river of songs ;

His gaze follows where Fabian gestures, and he sees them: the girl, her boyfriend, and her ex. In an instant, he can tell that things could go south very quickly. The two groups are in a sort of standoff formation, the girl leaning into her current boyfriend (?) as he and her ex glare daggers at one another.

What's the plan? God, there is none. But Ilya can't just stand there and watch them wreck the place.

"Fuck — okay, call cops and stay back," he says to Fabian.

"Um... sure." That was his plan from the start. Fabian had no intentions of involving himself in a heroic attempt to save a damsel in distress. ( He can't deny that he's tempted to, though, but for god's sake, it's the 21st century ). He fishes out his phone and makes a quick report - despite all the complains he had about Toronto, their public safety department had been much more reliable and trustworthy than the one in Halifax.

Slapping his phone shut after he gives them their address, he turns to Rozanov, "Relax, okay?" He reassures him, "Things like these... they happen frequently in these bars. Don't worry too much - you look like you're about to hyperventilate." He thought that Rozanov would stay put right next to him until the cops arrive, but his eyes inadvertently widen when the russian stood up and approaches the scene. "Hey, where are you going, Rozanov?" He almost climbs out from their hiding place to tail after the man, but his line of sight was broken by another thug falling right between them. "Rozanov!" He had no idea why a foreigner would risk themselves for a fight that wasn't his, in a country that wasn't his.

Well... this is getting out of hand. He did not expect the thugs to take it so seriously. The girl, honestly, didn't have a personality strong enough to warrant a fight over her. She's just there, being defended by her current boyfriend ( or so he assumes ). Sometimes, he truly makes the worst decisions - he can't even defend himself considering his dating history - a broke-ass film maker who leeches off his money and his place to stay. Before he could protest against Rozanov's words he's jerked to the side violently as someone breaks a table with their weight.

"She's... there." He didn't know her either, outside of a few glances at the bar. She's a regular. Probably sparked a fight between different gangs for dating one rivalry after the last. "With her boyfriend ... I think? What are you planning to do?" However, as if refusing to let go of the grudge he held against Rozanov earlier, he gives the russian a soft jap at his chest. "Just in case you're unaware, I am 4 years older than you. It's a bit too early for you to claim the title."

𝒊𝒇  𝒊  𝒔𝒂𝒚  𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕  𝒊'𝒎  𝒏𝒐𝒕  𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏  ,  𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅  𝒚𝒐𝒖  𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆  𝒎𝒆  ?        a  slow  blink  is  earned  ,  then  another  as  he  processes  what  raf  tells  him.        there  is  no  fear  that  touches  the  blonde's  gaze  as  he  peers  up  at  the  other  man.       confusion  ,  yes  ,  but  fear  ?       no  ,  none  of  the  sort.        he  said  he  trusted  him  –  that  doesn't  change  now.         lemurians    …    he  has  to  admit  he's  grateful  to  know  raf  is  not  a  vampire  ,  but  he's  not  sure  his  acceptance  would  change.        

he  doesn't  answer  at  first  as  he  contemplates  what  to  say.      he  simply  turns  raf's  hand  so  that  he  may  press  a  kiss  to  his  palm.         it  is  tender  &*  loving  ,  encapsulating  all  that  carlisle  is  &*  will  ever  be.     accepting.      it  is  why  the  churchgoers  love  him  –  he  sees  them  &*  does  not  balk  away  from  their  plights  or  judge  them  for  their  sins.       he  listens  ,  smiles  ,  &*  assures  them.       ❛    it  does  not  make  you  immune  to  their  attacks  ,  though.      turning  others  has  not  been  their  motive.   ❜      a  sigh  against  rafayel's  skin  has  blonde  brows  pinching  together  just  a  bit.     ❛    i  do not  wish  to  lose  you.   ❜

Silence followed the clergyman's words. It was so damn deafening that Rafayel could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. He'd imagined what it might be like when this day came. He hadn't fully trusted Carlisle despite what he persuaded himself during his times of solitude. He trusted him, maybe, in terms of defending his back. He trusted him not to stab him in the back when he was at his most vulnerable. But all those assumptions came at the cost of Carlisle remaining ignorant of Lemurian history. Letting go of a secret he'd been silently keeping for two decades felt like finally unsheathing a blade and handing it to someone you assumed wouldn't just stab you.

He inhales. Exhales. Watches as Carlisle turns his hand to press another kiss. His heart flutters, and he tries to keep its thumping from rising to his throat. Time seems to slow when Carlisle utters the words: I do not wish to lose you.

Rafayel purses his lips and thinks of all the times he's said them to someone else - an elder, a teacher, a parental figure. All of them gone now. "I'm glad we can set our differences aside." Despite his inner turmoil, he replies in perfectly coherent speech, almost polite, even. He feels the burn of desire to pull Carlisle into a hug, but a part of him sees Carlisle as someone to be worshipped from afar, whose light should never be tainted by hands that are impure. For the sake of that belief, he resists. "I know. It would be nice to have a doctor among us, wouldn't it?" He jokes, empty laughter punching out of his chest. "Even if it's someone who didn't know how to treat Lemurians, they should at least know how to treat humans. But the church invests too much in weaponry rather than medicine." He turns his gaze back to the map - Carlisle's sweat and blood - not realizing that his fingers have closed around the clergyman's hand, refusing to let go. "Now back to where we left off..."

✘ ♕ ✘ The surprise from Fabian was almost comical to Ilya. He was well aware of his reputation with in the hockey world, and the general populace at large. Ilya Rozanov was loud, abrasive, cocky, and not easy to deal with in the least. Much of that reputation was due to his own actions fueling it. He never minded the role he had and playing it up for the public. In truth, though, Ilya was much more than just the "bad boy of hockey". He genuinely cared about his team and each of the players on it. So long as they were deserving of said care. And Ryan? He was definitely deserving.

That correction brings a lift of an eyebrow. "Is there a difference?" He knew that there were three types of hockey - perhaps more, but it's not his business - inkwell hues meet Ilya's dark hazels. There's a flicker of surprise that flashes across the musician's eyes. Oh, well, how gentlemanly. He tries not to compare Ilya to one of those from his teens who broke his stuff because they thought it was 'girly' and therefore 'gross'. He always wanted to ask: 'girly & gross'? Do you even like women? Or all you ever think of are burly men who met your own standards? But for the sake of peace in that forsaken household he'd kept his mouth shut.

"I suppose he'd be the only one who knows that wouldn't he?" And he wouldn't hold it against Ryan for keeping things to himself. Fabian has a lot of secrets of himself to keep as well. However, his eyes snap up at Ilya, gaze sharp and piercing. Not because he's mad but ... it's because Ilya's not wrong. "It's ... complicated." He says, taking a sip from the cigarette. "But with hockey, it's easier to just say that you hate it so you're left alone. Or explain yourself and be met with endless cycles of explanations by people who demand you prove yourself. Maybe you'll understand that." Half of that bitterness was owed to his family. As long as his parents and sister were convinced that Fabian hated hockey, they'll just treat him as someone invisible. If he'd go about it any other way... "I'm just not keen into explaining myself to anyone other than myself. And I suspose that's fair. It's my life." He pushes himself off the wall. "I know what people like to think about me, even if I refuse to acknowledge it. But not all my hobbies are 'girly', you know. For instance..." He fishes out a bundle of keys from his pockets. "I've always liked motorcycles. I like to feel the wind through my hair and my face when I drift." He spins them around his finger. "How about feeling compensated?" He offers.

Ilya quickly rereads Fabian's messages before sliding his phone into his pocket and springing into action. His eyes haven't adjusted to the darkness nearly enough, but it doesn't stop him from swiftly racing off in the direction he'd last seen Fabian. Of course, there's a lot of bumping into people and things in the process, so it's not exactly a clean escape.

But somehow, he manages to catch up, and when he does, he hisses through the dim and din of people talking over one another.

Fabian feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to look behind. He looked relieved to see that Rozanov was catching up to him. "I thought you were a regular of these kind of..." he can't help but blinks, "...scenarios? You have a reputation, Rozanov." It's true - he'd expect Ilya to be an ally ( or a scapegoat, but like hell he'll ever admit to that ). "I um ... well," he dodges someone's arm and narrowly avoided a table sailing through the air. "I haven't thought about it this far. Maybe we'll call the cops and pretend it's them who started this farce?" Like the Kingfisher would ever realize that their star musician was behind the entire uproar. They'd have a list of people to suspect - or to blame - and Fabian is at the very bottom of that list.

( text: rosanov ) what are you doing?

He's turned off the switch at the bar at this time. A couple of terrified screams echoes the walls. The thugs who'd came crashing the part to harass some former girlfriend of their leader starts tripping over one another for some reason, Fabian can't say he's not behind it.

( text: rosanov ) follow me or they'll catch up to y--- ( text: rosanov ) nevermind, i'm sure your medics can fix your face if anything happens.

@ardenseas ( fabian ) asked: [  TXT  ]  :  i  have  a  plan.  it’s  chaotic  and  underdeveloped.  you  in? ( meme // accepting! )

( text: rosanov ) kill the switch ( text: rosanov ) beat up the thugs ( text: rosanov ) flee ( text: rosanov ) i'm not having these types of people ruining my bars