under the earth, under the oak trees

     Even though his adivce was admittedly all over the place, it still served its purpose. Aparna did manage to take a single full breath of air and let it out as a heavy sigh. As if the entirety of the world’s weight was on her shoulders – when, in reality, three people in the entire event knew who she was.

     Diamonds or no diamonds, they would be walking out of the event with as much money as before. Maybe less if they got too tired and decided to take a cab instead of the subway, or if Ben didn’t come home tonight. Either way, the fantasy of a heist still wroked. “Oh– what, because I’m brown I ‘m good at stealing?” Her indignation was as feigned as his, but she cracked a chuckle faster. “Yeah, yeah, did my mom tell you that?” A beat. “Why do you think we were even invited? I like the free food as much as the next girl but it seems like such a waste…”

.

He rolled his eyes at her comment, pushing her in the shoulder as his eyes danced around the room, not even really looking at her. He’s not great in situations like this - even with his partner in crime next to him. “Your mom didn’t tell me anythin’. We don’t talk about you - we’re just both very into the same recipes. She’s a great cook, Parna. Some of her recipes just- ingenious.” 

     There’s a really large part of Alan, getting larger by the minute, that can’t stand Benny. They’d know each other for years and, while Alan believed he’d matured out of many childish manners he’d had back in the day, he’d seen Ben’s personality essentially stay the same. Alan wouldn’t mention it but he had gotten more bitter and cynical with the years, too, so what he might have found endearing in the past, he now can’t help but roll his eyes at.

     An event where, by design, politics and journalism would surely intertwine, Alan had known to prepare himself for what would certainly feel like the longest conversation of his life. What he never would have been able to see coming was what Benny’s opening question was. He was nearly too stunned to speak – but words never failed him, and they didn’t this time, either. “Is  that really your on-the-record question, Oswald?” For someone who’d lobbied in the past, that was pretty weak. “And what are you asking me for, you think I’m the best quote for this? Don’t they teach you about primary sources and shit? That’s off the record, by the way.”

.

You wouldn’t expect if of him, but Vir has a very high alcohol tolerance. It wasn’t always the case - when he first met Oliver in college, he could get tipsy off just a couple ciders, giggling the whole night over Oliver’s barely-decent jokes. Now, it takes nearly five shots of Hans’ best vodka for Vir to start feeling less like himself, and these measly flutes of champagne definitely aren’t doing it for him. Can’t say he isn’t trying, though.

Ben interrupts him mid-champange-chug, causing him to look up and raise an eyebrow. It’s nice, sometimes, to now be the most awkward and disfunctional person in a conversation, even if Ben is really the only person it happens with. “Thanks,” he says slowly, tentatively. “Husband picked it out. Gave me a tie and told me to comb my hair, but I didn’t exactly follow through. Surprises keep a relationship alive. You look nice too.” He looks Ben up and down, frowns. “Actually, I kind of hate the lines on the suit. Makes you look like a train conductor.” Then, realizing that he may get reported for workplace bullying: “But, uh, an attractive one? A train conductor stripper?” Fuck, now it’ll be workplace sexual harassment. “What are you doing here?” he asks, as though Ben isn’t a reporter just like him. 

.

He nods deliberately, with the slowness of a man at a business meeting. Taking a sip of champagne, for a moment, he almost looks distinguished. Then, immediately, it gets stuck in his throat. Which: it’s fucking champagne, isn’t it supposed to be smooth? He doesn’t know anything about champagne. He nods, trying very hard not to look like he’s choking. Another sip smooths it over, slightly. “That’s sweet! Must be nice to have a dresser. Like your own personal stylist. Very cool.” As Vir speaks, Ben listens very attentively, nodding as he criticises him. “I’d be a fuckin’ great train conductor.” No he would not. His eyes twinkle as the man stumbles through words, enjoying it thoroughly. “Vir, you’re married.” Very much wanting to make fun of it further, he deliberates for a second, before giving in. “Maybe your husband can give me fashion advice instead. I have been told-” he gestures to Vir, “-that I am in need.” 

Shrugging, he wiggles a hand. “I don’t know if you know, but I actually work at the New York Times. Pretty much guarantees me an invitation.” 

With another person denying her what she wanted, Zuleika would be immensely tempted to resort to her usual tricks — a flirtatious smile, a lingering touch, a ‘helpless’ plea delivered in a sultry tone. Those were the foundational elements of the person she presented to the world, all at once relics of what formerly were simple acts of artifice, and a testament to the learned nature that, by now, soaked well into her skin. Benjamin, of course, knew her when her skin took on another sheen, something far more innocent and fearful than she’d likely ever be again — but it’s precisely that memory that she appeals to now, facade of teasingly cool indifference dropped in favor of a rare glimpse at what is Zuleika Sandoval, agonizing with worry for one friend and in need of the support of another.

“You’re always one of the first people I want to talk to when things go wrong, and something has, and I just—” Words trail off into a steep sigh, as her gaze lifts to him, apology written into her features. “What do I need to do to get you to call a truce?”

.

He doesn’t like being mad at Zuleika - he isn’t, really, it isn’t his place to be mad about. Concern for Aparna is the overwhelming force, because as much as he knew she was capable of taking care of herself, and as much as he knew that Zu wouldn’t have any ill will - it was a reaction he couldn’t quite control. Still, he had intended to keep up this annoyance for at least tonight. He’d expected, wanted, to run into her, and knew at some point they’d make up. But her voice, the look on her face, the fact she looks so vulnerable standing before him. The feeling dissipates instantly.

A look of concern crosses his features, and he closes the slight distance between them, hand not quite on her shoulder but half out - like it’s itching to be there. “Hey, no- no. S’okay. Truce began. Argument over. What’s wrong? What happened?”

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.”

You wouldn’t expect it of him, but Benny has a very high alcohol tolerance. It’s something that is coming incredibly in handy, as he downs champagne flute after champagne flute in order to combat the awkward atmosphere of the event itself. He really is certain that Aparna was right, they’re not really the type to attend events like this, and they really don’t fit in very well at all. At least, he doesn’t, he hopes she’s doing better wherever he is. 

However, you can’t even blame alcohol for what comes out of Ben’s mouth, he just is like that. And at seeing Vir, he audibly gasps, “You look so good! Not that you don’t always but honestly, you should let whoever picked out your clothes tonight do it always.”

There is a small part, getting smaller by the minute, of Ben that thinks Alan might not like him. He’s known him for years at this point, when the journalist was a lobbyist, very active in the political community in a way he really isn’t anymore. He wants to be, of course, but he is fairly solidly set amongst the staff at the NYT at someone who shouldn’t be offered anything of such great importance.

Alan, on the other hand, is very firmly involved in politics, and somehow still has a focus on the writing aspect of sides, the bastard. He is, however, still called Alan, which is a burden that makes Ben feel slightly better. 

*closed to: @benoswald​​ *setting: press room, gotham hall 🎥

The benefit of being an internationally broadcast anchor was not just the access to any number of top-shelf vices — ice-cold liquor and warm bodies, most especially — but the supreme ease with which he was accepted into any space without question. It hadn’t always been that way for Sebastían, of course; there was a time that not even a press room was a welcome environment for someone with a face or name like his, and certainly not when that press room was attached to one of the city’s most prestigious events.

That experience, therefore, lent itself to knowing the look of uncertain excitement, of feeling out of place and yet entirely eager to prove oneself — and, whether correct or not, he’s sure he recognizes it in the countenance of a man stood by himself in the corner of the room. With a warm smile, well-practiced but not wholly fake, Sebastían approaches him and takes a quick glance at the boy’s press badge. 

“Is it your first time at an event like this? Correct me if I’m wrong, but normally the Times sends Miss Keaton to cover all the…flashing-light, cultural affairs of the city, right?” A beat, just long enough to sow seeds of potential doubt, broken by the necessary assurance, “Of course, I’m delighted to see they’re giving another young journalist such an opportunity. Are finance and culture where your interests lie?”

.

Fuck. Fuck. While he’s definitely allowed to be in here, Benny certainly hadn’t intended to be. He’d lost Aparna at some point, and with the amount of caffeine she’d had, he’d been pretty actively looking for her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t manage on his own- except- yes, it absolutely was. He’d worked at the New York Times for four years, and there was a very good reason he hadn’t got especially far in his career. Benjamin Oswald was notoriously terrible at talking to people.

Which, of course, was not working in his favour right now, as fucking Sebastian Santana of all people approached him. He knew who he was, of fucking course he did, the man was a legend. And he was, because Ben’s life was ridiculous, coming straight towards him. Putting down the drink before Sebastian reached him, he tried to smile like a good, charming journalist. It was the epitome of a boyish grin. “Oh, I’m just here as a-” He wasn’t actually sure what he was here as. “They invited me.” With a shrug, he holds out a hand to shake, remembering some semblance of manners. “Maureen’s here, too. She’s off doing her thing, somewhere, probably.”

Ben hasn’t actually seen her, at least not yet, but he can say that pretty confidently. Getting caught on the ‘young’ part of the comment, which, Ben probably can still be counted as, but he’s certainly a lot older than Maureen, he tries very hard not to laugh. It’s nerves. Maybe. “Oh, no, sir- uh- politics, mostly. I used to do lobbying for some smaller charities and stuff. Yeah. Politics.”

*closed to: @benoswald​​ *setting: Gotham Hall Mezzanine

In attendance at the party are several people who’ve proved compelling enough to inspire pleasant ( albeit, largely meaningless ) conversation throughout the evening, but Zuleika’s not interested in superficial chatter anymore. Now, her gaze is caught onto the familiar face of someone who’s avoided her for weeks, and as with any idea born from stubborn curiosity rather than sly stratagems, she chases it feet-first without further thought. Once she’s climbed up the steps to the otherwise empty mezzanine, the brunette leans her body over the rail, gaze studying the ballroom from her new vantage point. The slant of her is deceptively casual, as is her tone when she offers, the compliment a hopeful olive branch, “Looking spiffy, Oswald.” 

.

The ways in which Zu and Aparna are important to him could not be more different. They occupy different parts of his brain, and yet it’s of equal importance. Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so uncomfortable - why he’d freaked quite so quickly, seeing them occupying the same space in that way. It was Benny, of course, and so rather than forcing an unwanted opinion on Zuleika, he’d simply been avoiding her. He knew it, and she knew it. It felt rare, however, to see that she was going to be the one to break the awkwardness. In the history of their relationship, it had always been him who had had to come to her. He straightens as she approaches, his arms crossed defensively, “Sandoval,” his tone is disgustingly fond. 

     She offered him an annoyed look, but didn’t fight him further – she would lose, because he was right. He had warned her and she’d assured him that caffeine didn’t even make her jittery anymore. Cut to right now: she couldn’t remember where she usually put her hands and her heart might as well beat right out of her chest. “Right, but that’s not  what I mean.” It wasn’t about looking the part ( she’d made sure to rent a dress that would at least make her invisible ) but about feeling like they belonged among these people. 

     “Yes– a necklace, right? A pearl– no, diamond necklace. Someone has to be wearing diamonds here, right? Everyone’s rich, they wouldn’t miss it.” It’s a fantasy, they both knew, but at least it kept them grounded. “I’ll decoy, you get it and we’ll meet outside.” Either way they split the tasks, it’d be a terrible idea. They were both too clumsy to smoothly steal anything.

“I know, but I don’t care. Think of it like- I dunno. We’re still journalists, aren’t we? So we’re undercover ones here, and anytime you feel like ya don’t belong here, you snap out of it because you gotta show to put on. The more you fake it, easier it is.” He spoke from personal experience here. Despite his capability as a writer, he very much did not act like somebody who worked for the New York Times. Ben maintained that this was the reason people liked him. No one liked journalists.

     event: gothem hall fundraiser gala      with: @benoswald

     “I shouldn’t have had that last cup of coffee,” she lowered her voice as if she was telling him a secret, and not admitting to the exact thing he’d warned her about. Already feeling jittery and anxious, Aparna glanced at the screen of her phone only to find out a mere three minutes had passed since they’d arrived. She suspected, in that moment, she’d be making many trips to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror and assure her reflection she wasn’t being weird and it was all in her head. “Everyone here looks incredible. Do you think they can tell we don’t belong here? Or–” maybe Ben did belong there. It was hard to tell. Foot tapped nervously on the floor. Expensive floor. “It kind of feels like an opening scene for a heist movie, right?”

💋  a flirty text from my muse 

[ BEN -> ZULEIKA ] Hey i finished that book today I was telling you about the one about fate. Ending was really good i knew they;d end up together I literally told u

[ BEN -> ZULEIKA ] She reminded me a bit of u

😱  a scared text from my muse

[ BEN -> ZULEIKA ] Hey u didn’t show up for coffee today are u good? We can reschedule dont worry bout that just makin sure everythings ok

[ BEN -> ZULEIKA ] know u get busy with your job and thats so fair but I miss you a lot Zu

💕  a loving text from my muse

😢  a sad text from my muse

[ BEN -> VIR ] Ok so deep-rooted trauma aside, do u think its normal to cry this much at Annie

💕 a loving text from my muse

[ BEN -> VIR ] Hey vir I just wanted to say I read ur latest piece and its actually insanely good I know we joke about who’s better but reading your stuff makes ME want to be better and I think thats a sign of an excellent writer

😁  a happy text from my muse

[ BEN -> JACKSON ] Just saw a frog on the back of a duck! The duck seemed happy for it to be there too I think they were buddies

🍷  a drunk text from my muse 

[ BEN -> APARNA ] dooooooo you wnta to buy more wine on the wya homeeeee somene drank all ours :(

😡  an angry text from my muse

[ BEN -> APARNA ] I swear to god Aparna if youre on the couch when I get home i’m gonna go bonkerz I’ve sent u like 3 texts sayin I’m bringing someone u can’t get mad at me this is the textual equivalent of sock on the door

😬  a worried text from my muse

[ BEN -> APARNA ] Hey Parns idk if ur Mom asking about your dating life actually upset u but it looked like it did and Im sorry, we werent gossipin about u I promise she just worries + I was tryin 2 get her not to. If u wanna rant when u get back I finsihed my draft so Im free!!