a man chooses, a slave obeys

She needed to get out of the house. She needed air and coffee and carbs. So here Jessica found herself sitting outside the cafe just a block down from St Catherines with a small bookbag with her change of clothes for work tonight. Even with 4.5 hours till she needed to report for work, Jessica didn’t want to be in the house. Her usually warm and welcoming demeanor was completely turned on its head. Cold, distant, and reserved was now much more in line with Jessica’s appearance. Because of this, she was confused when the seat across from her moved and someone sat looking at her. “Enjoying the weather or just need coffee?” she asks attempting to be polite.

-

“You look pathetic.” As pathetic as she already was before Parsons.

Wanted to return the favour two-fold. I hope you’ll make use of this.

Best,

Dev: I'm not capable.

Dev: Happy Holidays.

Johnathan: If you're not capable of this task, I'll do it myself. Just let me know.

Johnathan: :)

Dev: I'm not capable.

Johnathan: Chaussard is currently out of London.

Johnathan: Find out which sewer he crawled into, then drag him out of it.

Johnathan: I'll allow violence. Any shape and form.

Dev: Am I missing something?

I think I’ve answered this before somewhere, maybe? Let me know.

No. 

when: nov 8 where: ophélie’s flat who: open to whoever would reasonably visit her @mobscene-starters​

Her flat was too small and too big at the same time. She hated the silence but adored solitude. It was all too much and not nearly enough. Ophélie groaned, the anxious, clawing feeling in her chest overpowering any other emotion she might have felt. It was always like this. Or at least it had been for the past few days, her rapid breath straining against the bandages and stitches. She sat up quickly, pressing her hand lightly against the bandage with a hiss. The dull ache was worth the momentary release of tension, but it could never last. 

Rationally she knew she could only hide in her flat for so long, she grew bored fairly quickly under the best of circumstances. But leaving meant going out, it meant accepting what happened and dealing with the consequences, the looks and the pity and the whispers. Ophélie was not quite ready to deal with that, thank you very much, she would worry about that tomorrow. Still, her bedroom was suddenly stifling and the blonde threw off her covers to stand up almost too quickly.  She pulled an old sweatshirt over her thin top and bare legs, then wandered through the halls to the kitchen intent on finding herself a drink. 

Ophélie had just finished pouring herself a glass of rose when the dogs began to bark and whine incessantly by the front door. She groaned and took an all too large sip of her wine before heading towards the entrance. Nudging her dogs back a bit, Ophélie opened the door without looking through the peephole, an almost reckless disregard having taken over her lately, and stared blankly at the guest. 

“Come to make sure I’m not dead yet?” she took another sip of her drink, “here I am, up and walking and talking. Haven’t done myself in so you can run along and report to whoever is pretending to give a fuck, yeah?”

.

Without a budge, and without a breath, Dev’s head canted to the side gently as he looked the woman up and down with a great deal of silent judgement and study — the type someone like him could afford without looking like a Parisian cunt but a probable thug. Adrian had been quick to tell him who he’d been talking to the night Lara remembered one of the twins, better yet, the assassin had been even faster to inform him of her association with the French: Ophélie Redgrave, a Rutherford type with a French proclivity, what a fucking tragedy.

With a few political affiliations, it couldn’t have been worse.

The fighter couldn’t help but drag out his observations blatantly before bringing up a hand. Without touching her, it hovered over her body at a drag, ghosting over her body to mimick the way he’d touched her before the party ended with a number of screams, but pointedly stilled at the bangage.

Adrian: Need to talk.

Adrian: Make sure to punch someone in advance though, you'll have a serious urge to do so after I tell you certain news and I'd rather you did it in advance.

Dev: Good timing.

“Think you’ll enjoy yourself?” Dev said, cutting into the silence with a dash of judgement neither of them needed.

At first he rolled his shoulders, weighed heavily down by the strain of giving a fuck, before sitting down to throw up his feet onto the nearest coffee-table. The chickpeas in his mouth should have shut him up but he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at Lara. This was definitely about them leaving the city.

“I don’t know, I still prefer your old one.”

@dev-daryani​

“Right,” Dev said, looking at the flat with Henry.

With Haringey tossed to the Russians on Andrew Rutherford’s good word, while still shared with the Turks, it was becoming impossible for the fighter to keep his home constituency home. “I did too,” was all he could offer. The move had to happen; just like it had when he left Porto.

“One more, then we’re done,” he said, slamming Henry’s shoulder in thanks before rounding into the farside of his vehicle. “And, if this next one doesn’t work out, I’ll be moving to your place so you better fix your tune.” It might have been a pathetic threat but Dev offered a tired smile to his friend all the while.

@delphine-stclair

sum: someone gets a cool necklace in the middle of the chaos.

Dev had seen the St. Clair ramming her fist into the now pulpy left eye-socket of Emmett Till at a distance. His initial, regurgitative thought was ‘keep going’; Till had taken to blaming the fighter for everything including the fucking ozone layer since a particular Rutherford birthday party and the incessant whining had been provoking. While Dev could take ownership of his actions that night, and had to have it thrust upon him in kind, he wasn’t somehow a change person in which he wouldn’t throttle another Rutherford associate for shoving their hand into the very wrong cage. 

He was not the right animal to pester.

Especially about things like misconduct - when he made a living off of it.

So when he waited an extra measure, a few self-righteous heartbeats, before plowing through the Frenchwoman, it had been for himself. And, when he kept the Frenchwoman crushed against the venue walls at a height where her feet couldn’t touch the floor, he figured that might have been for her. The way Delphine St. Clair fought against him was vicious and it would have mattered if it haven’t been against him.

Her fists were causing him pain though, enough that he gave the St. Clair her footing back so she could lean forward to leaving the restriction of the wall but before her feet could step away the fighter rammed her head right back against the wall with a tight fisting at her throat. 

Maybe she knew now that he couldn’t do it but wanted to; to snap everything in reach and pay back the pain of Jai in kind. But, since their fleeting poisonous conversation before the fucking chaos, her unanswered question had flittered back and forth in his angry vision like an obnoxious fly.

Delphine had been a snake but she’d done well at going for his jugular with her French fucking fangs.

“How did it feel?” she asked, and then repeated, “How did it feel to get the taste of your revenge?”

Like they weren’t fighting, or that he wasn’t strangling her slowly against his body, Lara’s prize fighter leaned in to answer honestly, if late: “It felt worthless.” Then he squeezed tighter, harder, genuine in his sudden anger at everyone to the point of foregoing the threats over his head among higher-ranked Rutherfords so he could try again — maybe he hadn’t gone about revenge correctly the first time.

“Come to play both sides, mate?” Dev said as he rounded the corner, minding how alone Amir was as he went to stand next to his former friend. “One foot on sea and one of shore, innit?” It was so interesting how the business man could get away with having a cry at Lara’s feet and another at the French Head’s without losing a finger or two; how loved he was to be humored time and time again.

Bitter was a brother.

So, in a stretch, Dev rammed a fist down across the hotelier’s face.

ohhophelie​:

Ophélie smiled wickedly when his hands shot out and caught her waist, pulling her back. She closed the last space between them without a fuss, as if he’d always meant to pull her flush to his chest. He was playing along, and she liked this game, it was her favorite - one she almost never lost. 

“I am not nearly as fragile as I look,” the blonde flirted almost sweetly, shivering slightly at the feeling of his fingers trailing up her sides and then at the sudden absence. “Far too many guests to point out individually, including our dear host.” Her eyes scanned the crowd until she found Spencer engaged in conversation with whom she thought were other MPs. 

“How thoughtful of you, I do adore coming first.” Grabbing his hand, Ophélie gave her best attempt at innocence before laughing. She didn’t really know where she was going, just looking for some place a bit less crowded. It was getting to be that time of the night when she didn’t have as much to be generous with as she had hours ago. Turning the corner, she found what must have once been a ticket office or something of the like and now served as an overflow coat closet. Perfect. 

Practiced fingers pulled out a little glass vial and pale pink compact mirror from somewhere in her dress and placed them on a table whose contents she’d swept aside. Ophélie frowned, during the course of the night she seemed to have lost the bank card she’d been using all nigh. Well fuck. She wasn’t all that concerned about the money, she used this specific card for things like this intentionally - she had to verify all transactions within 24 hours or it automatically froze the card. Rather she was irritated over the loss of its other, more fun uses. 

“Wallet, pretty please?” She asked sweetly, turning to him and stepping closer as she ran a light fingertip along the waistband of his pants. “I promise everything will be returned to you in the exact condition it was found in.” Ophélie fluttered her lashes and pouted softly, “Pretty please?” 

He highly doubted she was going to rob him but Dev still looked at the blonde for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before pulling a metal money clip from his back pocket to tap it against the underside of her chin to make sure she was looking at him behind her fine eyes. “Make better choices before I start making them for you.” Conceptually, the idiom of playing with fire seemed profoundly mollifying as he just about loomed over her in the small space. He’d never allowed himself to have been dragged into a coat room before but he expected to get something worthwhile out of it; more than a solid line or two. The woman had no clue, none. Each drag across his waistband was a tick of patience lost and he doubted she’d be quite so amused with her game if he flipped and bent the board.