Right hand of darkness

Who wants what?

 ”And do I look sinister to you?” She asked him then, folding her arms across her chest when she’d finally gone, she was curious to here his take on just that. “I know your life style leaves you a bit paranoid, but not everyone is up to something, Darius.” She tilted her head to the side, pretending to think on the matter. “I was going for minimalistic, or at least something to match the rug, but you seemed to eager to help me before last night so I thought I’d ask. Tell me, was I wrong?” Vivienne’s eyes seemed to change, to a soft doe eyed look that was found generally on that of her sister, Naomi. It was a look that was rare on her, she’d never lived a life where it needed to exist on her features. 

And lest she be offended that he'd excluded her from Vegas's cabal of evil (sometimes, he thought the really good ones in their shared world were his brother and the painfully unprepared Naomi), he clarified. "You're a different kind of danger. I would like to hope that if you ever came at me, your axe swinging at my head, I'd see it coming." He smiled to take the edge off the death threats being bandied about at breakfast. She was right: he was wary of everyone, but if someone like her who wore her heart on her sleeve was ever able to catch him unawares... well, he certainly deserved to lose his head in that case. (It didn't occur to him in that moment, and probably never would, unprompted, that a big and unwieldy axe might not be Vivienne's new weapon of choice.)

"Well," She started off, her face instantly changing, softening, it honestly was a relieving ache to gently soften her generally hard features while she bit her lip, stirring her coffee nonchalantly as she continued. "You own me a new set of blinds, Mr. Marshall." She lifted the mug to her full lips to take a small sip, thankful the creamer had an effect on the bitter taste. "And I’ve come to collect." She set the ceramic mug back down, silently hoping Darius would take the bate and not ask her question. Her fingers were crossed, because while she desired that endgame, a bit of her craved that normality that came from something as simple as buying household furniture, there was no guns, no bosses, no bullshit. 

He ran a finger around the rim of his cup thoughtfully, coffee-scented tendrils wafting from the surface. He would have preferred to dilute it, Irish-style, but instead he beckoned the waitress. He took the extra second to smile at her just because irony hadn't made Sydney Mitchell their server for the morning. "Eggs Benedict and sliced sausages, thank you," he told her. "And a side-order of something sweet." His smile widened, shooting Vivienne a conspiratorial wink out of the corner of his eye. "Surprise me with it. Oh," he added, as the waitress was about to leave with his order. He pushed the coffee towards her. "OJ would be divine."

Stepping into the Diner, the heels of her boots clicking on the linoleum, Vivienne had a lot on her mind. the events of the Baptism the night before were still whirling around in the woman’s head as she found a seat the the nearest booth that was empty and sat down. It wasn’t the gun shots that had her so confused, growing up in her neighbor hood as a child, gunfire didn’t phase her that much. Her sister had been okay, she’d seen that from a distance, and to be honest, Vivienne couldn’t find any true concern for any of those injured, what bothered her most was the papers that had been served to Sydney the night before, the words of her boss as she tried to stop Joseph from being Christened, a failed attempted at that, Not to mention Darius and how he inserted himself into the altercation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt what felt like betrayal. The way her sister had stabbed her in the back still stung, but after Darius and she connected the way they had, this wound felt fresh, it felt new, and while a part of her wished to have him feel the same type of pain she felt now, she also felt a strange sadness she didn’t want to comment on in fear of what it all truly meant.

But that wasn’t why Vivienne had called him forward to her the night before.

And Vivienne was now unmistakably one of them.

Darius was beginning to realise why his line of work meant that he didn't exactly have friends. Even under Lorenzo's roof, getting attached to Joseph Rinaldi's children would be a liability. Lorenzo was a friend as much as someone like that was capable of friendship, but Vivienne had been a breath of fresh air, someone who didn't talk about the mob with a first-hand insider's viewpoint. Best of all, she had other things to talk about than the mob. He realised, as he slid into the seat opposite her now, that he would miss that. Both their guards were up, even though they'd be obliged to pretend otherwise. Maybe she wouldn't even bother. Aggression was her preferred weapon anyway.