlying sense of duty in Colin to not let crime happen… regardless of whom it was happening to.

Were she anyone else the sight of this man easily pinning her would-be attacker and absolutely terrifying his friends would be enough to garner far more attention than Colin probably wanted. A flush in their bodies — which Lucretia now tried to mime even though every part of her wanted to recoil in disgust at her own act — while watching him with a sort of lazy, needy gaze.

It was a testament to her ability to put forth a certain persona when necessary that she had managed to cause a faint, tremulous breath to escape as he turned to face her. Her entire body had that underlying tremble of a woman who feels like she could have died… even though Lucretia would never have let it gone THAT far.

“Detective… I am in your debt! I feel like this happens far too often. My hero, always saving me in some way or another. What would I do without you?” She let out a strangled gasp and stumbled forward, giving in to the persona of throwing herself against his chest as her eyes misted dutifully; the only thing that kept her satisfied in the act was knowing how much he was hating that she was that close to him.

His head could roll through the image of dead bodies left without a piece of evidence on them likely embraced in just such a way by Lucretia in the past. She was very good at what she did and very good at the act… there was truly only one person who could see to the core of her, but it didn’t stop Colin from trying.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you?” Again, a thing she had no intention of following through on, but a lilt in her tone suggesting something more… especially as people now started to approach the hero and his maiden fair — it’s a lot easier now that the threat was gone to rubberneck and get involved, after all.

It took a lot from Colin not to show how repulsed he was with her Shakespeare company worthy performance. What in the goddamn was she doing now? And people were buying that? Couldn’t they see that this woman was as empty as a tin box of biscuits left for 10 minutes in a police precinct. 

The criminal tried to wiggle his way out of his grip, which had Colin twist his arm further up, uncomfortably so. “Let’s not turn this into something worse now shall we, pal? Resisting arrest? Not a bloody good look, ain’t it?” Shifting to hold him with one hand, he took out the cuffs he kept on his belt, fitting them around the other’s wrists. Meanwhile, she kept her pantomime going, and Colin’s patience was growing thinner and thinner. He wanted to recoil, beg her to stop her act, but that was not happening. He wouldn’t snap at that woman, give her the satisfaction of seeing him weak, or let her imagine for a second that she had him around her little finger. Fucking harpy.

He knew what kind of person she was, but without any solid evidence to back up his claims, the investigation stalled, and of course, his supervisor refused to give him more funds to stalk her, have her phone bugged, or for Colin to just have more hours for this. People were fucking murdered in their houses and he was powerless.

Little sick fuck was now openly pushing him under the bus in front of a whole crowd, and they felt endeared by it. Damsel in distress offers her savior a reward, how wholesome was that? What a fucking nightmare. “I’ll need you to follow me to the police station, for a deposition,” he gave her a sympathetic smile, then glanced over at his grocery bag by the wall. Well there went his quiet evening. He didn’t want to do this, but Colin knew that, at least, at the precinct, they’d be in his realm, that he had a shot at getting the upperhand.

[vvrcths]

Lucretia Winchester. So very hard to pin down on any given day, slipping into clubs and bars alike like a phantom, both there and not there depending on her whims but always there enough to be featured on pagesix if nothing else. It meant that she could be anywhere at any given time and never feel out of place.

People wanted Lucretia in their businesses, no matter how big or small. She wasn't a celebrity, per se, only famous for being rich and in the news for her foibles, but... she had money to burn and seemed intent on burning it. She would throw cash like it was trash and often brought with her a crowd of hangers-on WITHOUT the usual trappings of a 20 year old who doesn't know how to hold her liquor and will one-hundred percent end up costing your business with her destruction. Well, most of the time Lucretia didn't cause destruction, anyway.

The problem was that she was always out of place. Socializing was not her forte and she didn't have strong 'people skills' without pretending. She could smile, gladhand, and work a crowd like no one's business but sometimes the mere thought of touching someone in her own echelon made her so incredibly ill to her stomach she thought she might break their wrist for the hell of it.

She didn't, obviously, because it would ruin everything but the temptation was strong and it was real.

The point being, she never felt like she had to ask for anything, let alone someone's permission to sit in an open seat and get a drink. Boone was given a cursory glance and her brain did a quick roll through dossiers and files. She could place him, yes, but he was not at all on her 'to-do' list so she had no intention of doing him harm.

The night was still young, though...

"Wouldn't dream of it, luv." Lucretia finally said as she slid into the aforementioned seat, far enough away from the drunken group of London socialites who had come out to the run-down pub as an experience to tell later at the wedding and embarrass; close enough to the door that she could find six other points of exit; next to someone who was very likely to piss her off and, really, all she needed was the slightest spark to go into a full blown powder keg of circumstance, "I don't ask permission."

WHEN&WHERE: 11:11pm, Some dive bar -ish pub that’s not One Man’s Trash because Boone doesn’t want to get jumped.  WHO: Open to all!

He was in a pub, sipping on a brewski, scrolling through his phone becoming a victim to the void.  This was how Boone Hannigan unwound after a day of hard work.

After a job was completed, the man often found himself too full of adrenaline just to go home. He needed something to take the edge off, a beer usually did the trick. If one didn’t then he tried a second. Then a third. Fourth. Fifth. So on and so forth. Sometimes, when he found himself in an establishment like this one, he’d be chatty. Despite the neck tattoo, Boone could be a friendly guy and strike up a conversation with anyone who’d bite. Sometimes, it was an old barfly, they’d shoot the shit and Boone would wonder if he was getting a glimpse into his future. Other times, it would be a pretty, little thing and Boone would wonder something similar. 

However, tonight was not one of those nights.

Boone was not looking to make friends of any kind. All he wanted was to sit at the bar, drink his beers, like a couple thirst traps on Instagram, chain smoke half a pack and then go the fuck home.

Just as easy as Boone could make a friend, he could make an enemy. When the empty seat beside him was claimed with eager hands, when the stool squeaked as it was being dragged away, Boone’s head shifted towards them. He barely looked at the fellow patron, in fact, he didn’t at all. His eyes were still glued to his phone, his fingers double tapping the screen, and a heart appeared  in between a pair of tits. 

Even so, Boone couldn’t help but be an asshole. 

“Yo,” he began, “You’re not gonna ask if its taken?”

[vvrcths]

The fun thing about Lucretia is that she has more money than God and doesn't care about it. As long as she can live her life comfortably as she does, the rest of the money doesn't matter. Which is how she can use so much to keep certain relationships going the way she wants them.

Caleb had the luxury of being conventionally attractive — were Lucretia another woman she'd likely be all over him and trying to win his affection — and charming. It meant that they could both play off one another and, if necessary, collaborate to reach certain goals. She knew she could call Caleb if she needed a quiet cover (a night out drinking, for instance, to cover for the fact that she would slip into the back and kill someone quickly and cleanly before finishing her drink and waiting for the results) and he was often happy to have someone rich on his arm to draw in others whose attention he wanted and to curry favor with.

"You'll find some way to be, Caleb, you always do." Lucretia said with a tiny, miniscule hint of mirth in her voice. He was that, at least. Always entertaining and a better hang than most of the people she had to pretend to be associated with in public.

At the mention of tinder, she settled into her seat and lifted a hand to motion for drinks — even at a place like this she had cache, it pays to be Lucretia Winchester — and merely waited to have them brought to her. Caleb would generally drink what she was, which was whiskey, neat. Top shelf, so who was he to complain, "Tinder... hm. I am, honestly. I've gotten a few hook-ups through there but... mm, maybe I'm old fashioned."

Yes, old fashioned in the fact that if she couldn't (almost literally) fight someone before they did anything that it was hard to hold her interest. They served as utility, did their purpose (however poorly) and then she wanted them gone. She needed something ELSE if she was ever going to make repeat calls... and let's be honest, there's only one person to fit that bill.

"You're sure there's nothing you want to tell me about? I feel like we've gotten close enough for you to gush a little, no? I mean..." a tip of her head from left to right, sending chestnut hair fluttering against her neck and the sweater she wore, "You know a bit about me in that regard, right?"

vvrcths​:

Lucretia knew well enough to know that, while it may not be ALL of it, it WAS most of it. They enjoyed one another’s company because, on some level, they sensed that neither of them really enjoyed anyone’s company. She had the idea that Caleb might have some inklings or the ability to go further with someone, but it would be very hard to accomplish and it certainly wouldn’t be with her. She didn’t want anyone.

Well… not that she’d say out loud, anyhow.

“Darling, the fact that I know you is precisely why I said it. If I minded, we wouldn’t be having drinks so often, now would we?” There was a slight grin upon her lips, bordering on genuine and… wanting desperately to peel his brain into layers and look at each one.

Neuroscience had not so much helped her to understand what was broken in her — or rather, it did, but it didn’t help her ‘fix’ anything in her — but it had made her fascinated to pick apart the brains of others.

“How have you been doing? Any new… ahm… stories?” Perhaps she was trying to be delicate to not air his business as she shrugged brushed against and past a man who offered no apology for having bumped into her — or perhaps she just didn’t want to know too much and was hoping he’d cherry pick something good.

One day they might divulge the truth fully to one another and share stories… … or maybe they’d just keep drinking together.

Either way, she was satisfied with her and Caleb and how they worked, “I would speak of my own endeavors but it has been a difficult dating season for me.”

Please, please divulge about the girl you’re lying to and let her slowly pick apart the reasoning in her brain.

-

An audacious grin crept across Caleb’s face as they were entering the place and shouldering their way towards the bar. Caleb wished that most people were like Lucretia - and by that, he wished they would pay for drinks, and meals, and buy him anything he requested without hesitation, question or concern. Although, Caleb would not go that far with Lucretia. Simply knowing, or at least having the faintest idea about the woman that she was as well as the man she was once married to, Caleb knew to treat her with caution. There were lines which he should not and would not cross.

“I wish I had an interesting story to tell ya, Lucretia but…” Caleb’s words trailed off with a shrug as he leans against the oak bar top. There were stories, none that Caleb would ever go into too much detail about. Not with Lucretia, not with anyone. Perhaps Achara but their connection ran deeper, or perhaps it was simply a drunk confession that slipped out once.

      “You ought to get yourself on tinder, or something.” There were other, better ways to meet people, to which Caleb would be a self-proclaimed expert at. However, it seemed like every man, woman and their dog were on tinder or hinge or whatever the newest dating app was. “The run-up to valentines day is a perfect time.”

[vvrcths]

Lucretia was odd on the best days, but she knew in some ways that anything she showed Mickey he could either handle on his own (such as wounds that needed more tending than just a cursory glance and patching from herself) or would be discreet enough to not give away too much when consulting the on-call physician. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that even if he let something slip people might not truly believe what he'd said. Lucretia Winchester? Knife scars? Bruises? A broken rib? She must have fallen down drunk.

Truth was, her job sometimes made it hard to pretend she didn't have one. She had, on more than one occasion, come home with a busted lip from a job gone sideways (sometimes people struggle more than they should because the end result is always the same) and had to find a way to heal without drawing too much attention to her lack of being in the spotlight. It was a blessing and a curse: she got to finally relax and not have to pretend that she was so happy to be out shopping and just being frivolous, BUT it meant that she had to come up with a proper story as to why.

More than once it'd been a bender that had left her super hungover and she'd been 'too embarrassed' to see the public until she felt better. Then she'd throw on a pretty face and apologize for her behavior and promise to do better, even though no one could recall even having seen her out the night she was meant to have gotten so drunk? How strange.

Regardless, she stepped aside to let Mickey make his way in, exhaling slowly through her nose and wincing slightly. She hadn't had a proper job in a long time, at least not from the Jabberwocks, but she had taken on a few jobs outside of the city. The bruises on her ribs were not from those, however, but from stints in the underground fight clubs she tended to frequent when jobs were too few and far between and she needed to get some aggression out. She only ever went to the ones that knew better than to out her escapades there, but that's a digression.

"I have a couple of bruised ribs, I think. I had this run in with the railing at the new boutique out in Hampstead? Super charming and VERY underground, darling, you wouldn't believe the goods! But their property was... not what I am used to, I suppose? I tripped on a garish area rug and fell straight into a bar and I feel like it might have gotten me more than I'd thought. Worth it for the bargains but I'd hate to cause a stir at the hospital for something so small!" Lucretia said, nigh-gushing about the shop itself and hating every second of it. It existed, she'd done her research and had made an appearance (and even tripped slightly into her fractured rib) to keep up that ruse... but part of her knew Mickey always questioned her stories.

Not that he'd ever say it, but there was something in the way he'd look at her. Knowing him, however, as little as she might say she did, he probably thought she had a boyfriend who was rough with her that she was trying to keep out of the tabloids, which served her purposes fine... but just in case? Keep him close, make sure he isn't running off and telling people about the socialite with bruises that look like they did NOT come from a trip in a store.

"I know this is below your pay grade." it wasn't, he was a student and she knew that, in reality, it was both above his pay grade and not even a part of it. He was still learning and doing residency training, she'd imagine... but she had to flatter, right?, "But I'd really appreciate if you could just... tell me if it's broken worse than I thought?"

Hopefully he'd just offer to tape her up. She really had no idea if she'd broken a rib... she thought it might be a hairline fracture but really did not want to risk the hospital and that news getting back to certain parties...

Slowly, she lifted her shirt to show the bruising which looked... way worse than it should have for the thing she'd just described, but she just smiled, tight around the mouth and eyes but still... smiling.

.

In all honesty, Mickey wasn’t sure why he was here. In fact, being here might actually be unlawful in some capacity. At the very least, the morality was questionable. Yet somehow, despite the arguments from both himself, his school and the hospital, Mickey was handpicked by Lucretia to be her sole contact for the hospital. Mickey was just as confused as everyone else when the request came in.

It all started simply enough. Mickey was working in the accident and emergency room when Lucretia first came in. He helped her just as he would anybody in her place, noting the injuries and consulting with the actual staff to assess the needs. Soon after, the hospital received a request from the woman that Mickey and Mickey alone be assigned to her. For obvious reasons, he brushed the request off at first. He wasn’t even a real doctor yet. He couldn’t actually practice medicine, especially alone and outside of the hospital. The hospital took the same strategy, until a donation and some hypothetical strongarming made them start to rethink their original strategy.

Money made things a little different apparently. A compromise was made - Mickey showed up when requested and would then consult a doctor via text before making any actual decisions. It was simple, easy and ethically questionable, but everyone seemed to be happy with the deal. Even the school tried to reframe the entire thing as an incredible opportunity for personal growth and training. Mostly, Mickey was just confused. But at the end of the day, all he really cared about was getting that M.D.

“Hey! No worries at all. I’m always happy to swing by.” Despite his apprehension, it wasn’t a lie. Lucretia seemed distant and could be a bit standoffish, but she had never been anything besides perfectly polite and friendly to him. If anything, he should be honored that she picked him and refused to budge on it. He might be if the whole situation hadn’t baffled him so much. “Please, you’re nowhere near old enough to be senile.” He brought the usual pack with him, a makeshift bag the hospital helped him throw together. “How have you been doing? What made you reach out?”

[vvrcths]

There was a moment where Lucretia's hands, mostly known for maiming and eviscerating those she's been told to, found soft purchase on Lydia's face, before smoothing out her hair and kissing her on the forehead, "Hush, luv. It's really fine, we all get busy sometimes. Lord knows I've had my days where things run together and I can't find a second to myself."

It was strange, even for Lucretia, to see herself in such a manner. Like she was watching someone else through their eyes as they showed her how love and affection should be. The soft brush of Lydia's bangs back from her face before releasing her followed by a smile was something foreign to her, and yet it seemed so natural to any bystander... well, as long as they didn't know Lucretia that well.

She shifted then, tucking her arm to loop with Lydia's and giving her forearm a pat, grinning slightly, "I figured you'd like it. We haven't done this one in a while and I heard there's a new exhibit about Stonehenge and Druids somewhere abouts."

Lucretia wasn't necessarily one to like museums on the whole, but she did enjoy SOME museums... natural history was often fraught with depictions of violence that has permeated history through all species — animal and man alike — and tickles the cavewoman parts of her brain that want to club someone with a rock for the sheer fact that they exist...

As far as her public persona goes, however, she loves them for the novelty. The way the exhibits are done and the prestige that comes with being one of the first to see them. In fact, the museum was in a light load right now because of Lucretia's influence. There were patrons, sure, but the general public had been shuttered away for a bit and it was mostly donators and debutantes that were getting their way.

A foreign dignitary and his children were shuffling nearby as Lucretia leaned in to murmur to Lydia, still leading her towards the aforementioned stonehenge exhibit, "I've met him before at an event. He is very handsy."

Gossip. It made her seem like everyone else.

Lydia knew that befriending strangers in museums was perhaps not the best course of action that she could choose to take, but she couldn’t help it, and she also figured that meeting someone in a place like a museum was a safe-ish bet, at least, because you had to be a good person to enjoy museums, unless you were a thief, and she figured that thieves probably wouldn’t have wanted to befriend people anyhow, so when someone had spoken to her at the Australian aboriginal art exhibit, she’d figured that anybody attending that niche of an exhibition had to be someone worth talking to.

Especially since the majority of her friends fell into the category of being at least relatively similar to her - Sonny and Jude were family - Sonny literally, and Jude had stepped beyond closest friend the very moment they’d met. Or perhaps half an hour after they’d met.

Regardless, those two were something more than friends - and she was lucky enough to have others - like Lilli, Eilidh, Zadie, Airi -- any number of others, too - lucky to have found any number of people who she found comfort in, in all sorts of ways.

The woman she’d met at the art exhibit - Lucretia - had been so kind, right away. So when she’d suggested staying in contact, Lydia had agreed without a moment’s hesitation. She’d enjoyed the other times that they’d spent together, finding comfort in the routine that they’d seemed to have picked up.

She fell into Lucretia’s hug, the other woman’s perfume a comforting scent. Lydia truly admired the other woman - she was elegant, and so aware of the world that it was impossible not to.

“Of course - I’m sorry it has been a few weeks, work has been rather busy, and...” She scrunched up her nose just slightly “that’s no excuse not to find time for you, and I’ll do my best to not have it happen again, but that is the excuse I come with today.” Lydia grinned. “But the Natural History Museum? Always always a good choice.”

[vvrcths]

“I don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth”

— Ophelia, Act IV, Scene V  (via sumiremiu)

[vvrcths]

Lucretia's lithe form darted back as Colin intervened. Of course it had to be the one detective in all of London intent on finding out who she actually was. She couldn't be saved by a random citizen who would just dote upon her for a moment and then, once she had sufficiently stuttered her way through 'calling a car', let her go.

No, it had to be London's #1 bloodhound detective and his duty to protect.

She knew, on some level, that he'd probably known it was her and may have hesitated. He believed with all his heart that she was not remotely who she said she was — he thought of her as a virus that needed to be eradicated from the city, not a socialite who poses no REAL threat — but there was that underlying sense of duty in Colin to not let crime happen... regardless of whom it was happening to.

Were she anyone else the sight of this man easily pinning her would-be attacker and absolutely terrifying his friends would be enough to garner far more attention than Colin probably wanted. A flush in their bodies — which Lucretia now tried to mime even though every part of her wanted to recoil in disgust at her own act — while watching him with a sort of lazy, needy gaze.

It was a testament to her ability to put forth a certain persona when necessary that she had managed to cause a faint, tremulous breath to escape as he turned to face her. Her entire body had that underlying tremble of a woman who feels like she could have died... even though Lucretia would never have let it gone THAT far.

"Detective... I am in your debt! I feel like this happens far too often. My hero, always saving me in some way or another. What would I do without you?" She let out a strangled gasp and stumbled forward, giving in to the persona of throwing herself against his chest as her eyes misted dutifully; the only thing that kept her satisfied in the act was knowing how much he was hating that she was that close to him.

His head could roll through the image of dead bodies left without a piece of evidence on them likely embraced in just such a way by Lucretia in the past. She was very good at what she did and very good at the act... there was truly only one person who could see to the core of her, but it didn't stop Colin from trying.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" Again, a thing she had no intention of following through on, but a lilt in her tone suggesting something more... especially as people now started to approach the hero and his maiden fair — it's a lot easier now that the threat was gone to rubberneck and get involved, after all.

vvrcths​:

where: a side street in downtown london when: early evening whom: @colin-blackwood

Lucretia hated how her life unfolded sometimes — mostly when within the public eye — and the humiliations she had to suffer for the sake of being a woman of privilege.

People would ask what she was wearing but nothing deeper than that; if a person were to pick her pocket, she’d be acutely aware and sizzling with anger but have to pretend she had not noticed and, depending on the pick-pocket, say goodbye to the item forever; if a man were to hit on her and be a little aggressive she would need to wither demurely because, given her own way, she’d break every bone in his body and make him say he was sorry, at length, before letting him potentially live.

Playing a wilting violet afforded her safety in her life in the long run, a thing she desperately needed to comfortably continue her work and keep up appearances, but she hated every second of it. The demure, sometimes wild socialite who spends her money as if shopping is everything and goes to galas and events as if her life depended on it. A complete departure from the woman she was at her core.

But, it was especially frustrating when someone attempted to harm her or rob her, especially so much so in the public eye that someone could easily happen by and she couldn’t just make them wish they’d never crossed her.

No, hands on her bag and a knife drawn on her — she was immediately annoyed at the state of the knife and the fact that it was not only cheap but poorly handled — and she was forced to, after a beat of annoyance internally, start screaming for help. Her voice carried, and she performed with desperation and a practiced fervor, wanting nothing more than for this to end and her to thank her ‘savior’ for as long as was politely necessary.

There were three men, and though people were passing by in the side-street, most of them were keeping to themselves, acting as if they’d heard or seen nothing — a thing Lucretia would normally appreciate but right now it was dragging out her misery — because it wasn’t their issue to deal with. The rich woman would recover from a lost purse and most people who had knives out for a robbery weren’t willing to use them. They were meant for threat more than use. But why risk yourselves for someone you don’t know who is probably better off than you anyway, right?

Another loud scream, her face twitching into vague boredom and annoyance as she pulled her purse back towards her one more time. If she had to abandon that bag and lose one of her favorite weapons, a thin knife sewn against its lining on the side to be hidden from pat down searches, she’d be more than angry about the lack of help she’d received.

This shit was insufferable, she could have killed all three of them and deposited the bodies somewhere in the time that she’d been doing this dance, “HELP!”

London was too fucking tiny.

Colin had finished work an hour and an half ago. He’d ended up getting a pint with a colleague and then some groceries for dinner. It was supposed to be a quiet evening with fettuccine alfredos, a glass of red wine and a good book. If he was absolutely honest, he had paused. Of course he recognized that voice, even as she shrieked for help. The detective felt a bit shameful that he immediately thought this to be another attempt at raising his eyebrows in irritation. Even now, as he saw it unfold, he was unsure just how much this was real. Again, if he was to be honest, he wouldn’t have bought it, if it had not been for the way these guys were behaving. Not one of them seemed to care that he was looking at them, and though they wore hoods and scarves to hide their faces, the shortest had just used the one holding Lucretia by his name. Fucking amateurs. But at least, they’d finally noticed him.

Setting his bag of groceries down, he’d sighed. But, while he reached into his coat to let them know this was where their thieving spree ended, there was this punk, pointing at him with that knife. “Not to quote one of the best movies in history, but D’you call that a knife?” Crocodile Dundee. Another classic he and Airi enjoyed very much. It was a silly movie, no doubt, but a classic non the less. “Put that thing down before you take your own eye ou-” And there came the other’s breaking point, it seemed.

Shame. Some people knew this was when they were meant to flee. Not this guy. Didn’t take a lot for a trained officer to knock that blade out of his hand and force him to kiss the wall nearby. Big mistake. Huge. Alright. Maybe this called for a movie night. “See, your friends are a lot more clever than you,” he wrinkled his nose. If he’d have loved to catch them all, he figured it would be easy to get their names from that Bozo.

Now while this clown tried to get out of the DCI’s grip, Colin had to turn to check on the poor ingenue. “You might want to grab a honey drop after that cantata, heh?”

[vvrcths]

where: lucretia's place whom: @notquitedoctorhart It had been some time since Lucretia had checked in with Mickey — he was the only doctor she really saw anymore since he noticed... things about her and got a bit curious; she didn't fault him that curiosity but did ask the hospital that he be her physician whether they wanted it that way or not, so now she kept an eye on him and what he did.

The fact of the matter was, he seemed about as interested in outing her as he was in the pattern of stains on the wall — that is to say zero percent — but she kept up the ruse because, honestly, she needed a discrete doctor for when things got a little sideways.

He was a sweet kid, and though she had no use for people who were sweet in general, she had a use for ones who were sweet, had discretion, and impeccable bedside manner... so Mickey got a pass, and to some degree, Lucretia's 'affection'. (read: this mostly just means she won't kill him without a direct order and MIGHT protect him in a bind.)

So when she opened the door to allow him into her apartment, it was with a modicum of trust — even though he was still limited to the guest bathroom when necessary and the living room/kitchen area for the most part — and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes but still seemed, for all intents and purposes, akin to her socialite persona in general, "Mickey, darling, I am so sorry that I haven't called of late. I would have come to you but the time is always getting away from me lately. Absolutely dreadful. Perhaps I'm going senile in my old age."

People were self-deprecating, right? That was a facet of normal personalities? She hoped. She was in no way of the belief that she was old nor getting loose with her faculties. She was sharp as a whip and twice as dangerous.

[vvrcths]

where: london natural history museum when: mid-afternoon whom: @lydiacaine

All relationships had a purpose.

To most people, forming relationships kept them grounded. It gave them a point on any horizon on which to look at and know that there was an achor — a safe habor in the storm — and gave them something to work for. Someone to impress, someone to love, someone to learn about and grow with. People were inherently good and tried to improve one another's lives.

To Lucretia, forming relationships was a necessity. A habit that had to be learned over the years and is so practiced at this point to almost look natural. They tended to fall in one of several categories.

People from the Jolly Rogers tended to fall into tolerated in public and at least somewhat genial in private, when she could truly be herself and let go of the pretense of being proper and polite society's idea of normal.

There were people like Caleb who fell into a specific category of friendsly; those whom she had no issues with and, if she were a different woman, might be true friends with, but otherwise are more likely to get a call from Lucretia when she's bored and needs to be out in the public eye but too goddamn tired to deal with the debutantes and socialites.

There were people like Safiye, who were fascinations more than anything. The people she kept hold of because of some curious detail about them, however miniscule, that sparked an interest in her. A woman whose brain is built like Lucretia's tended to go at things like an anthropologist and she wanted to study that which made her question. She needed answers.

There was goddamn Javier.

Then there were people like Lydia. Innocent souls who radiated a sort of purity and kindness that made Lucretia, on a level that she would never admit, somewhat jealous of how they existed. They were bright spots in the world and though Lucretia hated bright spots, she needed some in her life to make sure that no one would think twice about this woman in regards to any of the heinous things she did. Which also mean that... these people were sort of protected.

She'd happened upon Lydia at an art gallery looking over traditional aboriginal art from Australia, an exhibit that Lucretia was forced to attend, and the woman had struck up a conversation. Right away, Lucretia knew it was going to be the way it was. No one could harm Lydia because she gave a certain note of compassion to Lucretia's socialite persona. She was a corner stone at this point, which meant that she literally would not let anyone harm or hurt her. It was as close as anyone could get to actually being friends with Lucretia, which is in and of itself an oddity.

More trips to museums and galleries and Lucretia had taken this young woman under her wing, using the practiced art of 'big sistering' that she had learned to satisfy her familial needs and modifying it so that every time she saw the other woman she could form the warmest smile, posture improving, arms opening for a hug and, yes, her ears lifting slightly with the intensity of her smile. She looks, to everyone who watched, like she truly loved Lydia.

So, that meant that when Lydia came through the doors to the Natural History Museum — a place they frequented often when the exhibits would change and a place Lucretia didn't hate because most of recorded history was a violent cesspool of trauma — the smile came on brightly, the arms opened, and she exuded affection, "Dia, my darling, I am so glad you're here. Its been a few weeks and..."

There was a pause so she could approach the other woman more closely. Anyone who knew Lucretia and watched this exchange would have a hard time proving it wasn't sincere, even...

[vvrcths]

Lucretia valued her personal space and was very choosy on when — and to whom — others could invade it. She tended to set the dates, she tended to be very choosy of when these things could happen, and she tended to have any excuse at the ready.

As Zehra posed her question, a coffee slid across the table and, in the vein of being the sociable socialite, she took it with a soft smile, though there was something more sinister behind that. She did not blame Zehra for her want to not deal with others but there was still a slight twinge in Lucretia's spine for the sake of her routine being thrown a bit.

She was between meetings with people who, at best, annoyed the fuck out of her and, at worst, should really be dead already with their vapid thoughts and menial concerns. She had settled in there thinking that no one would bother her with her book out on the table — something scandalous, salacious, and beach worthy... or so said the reviews online; she wasn't actually reading it — and she could recharge her batteries for more socializing to come. It wasn't Zehra's fault, per se, but it didn't mean Lucretia didn't have venom burbling in her veins waiting to strike.

But...

The smile was still present as she nodded, as if accepting that this woman was to sit with her. Zehra and she had similar ken and were, to put it lightly, murderous bitches. Lucretia still didn't really slip into full friendships with ANYONE but Zehra oft got a pass because, when they were alone at least, they could discuss some of the things that actually gave Lucretia the good tingle.

"To be fair, I can't stand anyone and I'm here because I tend to give off an air of don't fuck with me... but I have to temper it in public. If someone approaches I have to give in. It's tiring." She said, with a hint of 'this includes you' just so Zehra wouldn't feel too comfortable in the long run.

She didn't hate her, she didn't love her, she didn't do much of anything. Lucretia was fine enough with Zehra to not threaten her in that moment, so that should speak volumes.

Now, a volume slightly higher for public consumption, "Ra-Ra, always so good to see you, luv. Sorry I was just caught up in this devilish book but please tell me what's going on new with you." and the book was reached out to lightly tap the other woman's hand with its spine. This would allow them the privacy to be chattering softly without suspicion, but Lucretia would still say things just as such throughout to throw them off.

"What brings you to this part of town?"

@vvrcths​​

‘Am I interrupting?’       She murmurs her question almost in a wistful fashion,    as if she were some alien creature observing human beings like small carpenter ants below her.      It is intriguing to her,    of course,    to think of what richness in deception others hide.    How long the heart beats when it’s uncertain in its belonging.    How the skin ripples underneath moonlight,    soaking in the blue hue of the night.      Zehra is here and not here,     torn in half    —   in limbo between the dead and the dying.       She wonders how this could be an advantage:    the nameless ghost on the verge of cutting that last thread of sanity.     Joining the other woman in the corner of the cafe with another coffee for her,     sliding the porcelain mug across the table’s surface.     ‘You’re a difficult woman to find   […]    I suppose that’s a good thing.’     A tease,    cooed out with a faint tone of genuine affection.     Perhaps she’s been impressed by Lucretia,      perhaps she has a mild attachment to her line of work    —   birds of a feather and all that.      Besides,     this entire friendship was based on deception,   wasn’t it?     Zehra is barely herself,    always speaking of lies and strangeness,    although she was a widow waiting for her soldier to come back from the war.     Has a substance-like quality of mourning,    constantly fog-headed and glassy-eyed.      A half-smile,     feline-like in its slowness.     ‘I hope you don’t mind some company.    You’re one of the few I can actually stand to be in the presence of.’