❝ where there is light, ❞

Lincoln felt her touch first, the light press on his arm, and then the way she circled him, her voice brushing against him as surely as her breath did when she leaned in to whisper detective again. God, she knew exactly what she was doing with that word.

❝ Is that so? ❞ Umi smirked, her eyes discreetly catching his stolen glimpses. They were the same, as they always were when someone fancied what was before them. She had done the same every now and then, indulged in the sights she wanted to do more than just witness. Maybe in time, not that long of a wait she knew, they would do more than just witness each other. She slowly licked her lips, an intentional tease, before continuing, ❝ That’s a pity. ❞ Umi moved closer to him, a breath separating their bodies, their faces, as she whispered in his ear, her tone like that of a siren about to pull his sailor into her deepest waters, ❝ I’m more in the mood to just let you have your way with me... ❞ As if to add more fuel to that aspiring forest fire, she took a deep breath, intentionally made audible only for him to hear, and then made three slow tsk tsk tsk, her lips curling into a playful smirk. ❝ ...detective. Maybe after a fancy dinner? You’ll want to see me in a dress. ❞

FEATURING    ›     julian & lana ( @cfshadowsnangels ) LOCATED AT    ›     the slaughterhouse

As the owner of the Slaughterhouse, Lana felt a certain sense of responsibility, one that she inherited from her predecessor, someone whom she admired and loathed at the same time. As such, she always felt a bit protective of her fighters, no matter who they are or what they’ve done, so long as they fight with honor and respect. That often came with suspicion against anyone with such questions as what was just posed to her, though a quick glimpse at the familiar-looking man, eased the tension all over her body for a bit. ❝ I’m not his manager, ❞ Lana heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes, as she crossed her arms over her chest. Then she considered the idea that this one might just be a fan, and a fan always deserved to watch their favorite fight to their best. ❝ But The Samoan does have a scheduled match two nights from now. ❞ Joey the Samoan was every bit as impressive as his lineage. Hailing from a family of athletes, some in professional football and some in professional wrestling, the powerhouse was daunting, able to withstand far too many blows for his opponents’ liking. He may not be as fast or as artistic as the rest, but he was in every sense of the word, the one true Tribal Chief of those cages. Lana turned to the other man, eyed him up and down, an eyebrow raised, ❝ You look familiar... Are you here just to watch Joey’s next fight? Or are you here looking for a fight with him? ❞

LOCATION: the slaughterhouse TAG: lana @cfshadowsnangels

As soon as she heard her voice, Lana looked up from her desk, eyeing the fighter surreptitiously. The owner of The Slaughterhouse had always kept an eye on this one, mostly because she seemed like someone she needed to keep an eye on. It helped that Augustine was pleasing to the eye as well. At least to Lana’s pale blue eyes, that held true. ❝ That fucker did, ❞ Lana scowled, the vitriol clear in her voice. As much as she was now orchestrating these mostly illegal fights, she held herself to a higher standard. The Slaughterhouse was a place with zero rules except for survival, but that did not mean Lana would agree to pulling a knife in a fist fight. There was nothing more that Lana hated than a poser tainting her ring with cowardly tactics. The cage was meant for true warriors to showcase their skills without anything holding them back, but that freedom did not include what Lana perceived as cheating. ❝ That fucker won’t happen again. ❞ Not the fuckery, but the fucker himself. There was something more to that thought but Lana kept the rest to herself. What she shared with Augustine was something else, something more than usual: A fatter envelope procured from one of Lana’s desk drawers and tossed her way. ❝ Please consider this as the Slaughterhouse’s apology. ❞

𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 the other's face? was romy reading that correctly? it was hard to see under the streetlight, but she was pretty sure. "pretty?" she echoed back almost incredulously. romy had made peace with her reflection years ago. mirrors reflected a woman with eyes that swallowed too much of her face, features that never quite found their proper proportion in her opinion. her hair was tangled and unruly most days, and the ink that mapped most of her body earned her more than a few sideways glances from strangers. "mm, not really. and i'm not a farmer. not exactly. it's more like a hobby. the amount of money i make sellin' barely covers the cost of seeds and dirt." the farmers market barely broke even for romy, but she had never been in it for the money anyway. she bit back the question that rose to her lips: why do you care? she knew it would come off all wrong. it wasn't that she minded the woman's interest, just that she couldn't quite figure out what this stranger was after, standing here under the buzzing streetlight calling her pretty.

Umi stared at her, an eyebrow raised, She reached out toward her hair but stopped short of actually touching them. One must not touch the painting, her favorite old man used to say. Sad he was six feet under now. Alas, time catches up with everyone. ❝ Pretty, yes, ❞ she answered the question that was probably not even meant to be answered with the energy of a socialite with seafood energy in the presence of a tray of shrimp. ❝ You should clean up pretty nicely. ❞ ❝ Oh? ❞ Umi feigned interest. She was still wondering how much she herself could make if she referred this cabbage merchant to that agency. ❝ Well, that’s certainly an interesting hobby... ❞ Would they even still accept her calls? Haven’t they blocked her already after that incident? Umi jerked her head back, a hand finding its way over her chest, as if she had just been shot with the most offensive of remarks, ❝ Me? Oh, heavens, no! I just have a really good eye for...art. ❞ ❝ Do you now? ❞ A sly smirk appeared on her lips. Umi had heard that before. After all, she always made for great company. ❝ I could go for some raspberry jam, ❞ she extended her hand for her to shake but not in the normal way, more in that annoying hoity toity kind of bending of the wrist, the back of her hand toward the other woman, her fingers lazily pointing down like dripping paint, ❝ Umi Tokugawa, actress, author, and businesswoman. What’s your name, dear? ❞

FEATURING    ›     zehra & izumi ( @cfshadowsnangels ) LOCATED AT    ›     chapter one

Mila knew she was lashing out and that it was not okay. And yet she had a very hard time, especially when in places like this one, one that triggered her and made her emotions all bubble to the surface, not to take it out on those around her. A stranger couldn't resent her for it tomorrow. They'd see her once and then peg her a bad person and move on with their life. They were easier to lash out at than those close to her. Those few she had in her life who actually loved her. That list was short. Sometimes she thought it too short. Alas, she had never been the type of girl that had a lot of friends. She was too peculiar in her hobbies and not sociable enough to attract her peers or form many deep friendships.

❝ They are, aren’t they? ❞ Lana had to smile at that observation, even as she turned to look at the said doors. She wondered if she could have them fixed, take some money out of her own pocket, but then she realized that would just taint the church, considering all her money were tainted with blood from violence, tarnished by the capital sins of wrath and greed. Taking a breath, she took her eyes off of them and turned her attention to the other woman instead, ❝ No, I’m sorry I brought my shit in here. ❞ She was, even though those words would not be enough to truly describe how sorry she really was. Time and time again, Lana found herself torn between her need to survive and her perceived commitment to her faith. Time and time again, she always succumbed to sin, even though she never failed to try her best. One day, she would figure it out, but that day wasn’t today. ❝ I hope your day was better, though, ❞ Lana meant it, even if she looked like she didn’t. There was always a disconnect between her outward appearance, expressions really, and her inner self. She always looked like she was about to fight someone, and in a way, she was. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she never prioritized her own survival. Was that also a sin? ❝ One of us has to have had a better day, right? ❞

His eyes remained fixed on the blonde, finding the way her features tensed and straighten rather amusing. However, at her words Elion lazily drifted his gaze towards the two men still fighting or shall he say dancing in circles in the ring. "Then maybe you should make a more thorough selection." He mused, his voice lacking of judgement but he was sure his words probably still stung. The little he'd managed to learn about the woman through their conversation suggested she wasn't the type to take losses lightly, let alone petty games like the one they were both witnessing right now.

❝ Hmm, maybe, ❞ Lana considered his unsolicited advice. As useful as it sounded, at least coming from a stranger, she had already done that months ago. To fight in the Slaughterhouse, one had to go through a rigorous process. At least rigorous enough to include a background check just in case the fighter was involved with things the Slaughterhouse did not want to be involved with. Of course, every now and then, something slips through the cracks, someone manages to trick the system. ❝ ...though, when he presented himself, he wasn’t like this, not who he is now. ❞ Images of herself flashed in her mind, a younger version, a determined but inexperienced fighter against a much bigger veteran. Technically, Lana was a veteran herself, just in a different battlefield. Their battle, her first, was one-sided. The bigger fighter tossed her around, bullied her, mocked her. Still, Lana got back up. Every time she was put down, tossed, slammed, struck in the face, the knee, the gut, she would always get back up. ❝ I’ve been, yes, ❞ she raised an eyebrow at his question, remembering the times she was on the opposite side of the divide. Although she had what others deemed a very impressive streak, Lana simply considered herself lucky. Or bless. ❝ Maybe I just got tired of it all, ❞ the blonde turned her attention toward the cage, narrowed her eyes at the theatre before them. The fighting, the bleeding, the killing, all were violent attempts to keep herself from actually seeing things, accepting things, what she was, what she is, what she will always be. ❝ Maybe I just wanted something better for myself. ❞

He eyed her up and down before settling back on her face. “I’m not sure if you mean you or the books, but why limit myself.”  He coughed changing the subject back to books at least for the moment. “Yes, I’ve read them, though perhaps not as recently as I should.  Sometimes it’s hard for me to reread books, even the classics unless the mood strikes” He took in her compliment, or at least chose to take it as such.“It’s easy to be generous with them, when they’re so well received, and well deserved.  Hmmm I can think of a few things, why do you know anyone in need of a bit of generosity?”

❝ Why indeed, ❞ Umi purred, widening her eyes intentionally, though she kept them on him with zero intention of looking away. How could she? He was more pleasing to them than anything in the shop right then and there. ❝ I can think of someone, ❞ she placed a hand on his arm, a gentle press on his bicep as she maintained eye contact. It was an assessment of sorts, an assessment he passed, which was made evident by her lip bite. ❝ She would definitely love a touch...more attention. ❞ ❝ I must admit, though: I think everyone deserves generosity, ❞ Umi moved closer toward him, breaching what usually passed for comfortable when it came to personal spaces. ❝ You... Me... I think we can both be very appreciative of such generosity, ❞ she walked around him, stepping behind Lincoln, until her lips were inches from his ears. ❝ Would you like to appreciate my finer details, detective? ❞

FEATURING    ›     cassio & lana ( @cfshadowsnangels ) LOCATED AT    ›     the slaughterhouse

with: @cfshadowsnangels (izumi)

Umi put on her best smile as she listened intently to the other woman. She had seen her before. If her memory served her correctly, and it usually did, there has not been a week that passed by that the blonde was not around. The owner of Chapter One had a habit of taking stock of the frequent faces that haunted her shelves, that lined her pockets with their literary purchases. One can never know how truly useful such a face would be in the long run. ❝ Does it have to feature a psycho husband? ❞ she smirked, gesturing gracefully for the girl to follow her away from the counter and toward one of the shelves, another nondescript employee already taking the helm at the register. ❝ If it has to, then psycho or not, Ruth Ware’s One Perfect Couple has several husbands, I suppose, ❞ Umi tried her best to sell the novel that she has not even read yet, only heard of. As she browsed the shelf beside her for something, she continued, ❝ If not, then why not try Liz Moore’s The God of the Woods? ❞ That one, she has read, and as Umi fished the book out of its shelf, she turned back to the other woman with a warm smile, ❝ It is a bit of a slow read, and there are a lot of characters that some readers find too many, but summer camps and multiple interwoven threads... Those might pique your interest more than psycho husbands. ❞

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 lighter. the small flame caught against the curve of her face, and her cigarette tip flared to life. she took a slow drag, then handed the lighter back carefully, like she was passing off some small living thing. "appreciate it," she murmured, crinkling her eyes against the smoke. at umi’s question, her head tilted slightly, eyes calm but curious. "working?" she repeated, voice flat but thoughtful, as if testing what the question might really be asking.

There was no helping it. Umi could do nothing else but watch as the young woman’s face move closer toward her, toward the lighter and its flame more precisely. What did she even expect? That she would take it for herself, ignore the already open flame, and light it again in her own hands instead of just taking the presented source of heat? No, not even in the slightest. Still, she appreciated that face, her face, almost like she could work for the Network and offer the girl a job. It was a horrible idea, a selfish one, but even more selfish would be wanting all that beauty just for her own. ❝ Oh, I see, ❞ Umi heaved a sigh, her disappointment obvious. But what was she disappointed about really? That the girl was not some lady of the night in need of a better, richer clientele? Or that their transaction was now over, the lighter back to her and her alone? She stole a glimpse of her skirt, fought off the smirk that tried to form across her lips, narrowed her eyes at the puddle then the bags, and then finally toward the fast disappearing car, crossing her arms as the lighter disappeared back into her pocket, ❝ You’re a little too pretty to be a farmer. ❞ ❝ I don’t smoke, ❞ she shrugged that idea away, not even bothering to explain her procured prop. Why would a non-smoker have a lighter? There was plenty of reasons, of course, including the truth, but that would be, like the revelation of selling vegetables instead of what she originally had in mind, boring. Still, she did like her sweets. ❝ What kind of jam? ❞

"I'm not trying to change that." In fact, she wasn't even sure why the woman considered she was interested in the place. It seemed the type of place someone who relied on rough power might prefer. Fighting wasn't really her thing, despite one of her true passions walking on the borderline of violence.

Lana couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that statement, her curiosity more than piqued. She watched with interest as Melek softly planted those lips on the rim of her cup, her own lips curling into a smile as soon as the bitterness hit the other woman. ❝ What more is there to tell? ❞ The owner of The Slaughterhouse averted her gaze as soon as she realized it was inevitable. ❝ Here, what you see is what you get. ❞ As the barrage of questions began assaulting her, Lana rose, took to the large window overseeing the rest of the underground fight club, and stared out there, where the fighting actually happened. She narrowed her eyes, recalling her own sordid but successful past inside the cage, including the broken bones, the bruised ego, and even the spilled blood. Lana recalled her predecessor emphasizing their lack of rules, if only that of survival, ❝ The Slaughterhouse welcomes all fighters of different backgrounds, whether professional or hobbyist, men or women. ❞ ❝ Is that why you’re actually here? To learn how to fight? ❞ Lana turned her head to catch a glimpse of her, even if just her shadow. She wondered right then and there if Melek needed protection. ❝ I could teach you, ❞ she thought about it, but then wondered if that would be the same as taking her side, her family’s side. That would be last thing The Slaughterhouse needed, and yet, if Melek was truly in danger, could she just simply ignore this cry for help from another woman? ❝ But what would be in it for me? ❞

“Technically not a detective,” he murmured, though the correction held no real heat, more habit than protest. “Customs. Federal side of things.” A pause as his smile tugged, quiet and wry. “But if ‘detective’ gets me locked in a room with you, I’m hardly in a position to object. Titles are flexible in the right company.”

Umi’s grew wider, though she looked away, as a hand once more found its way over her lips, as an instinctive maneuver to feign interest in something else. What is it with people and wanting things they can’t have? Or is it just for the love of the game, with the game being hooking someone’s full attention on oneself and oneself alone? Umi was not immune to that trait herself, as if it was a universal defect that everyone seems unable to outgrow. ❝ Not just titles, I hope? ❞ ❝ My, my, ❞ Umi felt her cheeks flush, growing red by the minute. Was it genuine? What did it matter. She was finding it harder to tell the difference as the minutes passed. Flattery was another thing she wasn’t immune to, and as she often employed it to get herself to places she otherwise wouldn’t find herself in, she also wanted to bask in it whenever she could. ❝ You are very generous with your words. What else are you generous with, I wonder? ❞ ❝ You can stare all you like, ❞ she almost said the word again, detective, but managed to rein it in this time. ❝ ...as hard as you like. ❞ Umi walked closer toward him, only to take her place beside him, and as they stood shoulder to shoulder, she gave him a look, a challenge really, of playfulness mixed in with something more, ❝ A man who knows how to appreciate art is always welcomed here. ❞

was she butthurt that he rejected her? he wasn’t the type to go out and like fuck right away if he was going to be honest. like it was sad earlier: she could be a murderer for all he know. simón doesn’t trust half the people in this town— including the people that are actually his friends. It took him YEARS to finally trust the sheperd’s if he was going to be honest. “grandma’s are superior and provide a lot of wisdom to the world.” he agrees with her. “speaking of abuela’s i’m only close to mine when i’m back home in mexico.” a small fact that didn’t even seem to phase him. “do you have any family in these streets?” he asks, not bothering to look over at her. It was really just small talk wasn’t it? trying to fill the air. at least he wasn’t talking about ‘how nice the weather is for october’. “oh! do you have any plans for halloween this year? or are you just planning to stay in the slaughterhouse all night?” it seemed like a sad life to be like that all the time though if he was honest— the family was starting to drag him down to be a workaholic, or perhaps it was the passing of his uncle, despite it being several years now. he had looked a little older and felt a little older.

At his talk of grandmas, specifically his own, Lana found herself softening a little. It has been a long while since she was in the presence of her own grandma. Thoughts of that old hag made her miss her more peaceful childhood. ❝ No, not in these streets, ❞ she calmly stated, more memories of family invading her mind. She remembered her parents, what she could of them anyway. She remembered her twin brother, mostly the last time they crossed paths. ❝ Not anymore. ❞ ❝ Halloween? ❞ Lana made a tch! sound, chiding the very thought of that annual event. ❝ That is only for children and godless heathens, ❞ the words slithered out of her mouth with enough vitriol, they would’ve made her very religious grandma proud. It was ironic, really: For all of Lana’s inherited religiosity, she was a very active sinner through and through. ❝ Maybe... Maybe not. I do have a life outside of work, Simón. Don’t you? Do you even have work? ❞