lethe

“If you’re just looking to pass the time–” she says, awaits some sign of what to do. A thrum of anger and sadness settles beneath her heart, when casting a thought to the other woman’s fate. How and when she came to be here, in this moment.  These emotions are often at odds with her curiosity, a blend of her empathy and inquisitive nature. In this moment, it somehow flows in unison and offers her the ability to make a decision, and Ines finds it in herself to bring the car into the street, evading any patrols. Lights on low.

“I don’t live far from here,” she offers, as a question wrapped in a statement. Not expecting an answer, though leaving room for her to say no. Ines falters a moment, realizing she shares nearby neighbourhoods with that place. A black hole, yet no one’s the wiser.

“I know we barely know each other but– maybe I can offer you some tea, or coffee, as a thank you.” Ines can’t not doubt her own choices here, though offers herself some comfort in how unreasonable and out of the norm the entire evening has been. No part of their connection is grounded in normalcy. A singular confluence of events. No one has the answers, there are no right paths to take, only safe ones– or unsafe.

Those words often beckon a feeling of dread, equal parts relief that she wont have to fear returning to the brothel empty handed. This time there’s a wavering neutrality, like she could jump one way or the other. She never moves, it doesn’t shift. So when Ines speaks again, she’s caught easier by those words, can form response to them. “You don’t have anything to thank me for.” It’s true. Drawing Ines away from the place benefited her own conscience, her own secrecy. “I don’t turn down tea though.” it’s an olive branch for the guilt she feels at lying. Strange and twisted as it is. 

Lex offered Azra a small smile when she didn’t question her small fib. She had a crappy excuse ready but she was glad she didn’t need to go that far. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she took a moment to decide where they should go. Somewhere far from here, obviously. Somewhere away from all this mob nonsense. From reality. She thought of some place fairly quick.

“You ever hang out around Boystown?’ she asked. The neighborhood wasn’t exactly Lex’s cup of tea – she really only went there if she was purposely looking for a one-night hook-up. Otherwise she wasn’t big on partying, even among “her people”. But the energy of the nightclubs there was a perfect distraction. And who knew, with Azra it may even be fun for her. “There’s a few fun places we could pick out when we get there. Music and people’ll all be the same. C’mon.” She beckoned the other woman with a nod of her head as she headed outside the brothel, expecting Azra to follow. If she had to pay Azra’s handler later, she would. She didn’t care about the money. She cared about being way better company than the dickhead outside waiting his turn.

Her motorbike was already parked outside – she had driven alongside the shipment truck fully intending to zip home as soon as the job was done. But plans change, of course. She opened up the compartment under the seat and pulled out two helmets. She handed one to Azra. “Here.”

“I’ve been there, but I was working.” It seems foolish to mention when she’s always working, but she doesn’t want to obscure or manipulate more than she already has. “It’s very vibrant.” Would go a long way to making her forget the drab walls of this place. “Do you like music?” A stupid question when most everyone liked music, but she’s used to catching on to the briefest of mentions and looking for an insight. “That’s dumb, but you mentioned it. Is that why you like the place? The music? Do you go there often?” She’s not sure there’s many places in Chicago she would ever choose to go to, if given the choice, so it’s interesting to hear the reasons Lex would.  She talks a lot, and it’s never quite clear if it’s because she’s trying to distract Lex or because she’s comfortable with her. It’s something she often wonders, in how she responds differently to this Kovali than most.  “This is yours?” Can even ask such a precarious question as she gestures to the motorbike. It’s another little detail to add to her knowledge.  She’s been on motorbikes before, but never with someone who wasn’t paying for her time. “Do you mind if I hold onto you? or should I hold the seat?” 

It’d been a near constant struggle to keep an eye on Azra without compromising her in the eyes of the Kovali. And another all together to control her own need to protect her at all costs. But what she hated most about the entire situation was that no matter what she did, she could not pull her from the pit she was in and give her something better. Ultimately, it was not her choice to do so. So she’d yielded her insistence for the sake of Azra’s sanity. “I’m sure it would be better if I didn’t think of you but unfortunately for you, I don’t have much of an option. You’re a friend, and I care about my friends.” 

That was the heart of it, really. Lennox didn’t do well with making friends but when she did, she’d do anything for them. No matter what it cost her. At the comment about her being fine, Lenny waved a hand and shook her head. “If you insist,” her tone conveyed non-belief but she wasn’t about to push the issue. “Name a price? For you? Never. Tell me about your recent adventures if you’ve had any. And then I’ll tell you about a thing I probably shouldn’t have gotten myself into.”

“We’re friends?” Despite considering Lennox as one, she was never sure whether she could consider herself a friend to anyone. She held too much back, didn’t reveal anything important. Even that set them apart, for Lennox had seen far more than Azra had wanted anyone to, had peeked at a moment of real despair and done far more than just spectate. “We’re friends.” She nods, as though she’s confirming it, when really she should be warning. 

Parts of it were true, Sera had given up so much on Azra’s behalf if only because her protective nature and the love found within it would not allow for her to behave in any other way. She could not fathom a life in which self concern overtook the intrinsic desire to ensure that no harm came to the last piece of family she still claimed. “You are my only sister.” As if that were the beginning and end of it all, and to Sera it was. “I would sacrifice every part of myself for you and that is my choice. No one is forcing me to do so, least of all you.”

Choose yourself, if you have choices. Sera cannot fathom doing so, has always chosen the love of another over any sort of care for herself for as long as she can remember. “I suppose that is something I’m still learning.” Of course, she does not mean kindness in who paid for her sister’s time and treated her gently, rather who held a door open. Who spoke to her without malice in their voice, who cared enough to respect her space. They had known that she was Sera’s sister all this time, did they treat her as such? The verbal confirmation is barely enough to assuage her concerns, though she refuses to pry. Azra’s experience is her own and she will not force it out, understanding in the notion that they were each battling trauma in their own fashions. 

“Yes,” she finally voiced, uncertain how to broach this topic. “One of them at first. Then a few more when I… Got out. Now they are all kind to me in their own ways, though part of me believes that they have to be unless they want to lose their heads.”

“You wont have to.” She can’t fully believe in the words, but is committed to the pursuit of them as truth. Neither of them should be in this situation, or any situation since that fateful day they were pushed into prison. It makes it even more vulgar that Sera says ‘got out’ because that’s the traitorous hope- that she means it. Yet Azra can not so readily believe in such from the Kovali, even for the Kovali, and that’s what her sister seems to be claiming. “Is it you they fear?” the question is much more quiet than she would have liked, can only imagine it’s trying to retreat. “Sera, how are you out?” 

If Val hadn’t known any better- if he hadn’t sat with her the day prior to discuss exactly what it was they would do to get what they needed- he would have been convinced she was very much into this. As her hands spanned his chest, his skin crawled but not because it was her but because he really hated being touched. The life he’d chosen, or rather been offered meant touching wasn’t going to be in the cards. This part of it had changed all that. And not exactly for the better. He responded in kind but brushing her hair away from her face and offering a smile the devil couldn’t refuse. It was acting. Nothing more, nothing less. Pretending to be in love for the sake of the family and the money they used for their nefarious activities. It still stung, despite it all being a lie- it still stung. 

As she slipped away and he was left to his devices with the man who’d stared at her like she was a piece of meat, he found the itching pull just beneath the surface rising. Soon enough, Robert excused himself from the bar to hit the head, as he said. He should have seen the look in his eyes and known what was going to happen next. It was obvious, but Marshall was too distracted by his own personal frustration that the’d left the business end of himself somewhere at his apartment. When the minutes became too many he stood, concern lancing his features as he looked to the back where the restrooms lie.

And then it hit him. Robert’s demeanor reminded him of the type of men that visited the Cabaret whom Valentine despised. The ones that thought they were entitled to something because they paid for it- and got a little too touchy and got very angry when they were told no. The kind of men that he brought out back and made an example of. The ones who more often left to go to a hospital than on their own two feet.

Suddenly he was at the door to the ladies’ room, knocking on it just in case. “Azra? Are you-”

The noise was muffled but he heard it.

A slap.

They’d agreed to allow him close- but not that close. Though crippled by the cast- his adrenaline won the battle, and he ripped the door open, grabbed Robert by the back of his neck and slammed his face into the sink. He looked to Azra first, glancing her over for anything other then the red print on her cheek, before he leaned in to the man’s ear. “Here’s what you’re going to do for me, Robert. That file you’ve got stored away in your safe? You know what I’m talking about, don’t play like you don’t. You’re going to give it to me. And all of the copies. And then maybe, just maybe, I might not cut your dick off for putting your hands on her.”

He paused and looked to her once more, “And then you’re going to tell her how sorry you are.”

Azra wasn’t very often married to a plan. There seemed to be an overt inclination to treat her as property when it so suited those in her company, and property was supposed to be malleable to their will. In other words, she had expected the lawyer to make demands of her that weren’t appropriate and weren’t agreeable, purely for the fact that he behaved as though he owned his world- not just her. She was simply used to that sort of thing from people who had the alleged decency to pay for her time.  It may have forced a stumble when his approach was already inflammatory, for she had believed there might be some concern for the man waiting for them both in the bar. However, it wasn’t a surprise, not truly, when he became aggressive as she tried to return to a more public area. Had heard all of his accusations before, all of the same deplorable ideas wrapped up with her the villain who had caused his behaviour. He was really just a victim, or at least she could comfort herself in the knowledge he would be. Even if it was for the benefit of the Kovali, at least he might learn to be afraid instead of causing fear.  Wanted to pretend the noise was more striking than the act, but she was exhaling heavily when Val launched into the room. As soon as she saw him she tensed entirely, became immovable, because she didn’t have to respond, wasn’t alone. It may have been an act, but she appreciated it. 

Getting to the apartment wasn’t as difficult as she suspected it might be. The idea of acting as the muscle while Val simply focused on the journey had almost led to the suggestion of her going alone- an unreliable plan when she couldn’t guarantee the man’s cooperation. Thankfully, he seemed slightly more humbled by Val’s presence now, guiding them along with her hand digging into his arm.  “Turn off the alarm.” She dropped her hand from him as soon as seemed logical, stepping into the hallway of his place. “It’ll take too long for them to get here, don’t bother.” Despite the unhappy proximity, she was sounding rather more steady, casual even. 

Power. Safety. “Maybe,” he says noncommittally. Neither of the words fully resonate anymore. Power is a complicated thing, and safety allusive no matter how many precautions are taken. Roe doesn’t feel control of much of anything in his life anymore. He had, at one point. Under Jonathan and Peggy’s steadfast love and support he had found direction, found healing for himself through his ability to help others, made a life for himself in St. Louis. But he had faltered when Annie had been shot, dragged himself back to Chicago despite protests from those closest to him, and crumbled internally when he had lost his sister completely. He had managed to find the silver lining after a childhood of loss and abuse, but since losing Annie his search for answers had been shadowed in a flood of questions and concerns.  The infestation of grief and frustration in his mind had bred an intolerable bitterness and an anger within his soul that was nigh unrecognizable to the self-view he use to hold of himself. He prayed Azra was right. That his character would be the one thing that couldn’t be taken from him, but bit by bit, Roe felt like he was losing himself. Burying bits of his soul with the loved ones he had watched lowered into the ground.

So he invested, poured into the virtuous parts of himself lest the fade away if ignored for too long. He presses into situations that remind him of the characteristics that he has been most proud to cultivate—of justice and compassion and hope. It’s perhaps why he feels so compelled to draw close to Azra; watching her continue to display these characteristics in the midst of her own unspoken horrors, the ones she refuses to reveal to Roe no matter how certain he is that they are there. He wishes to be able to speak freely and tell her the inspiration she offers, the light she provides to him when so many areas of his life grow darker by the day.

“I have not known you to be cruel.” He would be unable to see her as such, even if she refused him; though he conveniently does not mention that. Desperate to be allowed to look at Azra’s wound, to fix surface level wounds, to do something since he is not privy to the pain masked beneath the surface. Roe would rest easier at night knowing who has marked Azra, has landed blows on her skin and silenced her lips from speaking out against them in order to allow her to get the help she deserves. But he will not stope to use guilt in manipulation under the pretense of offering healing. Roe is more than ready to help in whatever way he can, but Azra has to open the door for him.

There are advantages to having mapped out nearly every inch of this building, and today he finds solace in knowing exactly where to take Azra to in order to find a little peace and quiet long enough to get her injured cheek cleaned. He guides her towards some of the staff offices down a less populated corridor. Outside of the small set-up of doors is, as promised, a water cooler positioned next to a small seating area for those waiting to meet with some of Northwestern’s specialists and a single, family-style restroom. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go borrow the first aid kit from Dr. Hall’s office. If you want, you can go ahead and throw away that towel you’ve been using and rinse the wound so I can see what we’re working with.”

He has not known her to be cruel because that’s still a secret she holds close. That sometimes she wishes she were more so, and almost always wishes to deny that. There’s some comfort in the fact he can’t see it, but maybe he’s less attuned to it than a Kovali would be, and so it does no good to judge her performance on Roe’s eyes alone. Certainly doesn’t keep her safe, if anyone were to find out. The only one who really knows has reason enough to guard it, at least reason to use it.  It’s partly why she’s so hesitant to allow Roe’s care or attention, for she doesn’t deserve to be soothed when she’s adding to the potential chaos in the city, hoping for certain figures to need treatment themselves, to be stopped. Whatever that may mean?  She readies to speak, but says nothing. Simply nods in confirmation that she’s heard his plan. Perhaps in confirmation that she wont leave. 

She steps into the restroom, more proof of her staying. The paper towel is dropped into the sanitary bin, before she sets about gingerly cleaning the wound on her face. Would scrub at it if she could, but imagines that will only cause more trouble for the good doctor, and as much as she’s angry with herself she’s faithful to him. By the time he returns her makeup is mostly gone, along with the sting of it. Slightly more fresh-faced so the problems that need to be addressed are easier to see. “I should have gone for that to save you the trouble. Between the two of us you’re the injured one.”  Hovers in the doorway, lest she be in his way in either space. “Where should I..? What’s easiest for you?” They’ve both been in a similar position plenty of times, but it’s usually in examination rooms or wards. “If I sit on the counter the light is good, but I’d rather you sit than I. Is that practical? Should the chairs work out here, or..” Trails off, because she’s been awkwardly skipping along in suggestion instead of waiting for an order. “I’m sorry. Would you like to tell me instead?” 

While they had once more intertwined themselves with one another, forgiveness becoming paramount in all shades, Sera did not accompany him tonight based upon logistics alone. It might have appeared to the masses that they were still on uneven ground, perhaps even at odds due to her own animosity regarding recent news, but the pair of them would always hold truth between their palms alone.

“Affedersiniz?” The question catches her off-guard, momentarily subverting the capo’s usual poise and collected demeanor. “I don’t know,” she responds with pure honesty, utter confusion welling up within her at the concept that Zephyr not only knew about her sister’s existence, but familiarized himself with the younger Karan. “I suppose it depends how you know him.”

“I suppose it would.” There is a nonchalance in her words that can not be present in her stance, not while she’s shifting in the barest increments, if at all. Perhaps her sister can still read her like a book, but there’s nothing much to offer as hint when she can’t quite answer the question herself. Isn’t sure for what reason she might know him, or if it is the man she suspects.  “I can’t claim to know him, but I he appears familiar.” Honesty at least. “You would surely know if he knew me.” 

                    “Can’t say I’m much of a fan,” Isaac lingered, veering away from the edge of the deck, perhaps struck under the reminder of their damage to Navy Pier — an event that now seemed lifetimes away. “If only I’d been invited to more yacht parties in my youth,” an amalgam of a scowl and a sneer emitted from waxen mien, bringing the overtly bubbly glass of champagne to his lips in tandem finality. No matter, he vied to check in on Azra due to the last time he saw her; trembling limbs and shaking bones, a dizzying display of her anxieties wrapped up in blood stained ivory. There were always eyes all the same, and such he kept his distance as well as Isaac ever could, eventually making such visceral jump to lean upon the ledge and peer out into the murky waters before them. “What about yourself?”

“Until my..” She’s been avoiding him for weeks for this very reason, because there are things she says so easily to him that she’s been spoiled by it. Forgets sometimes how dangerous it is to think she can speak freely. “Until I was reminded of my last experience on a boat, I was.” Brushes fingertips over the railing and looks to the water instead, because it’s obvious and shameful now. “I thought it was pretty, hopeful, all the lights breaking through the black.” 

nicpclltier‌:

jxsperlee‌:

Jasper’s eyes had remained trained on one of the small soaps from the sink for near minutes. Something about it… maybe it was the scent of food wafting over from the prawns near him or just the fact that all his senses had been dialed up to twelve, but something about the soap made him think it’d taste fantastic. He jerked up when it seemed like Azra had materialized next to him from out of the blue and opened his mouth to add to the conversation, only to sit there and continuously open his mouth for a handful of seconds. “Water? Why?” He lifted his hand and let the fine tremor in it shake the soap for him. “For this? I think he’s dead already, no water needed.” Jasper sniffed and used the back of his free hand to rub his nose. Fuck. He felt good.

The enclosed space was much, much better than the party that went on outside the door. Jasper felt clearheaded and alive instead of anxious about the entire affair like he had been. His attention came back to the soap once more, lifting it up to his nose to smell it. With how much powder was up his nasal cavity, it was a wonder he could smell anything at all. The potpourri that laid at his feet was evidence he’d been enjoying smelling any and everything in the room a bit too much. “Hey,” he announced suddenly, his voice just barely too loud. “I have an idea. Do you think this,” he lifted the soap for the second time, “is the same as that,” he sharply turned his head to the tray of prawns, “and tastes good, too?”

Hands shoved towards her knocked the twisted hand towel beside her to the floor as she lent away, the drawn out and childlike groan that slipped her lips loudly despite the fact that her own digits curled around Vinny’s hand to tug him a little closer to the counter she lent against. “I almost had it. I literally..— almost had it.” Her one-track mind pinning itself to the quick demolishment of what barely consisted of a scrunched up towel, let alone a swan. The pad of her finger swiping up what little remained of her last line, slipping between her lips to rub into her gums, “Which beach?” She noted with a shockingly calm curiosity as the tip of her nose met the middle of Vinny’s palm. “We’re literally on a boat, we ‘got plenty of water. — She’s cute, who invited her?” The sharp ramblings of details Nic had missed within the folds of her intox as she let go of her roommate’s hand and instead reached out for a strand of Azra’s hair. “Didn’t we make a rule about adopting strays? —- We should get a cat.”

Naturally, it was far easier to be here, than upstairs. The demanding hues of the casanova no doubt tirelessly seeking her out in the crowd for yet another fickle attempt to get her to weave the crowd until she could entwine digits with Judd. All for the sick game he played. This – this she could fall into, and had, much much earlier on than she might have intended. Jasper’s sudden call for attention drew doe hues up to pin expectantly to the soap in his hand, at least, until she followed his line of sight to the tray of prawns. Eyes widened and hands met Jasper’s chest with a quick pitter-patter of fingertips, “Oh my god, the food.”

          Vinny dipped and swerved, barely missing Azra’s swinging legs as he came to face her. The prospect grabbed her shoulders, shook them violently, unknowingly, eyes wide. “She is,” he tossed his head back toward Monica to acknowledge her words. “Love her— you don’t know Azra? You gotta’ know Azra.” Just then his arm was slung over the woman’s shoulders as he pulled her off the counter with gusto. And then his supplier spoke; there was too much going on at once. After having disrupted Azra’s natural state and rounding her over to where his roommate stood, her heap of a masterpiece now on the bathroom floor, he found his way over to the last sink embedded in the white-ish, golden counter top. He felt physically on cloud nine. Mentally, well, that was a different story. Like cloud fifteen. A quarter of him felt like he could run a marathon, the next like he was ready to play the best set of his life at this damn party, the third like he could write confessions of undying passion to every companion of his in the bathroom, and lastly, like he was destined to consume an entire bar of seashell shaped soap.

          A hearty laugh launched from Vinny as he gripped the counter’s edge, before noting the bar of soap in Jasper’s hand. There was a strange pull to the other’s hand, of all things. It was gripping the soap, after all, and Vinny was sure the scent and flavor would’ve transferred over to the mad scientist’s skin. His saliva made a home on Jasper’s skin when he tested his theory, but he tasted like nothing, really. “People flavored ice cream,” he announced suddenly, like he was remembering a weird episode of a television show or something of the sort. The distant hum and bump of music was heard through the ceiling, or floor, of the yacht. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Maybe they’d switched floors while he was distracted. “Man, I’m glad I’m not out there. I didn’t even wanna be here, y’know? Hey— hey Az, how long d’you think we have until someone notices we’re gone?” It was a genuine question, but without the usual paranoia that would accompany the thought of getting caught slacking off on the job.

With both Nic and Vinny reaching out for her, Azra wasn’t sure why she ever thought she’d get to be a spectator, just calmly sitting on the sidelines and preventing anything catastrophic. Every movement seemed large and emboldened instead, as though the three before her were truly brimming with chaos. In the way they’re unpredictable they still don’t seem as potentially harmful to her as to themselves. “I’m Azra” even as she says it she knows it’s stupid, wont be absorbed. At least when she’s off her perch she can use the distraction of ice-cream Jasper to attempt to pluck the soap from him. Settles it in the nest of Nic’s towel, as she places them back up. “That depends, how long’s the music gonna last without you?”  She can somewhat hear it piping out into the ballroom from above, but it’s dim enough that it might just be the noises of the yacht now. “Can you hear it?” She’s so busy staring at the wall, as though that will help her hearing, that she isn’t mindful to what’s going on beyond them. Turns around to address Jasper, when it seems like the door moves out of the corner of her eye. “Water for drinking, so you don’t get ..all dried up. Like a prune. Or the ice-cream the astronauts have.” 

Where: Kovali Brothel

Who: @azrakaran​

The Brothel had never held any such interest for Valentine. After having spent the formative years of his childhood in the presence of a father who taught him that respecting a woman was much more important than anything else, he’d never had any desire to visit places such as this. Working at the Cabaret and visiting it were two vastly different things and he could justify his job as protection for the women who had chosen to work in the sex industry- the women at the brothel hadn’t been so lucky. And they weren’t so protected. If they wanted to kidnap women and parade them around as escorts the least they could do was make sure they were well kept and not in such an overcrowded place. He trekked through the hallways, growing more weary of the looks he received from the guards with each passing step. “Azra?” He questioned, and was pointed down further. A hoot from one who he was barely familiar with set his blood on edge but as soon as he saw her, he calmed. He was not here to fight the idiots who thrived on degradation. He was here because his guilt over Sera Karan and her disappearance weighed far too heavily- there was more than one injury in this. And Azra deserved to know that even with their shared disinterest in one another, he cared enough about her to help her through it. If she even wanted it.

He took care to knock on the door to the room in which she stayed, waiting patiently for it open. This conversation would not come easily for either of them, he imagined. And he hoped to remove her from the hellish hole she was in to take her somewhere quieter and more…sanitary. At least to give her the proper space she might need to process. This was not something he could say in the Brothel anyway- there were too many eyes and too many ears and too many wagging tongues he’d love to remove if given the chance. “Azra,” he breathed, “hi. I- uh- I really needed to talk with you-” he swallowed, looking around, “would you like to come with me to dinner?”

It was rare for anyone to knock a door in the brothel. Occasionally a first-time customer would, only to have the extra time to bolster whatever was necessary to commit. Once they did all sense of politeness disappeared, as was usually the case. So she was already curious when she moved to open the door. Expected it to be one of the other girls needing to use the bed, and simply checking no one was in. Instead her curiosity only piqued, confusion soon pricking at her features. “Mars?” Never could have guessed at who stood in front of her. Almost invited him in because her brain was trailing behind, focusing on questions. Luckily, somewhat automatically, she stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her. “Do we have work?” It didn’t seem likely when he had never appeared at her door before, both of them seemingly going out of their way to delay being in the other’s presence. Hadn’t even realised he’d answered the question before she asked. Although it wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility that dinner could equate to working. Maybe there was a target they needed to engage at some restaurant or diner. It’s the talking part that has her fumbling, scrambling for clues. She doesn’t understand what it means. “One minute?” she’s asking for permission, even if she simply takes a lack of response as acceptance.  Loathe to go anywhere near the guard in the hall, their supposed protector, she still traipses across to him and offers a few words, a better excuse than her own lack of knowledge as to where she’s going. It’s only so she can take a moment to school her features, only so he wont try to object to her leaving.  When she returns to Val she appears more attentive than suspicious, and maybe that’s suspicious in itself. They’ve been through things together, but they’re still very far apart. 

She’s got nothing to thank him for, so he shakes his head, but the fondness doesn’t leave his eyes–he’s fond of her already, grateful to her, enjoys her company, even though they still hardly know each other.  It doesn’t take much for her to outweigh his other acquaintences, though, clients he only talks to about business, members of the Faction and Kovali he’s constantly guarded around.  There’s a fine line between wanting to be around people, and not wanting to be around those people any longer than necessary.  But Azra, whatever her ties to the Kovali, is different.  The way she looks at the phone only confirms it–that it’s not some throwaway memory, it’s important.  And it’s different from the way things are now.

He lets go as soon as she starts to move, settling it around his Coke glass as if it’s just as natural as her move to the screen, but he doesn’t pick it up, instead waiting to see who she indicates.  And when she hands the phone back, a soft half-smile comes with seeing his mother’s face, a touch of sadness and callused loss alongside love and pride.  “That’s my mom,” he says, glancing up at Azra before looking back to the photo.  “Harika.”  Tell me of this one–how could he ever give anyone the full picture of who she was, what she meant, in a sentence or two?  He could take a lifetime and they still wouldn’t know.  But even the attempt was more than usual.

“That’s her dad,” he says, meaning Dede, “they raised me, just the two of ‘em.”  It’s something he appreciates more and more the older he gets; when Harika was his age she’d been dealing with a ten-year-old kid.  On one hand he doesn’t want to tell Azra what happened, but on the other, he’s already said Afet’s the only one left.  And everything with the car will make more sense if she knows.  “She got sick,” he says, the smile faded now, “we had some bills…that’s why we sold the car.  She didn’t want to.”  That part’s important; he doesn’t want any of the blame to fall on Harika.  She’d argued with him over the phone, when her treatment had eaten his BUD/S qualification bonus like it was nothing and even the one he’d get a year out wouldn’t cover the rest.  She’d known how much Afet meant to Alp, and how much she’d meant to Dede.  But if we don’t have each other, what else is left?  Afet was like family–but she wasn’t a living thing.  And so she’d bought Harika a little more time.

“Anyway,” Alp says, looking to Azra again, shaking off the past, “it was good to see her again.  I wouldn’t’ve found her without you.”  He pushes his plate into the middle of the table.  “Help yourself.  The fries are good.”

She knew the woman must have been important, but hadn’t estimated whether she was just part of the moment and part of that past, rather than someone connected beyond time. “She’s beautiful.” It feels inadequate, has her wanting to take it back for reason more than that, but she can’t deny the way she said it. And maybe that negated all the cruelty associated with beauty or the perception of it. “I suppose it’s in her name.” Smiles then, because it’s changed from being a hesitation to an observation. He speaks of Dede and she looking between them, Alp and the photo, “I can see them in you now.” 

Anika peered at the younger woman with curiosity. There was an immediate sensation of wanting to protect the lithe woman who had come to find herself out here on her own. Whether it be her fragility or vulnerability, she couldn’t tell. But there seemed to be some kind of innocent resembling that of a child. Similarly to the views they had to the world before they realized how cold and cruel it could be. Maybe she simply wanted to shelter her. Either way, she brushed it away and reminded herself that it was not her job. Not with a stranger who only wanted help with their heel. “Too much. I agree,” she said in exasperation as if the mere idea was exhausting. “No problem. Sit down and we’ll get something on your feet.” She smiled, extending her hand for the shoes in question. 

“The idea is to have your finger away from the trigger. The chances I use it are very slim as usually talking works more effectively. I also do have a vest under my jacket, so that could have sufficed on its own.”

Anika’s agreement wasn’t enough of an indication as to who she might be, or who she might be associated with, when plenty of people could state the same as fact. The police had far too much on their plate to prioritise individuals who had put themselves in harms way aka Azra’s specialty. She settled down to hold out the shoes, keeping her feet off the ground for a moment or two. “You didn’t seem like my hero at the start of this, but you are now.” 

@azrakaran​

Catalina’s dark hues were fixated on the device in her hand. The same device she could barely see beneath the mask she’d chosen to wear with her cat woman outfit. As she lifted the faux leather piece of fabric from her eyes, she tentatively walked forward rather than do the respectful thing and step to the side. It would have surely helped to avoid the impact which happened moments after. Sharp gasp escaped full lips as her hand grasped her drink tighter in order to ensure there wouldn’t be any spills on both herself and the companion she’d bumped into. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking.” The brunette gushed almost immediately, lifting dark hues to meet familiar ones. “Azra,” she whispered in an apologetic tone. 

Of all people she could have bumped into, she was grateful that it was the soft spoken brunette. “I hope I didn’t ruin your costume. If so, I’ll gladly take it to the dry cleaner — after I buy you a drink or whatever else you’d like as an apology for my clumsy nature.”

“No harm done.” In truth Azra had been barely been paying attention herself, so busy trying to sidestep other people who were close to treading on her, that she hadn’t noticed Cat’s approach. It seemed they were always bumping into each other at such events so she shouldn’t have been all that surprised.  She hadn’t looked down to her dress before she responded, but it didn’t matter anyway when she wouldn’t have accepted such generosity. “You’re not clumsy, just distracted. I understand that.”

“It won’t always be like this, Azra. I promise.” Sera’s only feasible response to the way in which her sister appears uncertain of where they remain in this moment: opposing ends of the criminal spectrum. “He should allow me to show him where he can put those formalities.” Nearly a grumble, though her own threat forces a quirk to the edge of painted lips. “Snakes always shed their skin eventually, it was only a matter of time before it happened to the biggest one of all.”

"Not without intention.” Some of the Kovali made attempts at speaking with her, but tonight she did not look for them nor place herself amidst their groupings; she became as free as her costume. “No, I’m not here with him.” Granted they were all present together under obligation, Sera knew precisely where her sister’s question lay. Pivoting to the side, she spots the man in question just beyond a throng of party goers and nods for Azra to peek as well, entirely unaware that her sister and Zephyr had previously been in one another’s company. Cerulean and mahogany gazes catch one another from across the room for only a singular moment, but it is enough and she understands the implication behind his. “He’s allowing us this. We shouldn’t waste it.”

She wants to tell Sera not to promise, when she can’t trust the rest of them, shouldn’t be relegated to guilt or regret from those very words. Instead she excuses her silence with a smile at her next. it’s hard to navigate when every path leads to inevitable horror and none to freedom, hard to believe in one that would, worse still to suggest such thing to a sister who is everything, including a Kovali. Even with mention of Sera being without him, Azra’s torn at the idea of relief or despair for the elder. Not an easy position to justify.  At the nod, she inclines only slightly so she might look, and she’s not sure if that’s curiosity, or the vain hope that she will see something in him that helps ease the fear she holds for her sister among them. She catches sight of him and it feels familiar, makes her believe she recognises him. And she does. It’s not concrete enough to mention, though she still questions if she should. There’s too much at stake with any information she might reveal. Not just ammunition against herself, but the same for Sera.