r o v i n a r e ;

“Invitations must’ve slipped their minds…or was it mine?” Index finger tapped on her chin as though trying her damnedest to remember. An almost sincere smile of amusement curled on her lips as he spoke, thoroughly content that someone else was decent enough to play along with her dry, crude humor. “I’ll let your imagination play with that answer.” 

She frowned at her phone, finding it odd that her brothers hadn’t responded to her texts–since Colleen had died, she’d made a sincere (actually rage tantrum) about the importance of texting her back to each of the siblings. “Have you seen my brothers around?” 

Alastair’s unconventional humour had only been tapped in on the off chance another had presented him with the opportunity. He kept his head low for the most part, preferring the isolation over socializing with the mundane pests that wandered the Earth. He wouldn’t admit that it was refreshing but perhaps there had already been something unsaid that lingered there to fill that short silence. 

“I haven’t,” he insisted, hues flickering with something that stated otherwise. “Raphael is usually glued to my side seeking my acceptance. The fact he’s not lingering around pledging his undying fidelity is surprising,” he jested. “I’m sure wherever he is, he’s not causing too much trouble.”

“Oh it is. It’s a front for the Satanic ritual that’s going on directly underground.” Naomi deadpanned without any ounce of humor.·“With your permission? Goodness gracious I do declare, what a gentleman you are to allow me to leave. Tell me, are you someone that gets off on watching people shovel their faces like pigs for the slaughter?” All said with her Mona Lisa smile as she turned toward him.

“Wonder why I wasn’t included in that,” he tutted, letting his hands settle into his coat pockets. “I do, actually,” he confessed with the same flat tone. “Pleases me knowing they’re all headed towards the same demise. I get all warm and tingly down there,” he noted, eyebrow raising at the suggestive comment. “Why? Don’t you?”

Valentina took offense, as pale brows shot up. “I’ll have you know, I’ve got an iron stomach.” It was the truth, the titillating notion that she could handle some of the grosser options. She appeased talent like that to her mother. No one could eat through a bag of shredded cheese and still continue on with life like nothing happened. Tilting her head to the side, the notion of her last name drew a frown. “My name is Valentina.” She said softly. “I like to be called Valentina.”

“Forged in a dying star, I presume?” He pressed, giving her a once-over. Alastair cared about what he put into his body. He couldn’t imagine feasting on someone who strictly ate like shit. He planned on living a very long, long life. “Valentina,” he echoed. “Apologies. I treat your brother with the same respect. In my office, he’s Mr. Rinaldi. We’re not a first-name basis quite yet. ” He gave no hint of sardonic humour. No, he was paid well to say that. “Valentina, it is.”

“It’s a racket.” Maverick was convinced as such. Coming to terms with that idea ages ago. Money was never a problem, so dropping obscene amounts of cash to win an oversized stuffed animal for a girl was never a concern of his. Still, it was god damn highway robbery and this was coming for a guy who spent his nights working a casino. “If it wasn’t so god damn maddening, I’d say it’s genius. They’ve been getting away with this shit for ages.”

“It’s almost impressive,” he averred, giving a subtle nod in response. “Not that I’d even attempt to spend my hard-earned money on these ridiculous penny-pinching carnie games--- it would be nice to see some of these smug looks wiped off their faces, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“If I’d known there was a lack of booze in this place, I would’ve brought my flask.” Naomi muttered bitterly, surveying the overly enthusiastic crowd with disdain. The air smelled like it was being deep fried, powdered sugar beginning to accumulate like Texan dust. This was fun? Give her a clean bar that smelled like cigars and she could meet this excitement. “Guess it’s not too late to go drink somewhere else.” And celebrate her brother’s promotion properly. Although crashing the Castro BBQ sounded extremely appealing.

“I was under the impression this was ritualistic for you Lakewooders,” Alastair approached from seemingly nowhere, trailing around the Stone thoughtfully until he joined her side. “By all means, go if you don’t find some enjoyment in watching the livestock roll in their filth. No one will miss you.”

❛       i’m talking to you, aren’t i?       ❜     she bites back   —- as snakes will,   but there’s more humor than venom in her teeth.      she’s like a tiny little flee,   probing and nudging,  adamantly demanding attention while hovering over his other shoulder now.    ❛       well,  i don’t feel like throwing up later   &   already know i’ll win with those…     —-  people are really the only thing that surprises me anymore.         do you think you could surprise me, dr.blackshaw?       ❜

“Throwing up and winning happen to be the point, darling,” he hums, sinking from her overbearing presence before straightening his posture to look at her directly. Surprise her? Unless she wanted to see the inside of her own chest cavity, he had no surprises up his sleeves. He was composing himself for bigger, better aspirations. The head of the Almeida would do. “So we’re still on twenty questions. Fine--- I’ll bite. Ladies first.”

❛       c’mom, indulge me.      ❜     with manicured nails planted against the crevice of their slanted shoulder, she smiles    —- that devious little smile of hers,  birthed of crippling boredom, harbinger of cruel intentions. not nearly entertained enough by the festivities  — she needs better toys, as always.  with pink cheeks  &   a pinched nose that subtly coaxes them further,  she softens her baby-voice to emulate whatever innocence long ago ripened in her.      ❛      just ten questions…     i’ll even let you start.    i’ll let you ask anything.       ❜ 

“You don’t have anything better to do?” He deadpanned, letting his hand settle on the girl’s atop his shoulder before prying it off, letting it fall the distance it’d come. “We’re at a carnival. You know. Rides. Junk food. Games. The best thing you can come up with is twenty questions?”

“I’ve eaten a pound of cheese and still had a burrito after—“ That might’ve been her grossest combination yet. “What’s there not to live about a deep-fried stick of butter.” But even she was second-guessing it. “I could always go for the deep-fried oreos—hey, how does it stay a stick of butter if it’s deep fried? Wouldn’t it melt?”

“Well, I stand corrected. Looks like a heart attack is just around the corner for you,” he averred, internally shuddering. It amazed him what people did to their bodies but he supposed it was always good to know what people were putting in them before he ripped them apart. “They freeze it, coat it in the batter and freeze it again until it’s ready to be deep-fried.” He noted dismissively, sipping liberally. “It’s not exactly rocket science, Miss Rinaldi.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that.” sarcasm in her voice. Hayden walks over to one of the games; a shooting game. She hands the guy over a five to participate in the game with three other men. Of course she would be the only woman. “You sure you want to play this big boy game?” the carnie guys questions to which Hayden gives him a smile. “I’m sure.” 

Taking a seat down on the stool, Hayden didn’t have time to get comfortable when the bell went off. The others chuckled at how she was going to be in last place, but thanks to her background in the military she quickly caught up and became in first place.

“Young lady is the winner!” announced the carnie guy. Ignoring the glares of the men she just know defeated Hayden looks back over to the man she was talking to before hand. “Pick your prize.” 

Alastair’s eyebrows rose, watching in mild amusement as his commentary was practically curb-stomped and thrown into the back of a pick-up as the lady to his side ushered herself towards the games he’d just berated. Stupid, cocky and one hell of a shot. His arms folded over themselves as he watched in increasing amusement as she beat out every other patron to her side. The prize was a nice touch, but Alastair didn’t carry around stuffed animals. He liked to think himself above them. 

“Young?” He echoed, eyebrows raising as he received a collection of chuckles from the men alongside her. “No, no--- that wasn’t for you guys,” he tutted. “Listen, guys, if you’re gonna be misogynistic pricks, at least buy the lady a drink.” He affirmed, shooting a gaze to the woman. “Lady’s choice.”

“yeah welcome to the club,” she snorted slightly. she raised her eyebrows. “yeah do i look like i’m with the police? i’ve got freaking pink hair. and it was a question cause i’m just too darn curious for my own good,” she said cheerfully. “yeah well so are you so maybe you should take your own advice.”

“Oh, the good ol’ ‘I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I’. Very original,” he appraised, facing her with a subtle glower. “Listen, sweetheart, if I wanted my comeback, I would’ve wiped it off your neglectful mom’s chin.” Taking his beer in hand, he offered another unbothered smile.

“wow aren’t you a bundle of joy,” she replied sarcastically. with a roll of her eyes. she wasn’t really in the mood to deal with the negative comments about a freaking carnival. “if you hate it so much, why did you bother coming?” 

“Thank you--- I never got enough attention as a child,” he countered, a sly smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “What are you the police? I believe I have a right to step into any public space if I so choose. I'm also exercising my right to free speech, officer. You should really consider exercising your right to remain silent. You’re much prettier when you don’t open your mouth.”

“Deep fried butter sticks?” Valentina asked, the obvious disgust written in her voice, as she mulled her options on the small printed flyer she held, while sitting on the bench near the beer tent. A silent pause, as she looked at the person next to her. “Should I get one?” She whispered.

“Heart attack on a stick. What’s not to love?” Alastair quipped, glancing down at the pamphlet she held before going back to his drink. “Look at it this way, if you don’t go into immediate cardiac arrest, there’s always the aftershow once you jump on one of the rides.”

𝓐𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝓑𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓌.   —

He navigated the streets of Lakewood, trying to remember where the Stone estate resided. Difficult when he constantly had several trains of thought going at once--- alcohol hadn’t helped either. He stumbled towards a familiar gate, pressing the intercom as he braced himself against the gate, throwing up whatever he’d been nursing since getting off the plane. 

“Raph. Open up. I kinda threw up all over--- everywhere.” Glancing around the immediate area.