eter

Jamie feigned a gasp at the sight of Charlie - the Zerilli sibling whose invitation wasn’t an undeserved coincidence owed to his own benevolence - smoking. “Without a drink attached? So late in the evening? Let me play bartender and fix you something. Anything. Do you have a preference?” After a brief moment of consideration, he cut the man off and answered his question himself. “You probably don’t.” He was just the right amount of derisive and mocking, enough so that it would sting but less than what he would have needed to accuse Jamie of a distaste. Which is was not, under any circumstances. Jamie was just skeptical in the aspect of Charles’ loyalty to the club with a sister in the other camp and so many reasons for treason. “It would break my heart to hear you aren’t doing well and having fun, when the guests I’ve brought in, I’ve brought for you.”

When Charles started to formulate an answer, his mouth went shut and he gave up on it before even pronouncing a word. Jamie was right, as long as it had alcohol, he was ok with it. Low standards brought no disappointments. Just the right way of getting by. After all, by the end of the day, Charles didn't feel like explaining himself, or letting the other in. Jamie unsettled him in a way, and for a reason, Charles couldn't quite put his finger on,but he knew how to wait and see. Patience was one the Zerilli's most effectives traits. "Brought for me, you say?", Charles forced a smile up his lips. "Why would I want the Quarrel here, Jamie? Why would any of us?", for Charles had his own agenda, and it started with the right questions to set the mood for the night.

“And then I’ll laugh, maybe draw a dick on your face, take pictures, and then – and this is the good part – I’ll leave.” No, she wouldn’t. (At least not the last one, anyway.) They’d been in similar situations enough times for him to know that she’d never leave him like that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frate,” she lied faux-innocently, though she’d never been good at lying, especially not to her brother. “I just don’t get it. Why the sudden friendliness?” Curiosity was alight in her eyes.

"The women in this family always rise above the men. It's kinda unfair, if you look at it closer... what if our fate is to die with dicks on our faces?" Charles pondered as if he actually meant every word, and then looked at his sister, mockery in every feature of his face. "Don't ask me, Charlie. I feel like there's a purpose for this, and I don't like when you're in someone else's plans without my fucking knowledge. Bad shit can happen when we're not in control, you know that... and now they're making me feel like a dog barking to a tree. Jesus, I'm dad. Fuck."

“Your loss.” She shrugged, taking a sip from her wine.

"Have you ever considered, though, how french cuisine often makes food look like things and not actually... food? I mean, look at this macarons. They're creepy fluffy-cloud like things that you eat. And they come in different colors. Isn't that weird? When food isn't food?" because he had nothing else to say and he felt like letting the conversation die was rude, so Charles said the first thing that came to his mind. A comment that, once out in the open, Charlie wished he had been rude.

It came as some surprise to her that the boy who was usually the life of any party, or so she had heard, was off to one side with a cigarette balanced in his lips. The boy who knew far more about her than she’d have liked from a rare moment of weakness. The closeness that he’d strived for afterwards was something that she had given up resisting though she would refrain from ever really showing how glad she was of his company sometimes. So there wasn’t a lot of thought given to the raised eyebrow she’d shot him across the room and even less consideration given to her decision to cross the distance between them just in time to catch some words intended just for himself. “No, only knock a few years from our lives.” The sentence was lacking any sort of dryness that would have shown it was intended as a joke rather than just a statement of fact. Still, regardless of whatever affect the little roll might have had on her life span it did little to stop her from reaching into her bag for her own as she prepared to indulge in the closest thing she has to a vice. “Though perhaps it would be better were we not to subject others to it.”

Charles would probably never say it out loud, but he liked the way Cordelia could manage to say so much with the smallest of the gestures and with no words whatsoever. Not mentioning it was a policy he came up with, because in light of how distant she seemed, how unattached, he felt like most of the things he understood from her gestures and words were actually evidence of his delusional mind. For all that matters, Charles could be fantasizing a whole other Cordelia McQueen, one he could understand just a little, and yet, just about enough. Quietly, he blamed her for letting him see through the discreet cracks she wore that night, even if it happened just once. For now he couldn't stop feeling like he kept on seeing them, either way. "Cigarettes have exactly two social functions. It can be an excuse to withdrawal and watch people do whatever the hell they like to do when they think no one's looking, or it can be a way to start a conversation. I got the latter just now, so I should probably tell you how beautiful you look today, Miss McQueen," Charles paused for dramatic purposes, but ended up smiling as he failed to sustain the facade. "And we just got the first, Cordelia. We can't just walk away from the opportunity of watching them dance just for us. It's almost fun, I promise."

The obvious discomfort Lana could sense from the rival club left her feeling satisfied, like she didn’t even have to lift a finger to get under their skin. She didn’t care for them or their opinions that they flaunted when literally nobody asked. Hell, sometimes she wondered how much she cared about any of the other students in the room. Admittedly she’d do just about anything for the Quarrel Club despite herself, but would not be above tearing it down and building something better. Oxford was a school she was determined to dominate and Lana never, never backed down from a challenge. Dare she say the thought of it was exciting. She knew she had to be patient and cunning, like a lioness stalking its’ prey. The most elite clubs at the university were both such zoos she was more than ready. Lana breathes in, smelling the sweet scent of nicotine and she curses at herself when she remembers leaving her carton on the vanity in her room. “You wouldn’t mind sparing one, would you? I feel like I’ve had a headache this whole time.”

It felt weird to be talking to Charlotte's colleagues, without even knowing if she liked them or not, -- which was generally not the case. Alongside being a twin, there was also all the embarrassing matching clothes, same classes their whole life, and inevitably, same friends. Adulthood was the moment they found out how painfully different they were, and now Charles was discovering a whole new level of it. "Not at all... but I must warn you, I rolled them myself. It's fresh tobacco blended with cinnamon, so..." Charles shrugged dismissively, an otherwise friendly smile on his face as he pulled out his leather case again and picked one of his cigarettes for the girl. For a split second, he felt like he should've put more effort on rolling them, so it wouldn't look so painfully handmade, but then, there was just no point on persisting with that feeling. "Here you go".

“Don’t stop on my account,” Lucas waved Charlie off when he saw the other man hesitate. “I’m grateful it’s only a cigarette.” Judgment? Possibly, but only the most well-meaning and earned–earned for him to say by right of being close with boy Charlie and not just earned by Charlie’s usual making a spectacle of himself for Lucas had willing amnesia that Charlie boy was ever any worse than the next  Riot club member in that regard–and so light and teasing that it was not a slap but an affectionate pat of a comment. “Light on up. Light the whole pack at once. Nobody will dare tell you no tonight.” He raised his voice to the assembly, calling for all to cheer with him, “We, the legacy of Lord Ryot, own this place tonight!”

"It's only a cigarette for now, Luc," Charles smiled wickedly, everything he wouldn't say implied between those lines. "There's no fucking way I'm gonna end this night sober," because Charlotte was in that room, and it meant one of his nerves was walking around as people poke it, repeatedly. And Charles Zerilli hated that. Specially when he couldn't understand what was happening. "Not that I actually end any night sober, but you got what I mean..." he shrugged, cigarette back in his lips as he looked around and watched people follow Lucas' lead. "By the way, I came with Enzo tonight, but I'm not sure I'm gonna drive him back home, so same drill. No one touches my car, not Charlie, not you, not drunk me. If anyone looks funny at Enzo, they die. So... forget me, take care of Enzo, ok?"

1. Charles is a devote of the Roman Catholic Church and though he never talks about it, is quite proud of his religion and new Pope, for that matter.

2. He’s fluent in Italian.

3. His car’s name is Enzo, and Charles doesn’t let people drive it. At all.

4. Charles can’t stand strong scents, so he doesn’t wear perfume or anything with a smell stronger than freaking baby soap. And as his deodorant is scentless, the only thing he smells like is tobacco and cinnamon, and occasionally, when he decides to wear it, leather.

5. He needs glasses to read, but hates it so much, that he barely uses it.

6. His sexuality isn’t based on gender, but in people. If he likes you, what you have in your pants is the least he cares about.

7. Charles keeps a 9mm Smith&Wesson Shield in his room, a Glock G29 in his car and a Glock G19 in his leather bag, mainly because of his mother insistency and nagging. He knows how to use it quite well, although he isn’t fond of them, and thinks their presence might be necessary, considering the Zerilli’s trade.

8. Charlie loves old movies, songs and cars. He’s quite obsessed with it, actually.

Headcanon OO3

Headcanon OO2

Headcanon OO1