apollo park

Apollo had to admit, when someone from Death had pointed the finger at a Gigi Quinn, he’d sort of assumed that they’d meant some other Gigi Quinn. It seemed like a common enough name. Plus, he’d been a bit distracted counting the votes for Mitzi and hoping they’d be enough to make her someone else’s problem.

Then he saw her.

He saw Quinn just in the hallway, just at the manor in the hallway.

She really was one of Death.

Hot damn.

“Quinn?” He asked, unable to stop the double-take he’d just performed. “The fuck are you doing here?”

If there was one good thing about the Truce, as little as she trusted it, it was that it had come right in time for Jessica’s birthday. Now she could invite Samir and Evren, Fletcher and Monz and more—her friends across the gangs who could keep their secret. How long would this last? Jessica had no idea. But while peace existed and music blared throughout the Sky Garden, circus performers on stilts bowing to Jessica as she waltzed through the room in her ringmaster outfit, pulling old school friends into giggling embraces and stealing kisses from others as her brown eyes glimmered with light and joy and just a little bit of Cupid—it was perfect.

She had just breezed past the matching jugglers when she saw a tall, looming man in what had to be the cutest outfit ever—cute, but very much not in theme. But it made sense because after all, it was Apollo Park, the man who slid into people’s Twitter DMs to sell drugs. As the guest he seemed to be telling off headed to the bathroom in her slinky gold dress and Euphoria makeup, Jess blew the LVMH heiress a kiss and walked right up to the Pestilence Virtue, remarking, “Apollo, you are the most dad dealer I have ever seen in my life.” She didn’t even bother hiding her grin as she crossed her arms and looked up at him. “Are you gonna help sober them up later too? Tuck them into bed?”

Often, the former teacher felt like the least likely person to be in a gang besides Jessica herself. But she’d enjoyed bothering Apollo with her millennial slang when they first met years ago, and she liked having him around, even if only to knowingly, fondly, irritate him some more. At his not-so-muffled critique of her party, Jess rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Hey, old man. And oh, very much so. Some people haven’t seen me in months and suddenly I’m knife-throwing?” She may not be bloodthirsty enough for the gangs, but it was nice to surprise her society friends with a little bit of badassery, even on the surface. After-hours training with Nana and her security team was doing its job. “Thanks so much for coming. Please tell me you’re having some fun? Have you gotten your fortune told? Tried the strongman game? You might win one of those humongous stuffed tigers to take home to Jaemin.”

--

Apollo shrugged a single shoulder. He didn’t particularly know what made him a dad drug dealer, Pestilence couldn’t really afford the bad press of dead junkies right now, but to each their own. Jessica and Gigi were both fucking weird. Youths, honestly. Once kids got past 18 he had no idea how to connect with them any more. Even some of the 17 to 18 year olds were dicey.

“She’s not gonna overdose in the bathroom, that’s all that matters.” He said with little heat. Nothing more to it.

Knife-throwing? Well, she was in a gang. Suppose he couldn’t begrudge her for actually acting like it for once. Good for her. She had to grow some steel eventually.

“I’m doing business.” And someone had to make sure Fletcher got out of here in one piece. Apollo sort of thought his almost-friend was somewhere in here. Though at the mention of stuffed tigers Apollo had to admit he was curious. “What, got one of those rigged claw machines? Didn’t see one.”

Jaemin watches his husband’s pace, his own mind reeling from the events of the past day. Accusations slung across the room at each other, several individuals detained for crimes no one can guarantee the committed. It’s not like they were the most righteous judges around, each gang’s proclivity for violence and crime inherent to its existence but…still. He leans against a window sill, watching Apollo’s annoyed movements, long limbs carrying him across the span of the small study they’ve found themselves in, in a matter of steps. “I don’t like this either.” Guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, Victoria’s name escaping his mouth before he could stop it. Logic taking over when he wishes it wouldn’t. He’d seen the way she looked at him after…the betrayal. He’s now failed two Pinketts, three if he counts Michaela and, really, he should count her. So he does and he feels his shoulders slump even further as he rakes a hand through jet-black hair.

“Fazal has been a good partner to you but we don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t think it’ll do any good to punish them for something they have no proof of.” He says, in hopes of reassuring his husband. There was no proof besides the doubts and words of others which, admittedly, could always do more harm than good. He sighs, pushing off from his perch and meandering over to one of the bookshelves, pulling off a well-worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, thumbing through yellowed pages. “I think…I have to believe, they’ll be fine. Maybe their pride is wounded. Their trust even more so,” if not completely broken, “but if they did do what everyone suspects them of, then it would be smarter to get answers than to punish….right?” He looks over at Apollo, still pacing, restless as an animal in a cage. The tension rolling off his husband is one he’s familiar with, it’s the desire to act and react to a situation gone sideways. He doesn’t blame Lo but he doesn’t want him to make any rash decisions. “I don’t think any of them had a hand really,” he admits after a beat, “doesn’t seem like an inside job does it?”

--

“We’ve shot people for less than this.” Apollo pointed out, hating that he sounded worried. It wasn’t Fazal. He knew Fazal well enough and he knew it wasn’t Fazal. He didn’t like the places this could lead. There were only so many people he really tolerated and he didn’t want to lose one of them to this. Not with Michaela still missing.

At least no one had voted for Jae. People voting for him he could understand, but at least his husband’s loyalty and faithfulness never came to question.

Apollo turned on his heel and continued his pacing, knowing there was little he could do here in the Manor. They hadn’t even let him bring his 14 most favorite guns. Which, rude, but okay. Half of them he didn’t even have ammo for he just liked feeling like one of those John Wayne Western movie types. Do you feel lucky, punk?

“I don’t know. Either someone’s scouted us well enough to know our routines,” that set his teeth on edge, “Or there’s something bigger at play. It’s like there’s something lurking just out of sight, taunting us. Taunting all of us, for a change.”

where - The Manor, the kitchens

when - 18 July 2021, early morning

who - open to any (0/3)

If there was anything that was a well known fact, it was that Nadia Salem was handy with a knife. It transferred decently to a kitchen but she couldn’t say that she was happy to be relegated to canteen duties at this bizarre pseudo ‘business retreat’ that the various gangs had been conscripted to. Surely booking out a staffed venue with neutral cooking parties would have provided a more trustworthy source of sustenance. The upper ranks surely had enough funds to hire staff for a day or two.  

But, she mused, making her way through the nth banana to fill a large bowl of assorted chopped fruits, the methodical rhythm of a metal blade thudding into a chopping board loud in the kitchen lit with early morning light, she did concede that she was glad to at least able to prepare most of her own meals. She was already hesitant as it was at the prospect of eating dinner prepared by the hands of others in a setting like this. Maybe she’d simply eat a larger lunch and stow away a few snacks. And at least the assignment had left her with ready access to knives. She felt quite ill at ease with not having her own strapped to her person as usual. Not for the first time the thought crossed her mind if she’d be able to get away with swiping a knife from the kitchen. The only thing that truly had her at pause was the presence of the security system affixed to the ceiling.

She flipped her blade around to the dull edge of the knife, and lifted the cutting board to scrape the pile of sliced bananas into the mixing bowl where it joined a piled of blueberries. Strawberries next, perhaps. She slide the knife through the stickers securing the top of the plastic container as she heard the slight squeak of the kitchen door swinging open. “Morning,” she said dispassionately, setting her knife down briefly to take a sip of the coffee she’d prepared for herself.  

-

“It isn’t morning until there’s coffee.” Apollo said, shuffling his way into the kitchen. He was wearing one of Jaemin’s old shirts and Belladona could laugh all she wanted it was comfortable. Plus it smelled like Jae.

He eyed the fruit. Supposedly eating food they’d all prepared together was some sort of truce-building trust-fall shit, but as they’d already established not all of them were equally trustworthy. Though he guessed poisoning everyone all at once would be somewhat tiresome.

“Is there a plan for that?” He asked, nodding at the fruit. “I can make waffles.” Apollo did love a good waffle. There was a waffle iron around here somewhere, he’d seen it the other day. And the batter kept well enough for all the stragglers.

“That’s what plenty of these people would say I’m sure.” Nana’s gaze sweeps the room once more, then back up to Apollo. “I don’t think any kind of bandage could fix the … well,” Nana motions towards the individuals who banter together. She’s sure that there is aggression behind their madness, even if concealed.

“Excited? Absolutely not.” Nana knows there’s no point in hiding her distaste for the sudden turn of events. It would be blatantly obvious to all how she felt about it, especially given her position at Fem Energy. “But making a bigger deal out of it than it is, it’ll only make it easier for those twats,” Nana means Death, “to do something bigger, whatever that is. Though, who knows if they’ve got it in them. Maybe they’re scared now.” 

“There are so many murders a bunch of free booze can make up for.” Apollo agreed. Sure his hands weren’t clean in all of this, but wasn’t that the point? None of them could claim innocence. Pretending all was forgiven was some real turn-the-other-cheek bullshit considering they were all technically wanted criminals.

“They all hide behind those masks and pretend it means they’re untouchable.” Pestilence had touched them, even with the boot on their neck. He hated the idea of not knowing his enemy. So what if he didn’t care enough to recognize most people? The fuckers ought to do every the courtesy of giving them faces to forget. “I hope they’re scared.”

MITZI: [typed out then deleted instantly] YOU FUCKING WANKER HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THIS BY TOMORROW? FUCKK YOU APOLLO FUCK YOUUUU.

MITZI: It'll be completed by tomorrow.

MITZI: Is there anything else you need me to do?

APOLLO: I was thinking about asking you to push a boulder up a hill for a while.

APOLLO: that was a joke. I don't have anything else for you

He’d moved to theater duty to get away from this sort of noise. Kids partied way too loud these days. They were excellent business, but fuck. Good thing they made transparent earplugs so he could actually hear. Not that the music was worth hearing, who the fuck composed this nonsense? He could’ve done better. Where was the beat? This was atrocious.

Nevermind, he’d have to deal with that later. After all he was here on business. Cupid sold well at these sort of parties, and Jess’s friends were good buyers. Apollo did have to admit it was easier doing business on person than over Twitter.

“If I sell you more,” he argued with one of the guests, “You’re going to pass out in the bathroom. You’re no good to me if you OD. No. Find me tomorrow, I’m cutting you off.” He glanced over as the birthday girl approached. “Ah, birthday girl. Enjoying your headache-- I mean, your party?”

He couldn’t fucking believe the audacity of some people. Just the full on fucking audacity.

The whole voting thing? He got that, that made sense logically. The attacks had to come from inside the house and all that. Not everyone knew Michaela’s schedule, and it was rapidly becoming apparent that the other Horsemen weren’t entirely present either. Voting made sense. He could even understand why Jaemin picked Victoria.

But Fazal? Come on.

“It wasn’t Fazal, this is ridiculous. He’d never.” Apollo said, pacing. “He’s never been anything but loyal. I don’t like this, Jae.”

Any time all the gangs gathered Apollo got antsy. They weren’t meant to interact like this. It didn’t work for Chicago and it didn’t work for New York, and it didn’t work when they’d all recently been very willing to off each other. Not having weapons made it all better and also so much worse.

Surely, Fazal would understand his unease. Jaemin was wonderful, the best man in the world, but he trusted far more quickly than Apollo ever did. With Fazal, they came from more of an evening footing. Apollo had faith in Milo’s judgment, but the others? Not as much.

“I don’t like this.” He told Fazal once they were alone with the horses. “The more we get together the more things get shitty fast. This isn’t going to bring Michaela back.”

MITZI: [typed out then deleted instantly] How the fuck is being good at chemistry related to installing cameras? You install the cameras you're like a fucking giant.

MITZI: Sure, I can do that.

MITZI: When do you want me to complete this by?

APOLLO: [typed and then deleted] yesterday, time travel i'm sure your cousin knows how

APOLLO: tomorrow.

@apollothepark​ | july 17th | kitchens, the manor

Rita is grateful that after job assignments were doled out, Dominions were only responsible for one meal, meaning she had plenty of free time once she finished overseeing the Angels unpacking her personal effects. She was both apprehensive and excited for the opportunity to share her newly learned culinary skills with a wider audience. Much of her pregnancy had been spent learning how to cook, taking family recipes from both the Wardens and Mitzi’s mother so she can share those traditions with the twins.

Carrying two babies also gave her a ravenous appetite the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since secondary school when she sprouted four inches in a single year. That had really cemented her position on the top of the social food chain, making her the queen bee of the teen girl hive. If she could dominate that world, then she could thrive in any environment. 

An enticing scent wafted from the kitchens which pulled her into the room, heels clacking against the vintage floors. A tall, masculine figure is bent over the stove with dark locks falling into her face in just the same way her husband’s did when he cooked for her. She almost walks up to wrap her arms around his middle and press a kiss to his shoulder before realizing this man was not Remus. If it wasn’t the lack of tailoring in his clothes ( Remus had far better style than this man and anything of his that wasn’t up to her standards mysteriously disappeared ) then the three of four inch height difference sealed it. 

“Oooh, that looks good,” she says, peering around him and into the pots and pans. “What is it?” Those shoes were really beginning to hurt her feet as her stomach grew larger with every passing week. Maybe it was time to give up the heels, something she’d always said would have to be pried from her cold, dead feet. Rita leans against the counter to take them off while waiting for an answer and maybe even an offer to taste.

Apollo had the habit of listening to music while he cooked, normally jazz, normally on records. He hadn’t packed any when they’d been told about staying in the manor. Playing them from his phone just wasn’t quite the same. Headphones didn’t quite cut it either but he told himself it was only a few days.

He started a bit as someone came up behind him. God he’d forgot how living with people that weren’t his husband was like. Everyone fucking moved different.

“Oh, s’you.” Mitzi’s cousin. Reason numbers 1-10 he didn’t trust his Angel. But they were all supposed to play nice now, even after naming names. “Salad, some fish, some chicken. Rice. Gotta make sure people have options, y’know? The chicken’s done if you want to taste.”

[[ When a picture of Apollo flashes across his screen, Jaemin frowns. Not because he’s displeased that his husband is calling him, but because Apollo rarely does during working hours. About half an hour early, the surgeon doesn’t feel much remorse in cutting out of the break room and to one of the empty halls towards a pair of doors letting out onto a small garden. Reception in the hospital was notoriously bad so he’s grateful for the warmer weather as he swipes to answer. ]]

JAEMIN:  Lo, are you – [[ The word okay is cut off by Apollo’s own and Jaemin huffs a haphazard laugh, scuffing the heel of his shoe on concrete. He’d just come from helping Mitzi collect the rest of her inventory and passing along word of the truce. ]]

JAEMIN: I wanted to make sure you got everything you needed in a timely manner, love – that’s all.

JAEMIN: I think she’d still be working on it and you’d still be waiting if I hadn’t. 

[[ Of course, he doesn’t voice the fact that he really doesn’t agree with Apollo being harder on Mitzi than the others. His husband was a Virtue with a crew of his own, and Jaemin did his best not to interfere. But, in this case, he thought doing so would end up helping Apollo more in the long run. ]]

JAEMIN:  Are you upset? 

That certainly did answer it. It wasn’t that Mitzi wasn’t competent, it’s that she wasn’t this competent. Apollo enjoyed giving her assignments that played to her weaknesses.

APOLLO: you are a distressingly good person, you know that? Hold on a moment.

He held the phone away for a moment, directing Genie and Mitzi to move some of the equipment.

date: July 18th, 2021 location: The Manor availability:@apollothepark

They hadn’t talked much the day before, nor had Belladonne slept much either. It had been a restless night, the moments she slept being too light. It would be foolish of Apollo to attempt anything while here, but she barely knew him and wasn’t sure he wouldn’t truly attempt anything. There was some hope that if Pestilence had planned a coup while everyone was there that Milo would have warned her. It had been another long day, one where Bella finally got to show everyone what she was made of, that her last name didn’t define her. There had been some satisfaction in saying her brother’s name, of telling everyone just how far from each other’s they were but the sentiment had been sort lived, in a way. The Virtue didn’t know what would be next for him and while words were easy to be used against him, it was still painful for Bella to try and physically hurt Solomon, a step she had failed to take before. “Looks like there’s a lot of crack in every foundations,” she said as she found herself alone with the other again. It had been interesting, and possibly painful, something Bella was not ready to figure out just yet, to see how everyone thought her brother was guilty. She had second-thought but she knew that even if she had named someone else, her voice only would not have changed anything.

--

Sleeping without Jaemin around was horrible. He hadn’t slept without his husband physically nearby in years and having him just a few doors down was somehow even worse. As far as replacement roommates, Belladonna wasn’t horrible. She hadn’t complained too much about him complaining about her not being his husband, at least. He had to respect that.

“Your brother’s formidable. It would’ve been a disservice to vote for anyone else in that gang honestly. Though if it was him, he’s probably too smart to have left a trail.” He said with a shrug. If it actually lead back to Solomon he’d be surprised. But it wasn’t as if he could’ve voted for anyone else.

-

“Perhaps. I’m not as familiar with the culture there.” He’d never traveled outside of Europe, in fact he’d barely left the island. Eventually he’d like to visit France, or some of the Asian countries. He’d never had a desire to jump across the pond, though. For any reason. Perhaps the other man felt similar and that’s why he had come to the United Kingdom. 

“I see.” He retorted with a quick nod, knocking a curl to hang over one of the eye holes in his mask. Samir blew upward in an attempt to put it back in place, but it wasn’t much use. His hair had a mind of its own. “It sounds like you’ve lived an adventurous life so far. I’m kind of jealous.” He wasn’t, not really. Being undercover in War was plenty of an adventure for a lifetime or two. “So where do you belong in this whole scheme of things?” Samir motioned to the room.

--

“Never thought the States of having much of a culture, really.” Apollo said idly. Maybe he’d just spent too much time living with it. “We’re a bit of a hodge-podge.” And quite a lot of stealing. The literature wasn’t bad at all though. At least the later shit, after the Puritans stopped writing. God he’d hated having to teach those, so goddamn boring.

“Mmm, I don’t mind having settled down. Traveling was nice, but the visa process was a pain.” He admitted. Thankfully his sister’s long time residency had helped in his favor but shit he did hate paperwork. Apollo raised an eyebrow even though Samir couldn’t see it. “Well I’ve not moved any pianos around recently, if that’s what you’re asking. Isn’t the whole point of the mask to keep us secret?”

“I think it’s a means to keep some semblance of secrecy,” Nana could have chosen a different mask, but it’d been Ravi that insisted upon the one she wore now. It was alright with her, she hadn’t even needed to worry about doing her makeup for the event. “Whatever that means now that we’re all together sharing drinks merrily.” There’s a hint of humor there. 

“Mmm, it’s the humor of it, absolutely.” It feels odd, standing next to an individual she could pick apart from a crowd – she remembers it well, taking him to the ground, but they continue on, that moment lost from the tip of their tongues in respect, possibly – or maybe embarrassment, Nana cannot be sure. “What do you think about all of this? Aside from the piano, the instruments.” Nana is curious what somebody else from outside of Famine could think, and maybe it’d give them further insight. 

“Nothing says merry like a room full of people who’d love to off each other.” Apollo said, lips twitching. He still didn’t understand the appeal of dressing up in the first place. No one was supposed to recognize them so why look good? It didn’t matter.

“It feels like a farce. Whatever they’re all up to, this isn’t some magical band-aid to fix it all.” Michaela didn’t include him in her decisions and he certainly didn’t want her to, but all the backroom chess games and posturing sure got annoying. Why couldn’t they just go back to offing each other? “Surely you can’t be excited about this.”

“Lucky you,” Kitty coos — and she means it. She’s seen what being a Warden does to someone, brought up as a weapon with hollowed out insides and an ingrained desire to be the best. Desperate for approval yet never satisfied. Cold and deadly and prone to pushing people away. Her gaze remains fixed on the man beside her despite the instinct to search for Saint in the crowd, instead waiting on the answer that he offers. A scoff of laughter is exhaled in response. “I mean, aren’t they the obvious choice? More than half this room would choose them.” Her smile flickers beneath the shadow of her mask, small and quick and sharp, far less diplomatic with her choice. “All of them except my own.”

--

“There is no one I would want to be but myself.” Unless maybe he could become Dame Judi Dench, but she wasn’t in the room so that didn’t count. Dame Dench just had such class, y’know? Couldn’t be beat. “You’re definitely not one of them.” Warden’s had a different kind of stick up their ass than this chick. Plus Juno was dead now.