bury the castle

"What, never had a nosebleed before? Vaffanculo."

The bartender had cast him a particularly judgemental stare when he'd caught sight of bloodied shirt cuff on his right arm. Clearly too much to be a nosebleed and they both knew it—his story further hindered by the bruise blooming beneath his eye—but even in his pride, he wouldn't broadcast the city had one less Russian to worry about.

Another corpse to dispose of, mind you.

Just as he was about to take a sip of his scotch, someone settled into the stool beside his. A questioning glance sure followed as they too noticed the blood.

"Don't ask stupid questions, and I won't give stupid answers. Accordo?"

Luckily for Gio, not asking questions was something Carla was particularly well-versed in. It was especially helpful when your dad was arrested or when you knew your clients were guilty but were still committed to giving them the best defense possible.

"I'm glad you got your nosebleed resolved. They can be awfully stubborn and annoying to deal with."

Not to mention that being around the Italians always made it feel a little more like home. A little less like the whole city could fall apart at any moment...

"Culinary catastrophes aside, are you settling in okay? As someone who's been here a lot longer, I promise it's not so bad once you get used to all the rain. And the people being miserable. And the tea alarm."

"I'm settling in a lot better now that I'm working. Sitting around at home is not the life for me. The busier I am, the less I notice the rain and general miserableness. I do miss the sun, though."

"Yeah. Imagine how I feel." Kathleen grimaced. The woman had met Carla before, though only briefly, thanks to her connections with the Auditore family. Enough that she felt comfortable enough engaging her in conversation in the middle of an unsurprisingly empty restaurant, at least. "Do you think they have restaurants in China that sell beans on toast with deep fried crickets on the side? Is this 'fusion' cuisine?"

"All I know right now-- is that I need this fuckin' drink." the music boomed, but he cared little as he beelined for the assorted array of liquids.

Carla twirled around and curtseyed for Gianna, meeting her half smile with a full one that quickly turned into a dramatic pout.

"Believe me, I tried. I even pouted at him. The fucker wouldn't budge. I suggested Donkey too, but somehow he liked that option even less than Shrek. I can't imagine why."

As the woman before her twirled like a certifiable princess, Gianna couldn't help but let out a chuckle. This would certainly be a costume for the history books. No doubt she and Sexy Pac Man would be taking home awards for best dressed.

Surely enough to drive anyone to the brink of no-contact.

Carla was, at least, a welcome sight amidst the chaos. There were plenty of Italians in attendance tonight (thankfully), but few Giovanna had genuine patience for in a mood like this. Sexy Lord Farquaad over here got a pass. The brunette eyed the woman for a moment before her lips begrudgingly curved into a half smile.

Carla twirled around and curtseyed for Gianna, meeting her half smile with a full one that quickly turned into a dramatic pout.

"Believe me, I tried. I even pouted at him. The fucker wouldn't budge. I suggested Donkey too, but somehow he liked that option even less than Shrek. I can't imagine why."

"The idea of being a Cheeto was that people wouldn't be able to get close enough to me to talk..."

Unfortunate, then, that her plan seemed to be failing spectacularly. The woman was positioned near the bar--close enough to obtain all the sambuca she needed to stay somewhat sane--looking out across the steadily growing crowd. It made her uneasy. They always did, these days. When she took note of the person beside her, she shot them a sideways glance to acknowledge the proximity she could have done without.

"Aren't Hallowe'en costumes supposed to be sexy? What are you, anyway?"

It wasn't even hyperbole. Gianna wasn't sure she'd ever met someone as universally liked as the woman before her, and she was no exception. Better yoinking her shot than a Russian who'd take her head off before the fighting even began. The Brit wiggled her fingers at the bartender in search or more alcohol. A few more wouldn't hurt. Reaction times were less of a concern when fighting was fucking innate, and frankly, if she was going to have to stare down a Russian to finish off the women's rounds, liquor was a necessity as opposed to a gift.

Gianna's expression resembled something akin to concerned for a moment, before it eased off again as she settled onto the empty stool. Whilst it was no secret Carla had grown up in a crime-adjacent life, seeing it on such bold display was another thing entirely. "You ever been to something like this before?"

So far, the atmosphere was familiar. Loud voices, boozy drinks. Add in three simultaneous, overexuberant arguments and it could almost be Sunday dinner. Except for the fighting ring in the middle of the room. "No, I haven't. But you know I couldn't let you guys fight without being here to cheer you on."

If Lara was trying to be a petty bitch, she'd missed the mark by an impressive margin. Whilst Konstantin's wife's personal bodyguard probably wouldn't have been Gianna's first choice, all she'd wanted was a Russian. Any one would do.

Would it be an easy fight? Probably not. But Gianna was quietly confident.

"This yours?" There was a shot laying unattended on the bar—well, in front of someone too busy talking to drink it, at least—and she didn't hesitate to help herself. Awful. Of course, she'd order another round for them, but fuck waiting ten minutes when her nerves needed tempering. "Mine now."

Three polite attempts to end the conversation later, a familiar voice echoed beside her, saving Carla from her fate. She opened her mouth to greet Gianna with a smile, but instead stood there gaping as the other woman helped herself to the shot sitting in front of her. "You know what? You look like you needed that more than I did."

Time kept moving, just as the world continued to spin: that was the two certainties she had no qualms or doubts about. And it showed no interest in slowing down. Spring was upon them, soon summers arrival — and she'd made only minor leads in the past months. It was like she was being tested, and the days grew longer when her brother was out there, choosing this life over her. It both ground her gears and tore her apart.

Tapping away, the early morning had promised blue skies, and they'd been correct. A coffee settled next to her, Amélie wrote away, albeit furiously as she tried to work out her frustrations with her own novel.

Almost complete, just on the edge of being finished. Even if no one ever read it, the accomplishment of saying she'd done it had far outweighed the cons. Though, to say she was proud of what she'd produced was understatement. She wasn't often big-headed, but...

she had a good feeling about this book.

About to head into the second to last chapter, she heard the scrapping on the chair at her table as her eyes locked onto the intruder. She didn't speak, simply stared.

Oh god. (Father, forgive me for the blasphemy.)

Unfortunately, there were no empty tables to choose from and there was only so long she could stand in the middle of the cafe looking like an idiot with her pastry and coffee mug.

Her gaze settled on a woman typing away furiously at her laptop. If there were both engrossed in their work, maybe it would be less awkward.

The stare as she pulled the chair away said otherwise.

"I am so sorry. I promise I won't interrupt your work, I just....didn't have any other options." Carla gestured at the other occupied tables.

To say that Izabele was in her element was quite the understatement. Growing up, their family had very little which meant that the only fun they ever had was something either free or affordable, which meant they'd taken many a camping trip. Growing up with 2 older brothers, she'd been a tom boy for a majority of her childhood before becoming part of the modeling scene.

Her boots squished deliciously as she searched out her tent. She was observing some people throwing tantrum and she had to cover her mouth as she walked by a brunette who was struggling to walk on the ground because she'd brought, of all things, heels. To a camp out.

Tell me you know little about the outdoors, without telling me you know little about the outdoors.

She took a deep breath, breathing in the fresh air. Having been partnered with Sveta was a blessing. She wasn't sure if she'd ever met the other woman before, but she supposed she soon would. Though...how 3 people would share a small tent, she didn't know.

"It's beautiful out, don't you think?" She asked a person as she walked back to the main part of the camp site.

"It really is. It's nice to take a little bit of a break from London. Now, ask me again on Sunday if I still feel that way or if I'm begging for my phone back."

And right now, it was this beautiful creature stood in front of him.

"Uh, my friends are assholes. Love them, but they'd be up here saying the same shit, but worse." And he wasn't lying. His parents had at least been educated on moral ethics, while George and Mike had the same background as him...Daniel and Jackson were born and bred South London.

Even as he ordered their drinks, turning to face her, he could clearly see his friends, all grouped together like they were watching the season finale of Love Island (that everyone but their girlfriends, and close friends knew they were obsessed with.). The second Carla looked away, he showed them the middle finger — they were gonna put him off if they carried on.

Still, the second she said her name, he tipped his head. "Carla," he repeated, jutting his lip in a nod. "Pretty, alright girl, shouldn't be able to have it all...next thing you're gonna' tell me you're smart too...then I just know you're outta' my fuckin' league." But that smile didn't match. Cheeky, full-of-life, interested.

“Day job?" Half-truth, half-lie. It was exactly what Melissa would've done. "I work in an office — I'm just an assistant. Y'know, fetching coffee, buffing the boss's feathers when she's had a bad day.” which, now, was more often than not. But let live, he silently joked. "She's...a force to be reckoned with...and that's all I can say because she knows everyone around here."

Shoulders jump into a shrug. "She ain't all bad tho. What about you?" I got a feelin' it's gonna' be something...interesting, at least."

So his friends were like every other group of guys she'd met in her life. It was like being back in college or law school again where everyone traveled in packs and egged each other on. At least some things in life were constant.

"Well, I have a Bachelor's in Criminal Justice and a J.D. from Belmonte University, so I'll let you decide if that makes me smart." Carla flashed him a smile before reaching for her drink as the bartender placed it in front of them. She took a sip, glancing away from Ben for a moment as she did. Bragging wasn't very "demure" or "mindful" of her, but well, Ben did leave the door wide open for her.

"Everyone has to start somewhere. Sounds like your boss has at least some interest in developing your career if she's giving you advice on top of menial tasks." Another sip and a glance back at him. "I'm a lawyer. Defense lawyer, actually. I was a public defender back in Launceston, but I will hopefully be joining a private firm here, as long as the UK says I can practice law."