savior complex

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Devon was more of a gin and tonic person, but overall, she was just an alcohol type of person. If it did the job, it was good enough for her. 

“They’re alright, not my favorite– but I won’t pass up a Chili’s Happy Hour vodka lemonade,” she said, conspicuously eyeing the auburn beverage. Her hand wrapped around her own drink, an almost finished tequila on the rocks. It was a safe bet for her night. Devon let out an amused chuckle, nodding her head as she listened. The governor’s teeth had to be some of the best chompers of New York, perhaps a runner up to Alex Rodriguez’s chiclets. “No, actually, I’m here as a Colgate representative,” she lied, sticking her hand out with a smile. “It’s my passion to push the message of oral hygiene!”

x

open to: all!! 

    “Are you a Long Island person? This drink cost me twenty five dollars, and I can swear on any religious book, that this tastes like something I’d get at Chilis during happy hour.” She’d grown tired of the conversation with her colleagues, sprawled across one of the bovine patterned couches; the male population either waxing at length about their own prowess, or attempting to snag a bar-goer under thirty, into conversation. Aera wasn’t against superfluous conversations at the behest of retrieving information - but the atmosphere tonight, was draining.

after a long day, he decided to make his way to go get a drink, what better place to go if not his family restaurant. as he walks in, he slips off the coat &. watches as an employee had been there longer than he was supposed to. making his way being the bar ❝ come on kid, go home. i’ll take over ❞ he adds on as he turns around, searching engines trying to get his attention ❝ how can I help you today ? ❞ 

WHERE: Gotham Hall, Fundraiser Gala WHO: @aerapaek​

Ben is fairly certain that it would make sense for him to be terrified of Aera. She’s cool, intelligent, and, as editor, pretty much holds his career in her hands. Still, rather than the type of fear he’d expect, instead, he feels mostly awe, complete respect, and a little bit of hero worship. With the awkwardness of someone trying not to be a creep, he’s watching her stand a little while away, being cool and intelligent and talking to someone who looks really important. Even her outfit is cool. As the man she’s talking to walks away, he takes his opportunity to approach, glancing behind him at their retreating figure and letting out a low whistle, “Who was that?” It’s clearly appreciative, but there’s genuine curiosity there too. He smiles, turning back to Aera, plucking a champagne flute off of a passing waiter with a thanks, and says, plainly, “This place is bonkers. I’ll never get used to these events.”

x

   “Hans Zimmer - he’s angling for a new profile so that Nolan will get jealous, and come running back to him. You interested?” She was sincere in her offer, truly; even if she imagined Benny, alongside his cohorts (was he a buzzfeed millennial? she couldn’t recall) desired hard hitting pieces, above fluffy celeb journalism. “Just wait until you have to start kissing babies and bored housewives like our dear Governor; then you’ll truly be initiated, brought into the fold. Heard any good tips? Any headlines we can run with? Or maybe you’ve been schmoozing with people from the Wash Post, who hope to poach you from my office.”

where: gotham fundraising gala

status: open

Aysun was disgusted with the amount of opulence she noticed looking at various things in the room. couldn’t the money they have spent on decorations and fancy food and drinks have gone to charity as well? would they donate what was left over or simply throw it away? to them everything was expendable after all, so it wouldn’t surprise her in the least bit. Was this what rich people believed fun to be? “So what’s the agenda at events like this? or is it always different?” She was doing her best of not sticking out like a sore thumb and thought she was doing quite well. until they brought out tiny food with multiple forks, she would certainly be lost then. 

 x

   “Depends - you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? What’s your agenda?” Aera’s questioning was blunt, but her tone and intention, were entirely neutral. Half the party seemed present and eager to be so; the other, muted and disillusioned, there against all odds. “Galas all have the same vague goal, don’t they? Gather the elite, tend to the less fortunate, let all parade - but we’re all here, because we all have something we want; something on or off, the menu.” 

“It is, but thank you. That means the world to me.” She couldn’t help but let a small smile cross her lips at Aera’s next comment, “you know, you’re not the first person to tell me I should write a memoir,” her grin brightened, “but I think I’ll have to see how my life goes. See if it’s worth a memoir, or if I should just stick to writing about others’ stories.” That much, she knew, she preferred, at least for now.

“Yes, he’s in his first year of residency now, and yes - I think both he and my mother played fairly significant roles, though I do like to think that at least some of who my brother and I are would have happened naturally but - yes, he’s the best father I ever could have wished for.” Which did make the fact that she worked for the paper that had played such a heavy hand in his resignation all the more painful, sometimes.

“It can be,” she looked over to Aera, once again in shock as to how people could see her as so stiff and stern - but she also knew that she did sometimes see a different side of the editor-in-chief than even some others on the paper. “I try to be me best as I can but sometimes it gets tough,” not just in the present situation, though that had brought out those feelings even more, “I understand.” She offered Aera a soft smile, hoping that the woman would know just how much she was taking the words to heart. “I have been told I can charm quite a few people, so maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s both of what you said,” she felt a surge of pride at Aera’s words, and her smile brightened, became more solidified, at least for the time being. “I know I’ll be forever grateful for this - dream job, chance of a lifetime indeed, and having you as a mentor - which I hope it’s alright to say - has been nothing short of extraordinary.”

x 

    “You’ll get to the memoir stage, one day - but at twenty five? You’ve still got so much to experience; though this year, you’ve been through a hell of a lot. It’ll serve as inspiration, either way; fodder for your own stories, or others.” Keaton’s resignation had been an added weight of tension, to the air of the city - the dramatic headlines and shock however, had begun to fade, leaving once stinging wounds, to heal. “All we can do is try, right? If you were perfect, you wouldn’t have gotten in the door here- we’re not interested in robots and perfect employees - I’m sure the Post or Vogue however, are big fans. Interest in human flaws are my thing.” Maureen spoke so similarly to her father - she saw shades of Keaton Sr. now more than ever, in an intimate setting with his offspring. “You do have a charm; it’s a quiet, modest one, which I throughly enjoy. It reads as eagerness and good humour, above all else.” Perhaps she’d grown soft in her fondness for the next generation; she was entirely sincere and genuine, in her open praise of Maureen. “I do hope it’s been nothing short of extraordinary, otherwise I’ve been surely short changing you of an amazing experience - do you have any goals for our upcoming new year? An article idea perhaps, you’d like to see come to fruition; a lead, you’d like to chase.” 

Title: Connecting with an Old Friend For: Aera Paek | @aerapaek​ Location: Tae’s apartment - mid-evening Synopsis: In one final effort to get someone to listen, Tae reaches out to an old friend to give her the file that five people prior had refused to look at. — They had known each other for years, and while Tae was not the out-going, fun-loving brother who enjoyed the adventure and magnitude of New York City, Aera had always seemed to accept him for who he was and didn’t push him to try and be someone different. He had enjoyed her company, sitting in her home discussing something he read, or his dissertation, or a piece that she was working on… and then Daniel’s murder, and Tae did what he did best: he closed himself away from the world and buried himself deep into work. That decision was now slowly killing him from the inside out. He was never cut out to be a lawyer. The high stress kept him awake at night. The cases plagued his dreams when he could manage to sleep. The demands of his father, the expectations of his mother, everything continued to build, and build, and build – until he began to forget who he was, what he was doing. He fought to reclaim himself. Some bit of who he had been when he enjoyed living, when the sun didn’t always feel cold. He wanted to be free from his father – but every time he tried to reach out to someone, to give them insight into who his father truly was - they either disappeared, or took a bribe, or refused to see him. He could respect that, everyone had to make their own decisions to survive to the best of their ability but … Tae wasn’t sure how much longer he could survive in the world his father dominated. So, he called her out of the blue and with zero expectations. The details he gave her were slim – there was a story she may want to investigate, and he wanted to talk to her about it off the record. If she wouldn’t mind coming over for dinner … thai take-out because he no longer had the energy to cook, and barely had the energy to eat … she was his last chance. If she refused him, then the world at large – he couldn’t be part of it.

x

   She’d lost track of many people over the years - either through her own fault (which it was, overwhelmingly; married to her job and rootless without her sister) or through mutual growing apart; adulthood severed as many bonds as it forged. Tae was amongst those who fell into neither category, and both; both of their lives had consumed them, leaving them on opposite ends of the city, and talking only in passing. It was what made Tae’s call, honest and earnest, all the more pressing to Aera - his request, was met instantly with a yes. Without pause, she gathered herself up and hailed a cab, returning to an address that was once familiar, and had now grown so distant. The chance to investigate always elicited a spark, a fire in Aera’s belly; but the proposition coming from a friend, meant the potential of it being something more. Personal. Many reporters liked to be separate from their work; Aera found ties to her subject, what endowed her pieces with power.  

  Exiting the cab, gliding through the main doors and up the elevator, Aera took a moment’s pause to breathe and reflect - what was she getting into? The unknown was as exciting, as it was terrifying. She rang the bell, and was let it; offering only a hug and a bottle of wine she’d grabbed from her apartment, Aera discarded her coat, and turned to face Tae. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it? I can take the fault on that - returning emails hasn’t been my forte for quite some time. But you’re okay, right? And if you aren’t well, that’s okay too; I just hope whatever this piece is about, means rectifying that.” She hated to cast vague aspersions, but the look on Tae’s face worried her; she’d rarely seen him, so unsettled. “I’ve been proud of what the Times has been producing under my wing; but I’ve been dying to create something on my own, something big, once more.” 

He doesn’t even flinch. It’s a familiar voice, to be expected when circles collide. Moreover, no one should expect privacy in situations like these, no matter how likely it is to find it. Thus, Abel waves a hand of stay to Cursed Shrek, looking at Aera with that winning grin. One quick glance at the gloves that adorn her, and Abel is fighting with every fiber of his being not to make a joke about deniability. “Something tells me I should hope you’re not in character.” That’s better, but barely. A small nod of confirmation. Yes, he’s going to do it. Then, a moment of silent consideration. No matter the name he’s made for himself, Abel isn’t foolish enough to think every New Yorker knows his name and what he stands for. Even more difficult, to break into their spaces so as to be heard and understood. For the first time in ages, Abel needs to be thoroughly perceived — and liked. A quiet request for privacy is made and quickly respected by Shrek. Seems almost eager to get out, and that only further serves to amuse him. “Making a move like that could backfire,” he gestures, inviting her in and settling into the conversation. “I’m not going to play it safe, Ms. Paek, and while it’s fairly safe for a Democrat in the city..” Abe trails off, silently wincing to indicate just how ugly it can be, on the other side. “I don’t say these things because I want to scare you or deny the offer. I know I need the help. Just..” Beat. “What kind of help are we talking?”

x

   “Depending on your answer, I could always channel my outfits inspiration.” Kidding kidding; mostly, anyway. She likes Abel well enough to at least spare him under most circumstances - save for their disagreements on whether or not boat shoes were acceptable attire. Aera watches him closely, takes the nod for what it is; Abel, looking to rise up, to become even more of a major player in NYC, then he already was. She likes the idea in the many ways it suits her; but the part of Aera who looks beyond the Times, thinks that NY could use a man like Abel. “What can I say? I’m a natural born risk taker - sometimes I even step on the cracks on the sidewalks.” While she was being facetious she meant it; Aera had gotten here, only by risking her neck. “And that’s why I think you’re the man to back.... you won’t play it safe. Everyone else? Playing it safe and sweet, is getting them kicked out or recalled. This city right now? Needs people who’ll take a chance.” Public dissent and criminal activity, had become married together into a perfect storm; one that was rife with risk, but promised great reward, to those who dared enter it. “This isn’t my first rodeo; I know how to get you to meet with the right people, get it all down on paper, and use my sway in the media sphere, to get you time and coverage - what you do with it? All up to you. But if I’m backing you, you’ll have every resource at my disposal.” 

She took the water from Aera, “thank you,” before she took a small sip of it. It did at least something to calm her nerves, even though she knew the full task of doing so was near-impossible, right now. “I appreciate it. More than I think I am able to indicate - so - thank you.” She hoped that her expression, eyes wide, gentle smile, conveyed more than her words could. “I promise that if I decide I need it, I’ll come right to you.” She would - she knew others sometimes saw Aera as intimidating and though Maureen could sometimes understand how they’d come to that conclusion, she’d never felt that way. Her overwhelming adoration for the woman always took over any feelings of intimidation. It never lessened the immense respect for her.

“My brother is a doctor.” Her face lit up. “I mean, I’ve been lucky in that I’ve never felt like my father doesn’t appreciate us.” Her lips twitched - it was a bit of a white lie - after all, she remembered some events missed, pushed aside, when she was a kid due to his work obligations. Remembered her mother talking about that, even when they were divorced. Even though she’d been young, she could still remember it, but that certainly didn’t mean that she wanted what had happened to her father to have happened. Not in a million years. “I know we’ve both tried very hard to be our best selves.” She paused, listening carefully to Aera’s advice. “I will try - it is hard, admittedly, as I do not wish to alienate co-workers, but I do fully understand your point.” She hoped that Aera understood just how much she was taking her advice to heart - even if some of it still set her nerves at least somewhat on edge. Her smile brightened as the other woman’s hand rested on her back. “Learned behavior, I suppose.” She took a sip of her water. “Being one of, if not the youngest, writer you have on permanent staff does, at times, give me greater pause too.” 

x

@aerapaek

Finn and Cursed Shrek walk into a room— It’s the gift that keeps giving. Thankfully, the conversation is light as plans are being set into stone. The whole of this year had been the driving force behind these decisions, handled with care for both the past and future. First, the art gallery, where his hard work had been insulted, and integrity called into question. What he wouldn’t give to sit down with the people responsible, to talk to them as peers and help them understand how wrong their perception of the world is. He can’t, and he knows it, thus he continues to try by other means. His agenda, as a result, has become even more liberal. Then, the Mark. He’d had hours to sit alone with only his thoughts and worries in that conference room, waiting to be discovered. What happened after, talking to police and watching as worked the place over, only solidified that decision he’d made. At home, he’d made another. Now, he’s sat here, drawing up the plans that would push him into a boxing ring that would either make or break him. “No bullshit, on this one. It’s not going to be fueled with smear campaigning, or promises that won’t be kept.” He can practically see the idea forming in Shrek’s head, now. “If senate is achieved, it’s achieved with honesty and merit.” Later, he might reprimand himself for not being more careful. A place as loud as this can expose you just as fast as it can swallow a secret whole.

x 

  Aera hadn’t meant to intrude - mostly, anyway. Gliding through the party, both invigorated by the atmosphere and annoyed she was once more bound to a social obligation, she’d wandered through the large venue, until she heard voices leaking from beneath a back door. She paused, her hand hovering above the handle - was it her business? Frankly, no. Was she however, entirely committed to entering, once one of the voices became familiar and clear to her? Yes, yes she was. 

Event: 2021 MEDUZA Halloween Party at Cipriani Wall St.

Staying at home and watch some trash horror film in a streaming and invite someone in. That was Mirela’s first plan for the holiday if the morning sickness was still bothering her down, and some of not so great perks of being pregnant on the first trimester. But now that those first twelve weeks were over, and her baby was growning strong and healthy, the invitation her friend delivered from that exclusive party looked more appealing as the sickness was over. In less than twenty four hours she managed to assemble the gothic personifcation of Persephone, and she was more than happier to find the perfect Dolce & Gabbana heels that wouldn’t kill her by the end of the event. She was on the last day of her thirteenth week, and at this point she wasn’t trying too hard to hide her pregnancy, even though she kept the daddy’s identity a mystery to everyone, even from her family. She didn’t need any more drama in her life than the ones she was already dealing with, and her mom facing Nikolai was the last thing she needed right now… Or ever. 

With her non-alcoholic drink in hand, she made rounds around the party, met the hoster and then like the social butterfly she was raised to be, she greeted more people, lied a couple of times about how their costumes weren’t that slutty when in fact she wouldn’t wear it even in her wildest years in university. After a hour or so, she went back to the bar to refill her drink, and sighed heavily, “Don’t you get tired of how shallow these gatherings feel sometimes?”, she asked out loud. Carrying a child, becoming a mom was changing her perspective on things, like these high society parties. It made her realize how much alike she was to her mom in that aspect, and she was determinated to not make the same mistakes her mom did.

x

  “I think I had my fill of parties roughly fifteen years ago - but in my job? They’re par for the course; at least here, I can enjoy costumes. Persephone, right? She was always one of my favorites.” A martini in hand, Aera felt like a poor man’s James Bond, jockeying amongst masked partygoers, and those who had already managed to get drunk. Unfamiliar with the woman before her, she took another healthy sip, before handing out her hand in greeting. “Aera Paek; it’s a pleasure to meet you, though you’ll forgive me if our paths have already crossed before. As time goes by, i’ve given up perfecting a memory of every single face.” A model perhaps, an actresses or a socialite - the other woman had an air of a woman who moved throughout parties such as this, with ease. “Are you a big fan of the holiday? Everyone here seems to be either dressed up with disdain and antipathy towards Halloween, or a fervent love for spooky season.”

Aera as Asami, from Audition オーディション,

—

“I’ve, um, I’ve had the beard for almost three years,” he says as he slinks into the chair in front of Aera’s desk. “But relatively speaking… yes?” Which is to say that when the Times first hired him, he was just a few years out of college, all clean-shaven and baby-faced and ready to commit to journalism as just a gig to pick up for a couple years. Now, he looks as different as he feels. 

Aera asks for his thoughts next, which is truly the worst thing anyone in any position of power can request from Vir. He’s never been good at saying the right thing, or speaking self-assuradly, or filtering the parts of him that aren’t studio-ready. There’s a reason his husband never wants him to go on the campaign trail with him. “I’m glad that - well, maybe not glad’s the word - but I’m appreciative that people seem to be receiving it well. The article, that is. Not Keaton. Clearly people aren’t receiving Keaton very well. But I love this city, and so I wrote that article because I want to see it get better. I have no hard feelings towards Keaton, though. I think he’s a good man who did a bad job.” He wishes Aera had offered him some tea or water or arsenic, just so he could sip at something in between his thoughts. “And although I appreciate how supportive everyone’s been about the article’s success, there’s really not a bone of vigilante journalism in my body. Except for the one I just used. But, uh, that reserve’s all dried up, and I don’t think I’m really built for reporting on politics in the long-term. Probably better off as a one-hit wonder.” A pause, then an uncomfortable after-thought: “Sorry.”

x

 “It suits you - you look like a distinguished writer, and owner of a small dog named Hugo.” She delivered the statement with sanguine ease and genuine sentiment; it leaned far closer to being a compliment, than it was an insult. “The city received your article well, and our departed Chief of Police, no so much - this, we can throughly agree on, along with the matter of Keaton’s character. You experienced his tepid, rather frosty attitude towards the press; which was his habit, but our meetings were nothing but respectful. And his daughter, as you may be well aware of, is a fellow NYT writer; making the piece non-personal, albeit it biting.” Aera had never regretted an article printed, nor words said and made public - if something was not worth saying, or reeked of malcontent, she simply did not say it.

 “Vigilante journalism? I’m not asking you to steal away in the night and report on whether or not our Governor wears false teeth; I want to know how we can support, what inspires you - greatness is not the summation of your subject matter or the pressing angle of a story, Zafar. It is the passion with which one writes, that creates a worthy piece. So tell me - are you really saying, you’re not capable of producing a single worthy article, again?” With ease, she can picture the young writer beside her pacing a loft at three am, agonising over a single refrain - his mind always whirring with thought, with doubt, never satisfied by the most winsome of phrases. “You’re young and cynical, which I admire - self loathing makes for the most promising writers. But you’ll allow my vantage point of experience, to nullify your assertions - so if you could write about anything, without constraint, what would it be?” 

“Just water is fine, if you don’t mind.” She replied, sitting down on the couch. Though she didn’t believe that Aera intended to fire her - there was a certain hesitancy around the woman, now. The last thing Maureen wanted was to make things more difficult, and a part of her wondered if her name on the bylines could potentially detract from any credibility. Even if the Times was the very same newspaper that had called for her father to resign and - she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she offered Aera a tentative smile.

“No - I - I don’t need time off.” Maureen pressed her palms against her thighs. “I appreciate you offering, I truly do, but I want to be here, doing what I love.” Even if the offer of working from home was tempting - to not have to feel the looks of her co-workers on her, hear the whispers. She was pretty good at ignoring them, mostly, but that didn’t make any of this truly any easier. “I - well, in the interest of honesty, I have been better.” She sighed. “I understand completely, and I would never believe that you would relish the pain.” Other journalists might have, but not Aera. Maureen looked up to her too much, and even if she could be blunt, Maureen had always admired her, felt comfortable around her. “I think that some day soon, others will stop giving me odd looks, though I do not entirely mind mostly keeping to myself.” She took a deep breath. “That was too many words, my apologies.”

.

     On the menu… That was a tough one. Andrea could have offered so much more interesting ways to make Aera’s night easier if she hadn’t specified. Oh, well. “I try to keep our menu fool-proof,” she warned the other. In other words, Andrea would rather keep the stronger stuff away from white people. “But I’ll get you something from the back if you promise not to read the label too closely.” A joke, but was it? Andrea was always looking for a way into new clientele. 

     “I turned the TV on as soon as I saw his face on the screen, I swear you could hear a hair pin drop – it’s usually so loud with conversation here, but Keaton really shut us all up.” If anything, Andrea had had a harder time shutting an eye at night since the conference. She never liked Keaton, but she could help but wonder what this meant for her and her people. “But it honestly seems like everyone’s forgotten about it already. You know this city, everyday brings a new scandal of some sorts, it’s hard to keep track of all of them.” As for the hours… “I’m a night owl, what can I say? I love being here from my clients.”

x 

   “Ben Affleck, Matt Damon friendly, then?” Not that the pair would make it past Andrea’s doors, without being tossed on their asses. “Avoiding the label and claiming ignorance about what I’m drinking, was how I lived out my twenties - maybe I’m almost at the point, where I could use a mid life crisis?” Aera wouldn’t let most know, that she was closer to fifty than away from it; but Andrea could tell her she was twenty five or sixty two, and she would believe it.