CHAOTIC

“Oh, dear,” Lorelei said without showing a degree of emotion like the rest of the people did when they saw what just happened. She turned her head when she listened to a familair voice and smirked. “Your Majesty,” the moritician bowed and even took the president’s hand to kiss his knuckles in a more theatrical fashion. “Fancy seeing you here, my lord. I suppose I’m the one who’s going to have to take care of that,” she said pointing to the body on the floor. 

Richard looked over, a cocked brow to the expression and gesture, as his hand fell. “I like the title, but no hand kissing.” He smirked. “I’d say cock sucking, but my fiancee would find a way to properly kill me this time.” A levelled grin rose with his mood. “That’s a problem for someone else.” He scoffed. “If we didn’t kill it, we don’t need to clean up the mess--or is this some sort of sympathetic gesture of yours?”

Nathan had been a little shaken since the incident. It was one thing rushing off to go respond to a call but another thing entirely as he watched the people around him scramble for a reason not yet known to him at the time only to find brains blown all over the place. He let out an uneven breath, eyes roaming to keep his wits about him before landing on the small smirk presented by the suited man a few feet away from him. Why the Hell was he smiling during this? It had earned him more of a glare than a simple eye narrow in return. Some people were so fucked up these days.

Not that Richard cared--hell, whatever someone was planning for today was just the icing on the god damn cake. While he wouldn’t divulge his many secrets, it didn’t mean he couldn’t share a laugh--stifle a few fucking giggles at the whole ordeal. But even with the slightest pivot of his footsteps--he caught the man staring. “Can I help you?” He snapped, one hand pocketed, amusement endless on his expression.

      “There’s always some asshole politician making empty promises and kissing babies to appeal for their next election period. It’s why I don’t vote.” Cora commented, stopping beside her nephew and crossing her arms. She wasn’t ignorant to the rally or what happened there, nor the poor fuck with a hole in the back of his head, but her disdain for the Mayor seemed palpable in measure. Perhaps less sinister outwardly than her blood beside her, but it was still there. She sneered before turning her gaze upward, “I never liked her.”

There was comfort in being surrounded by your own; Richard felt that with his aunt, someone who—let’s just say, stood among the same lines as he. It was warming, as he plastered a smile to his lips, a grin breaking the barrier in such a dismal moment between the now dead man on the floor—and the two who stood a way’s away. “Well now, you should’ve said that sooner. Would’ve given us a hobby or something.” He licked his slowly, finally turning to his aunt. “Any suggestions for how to get the job done?”

“Is it that obvious?” Violet chuckled with a shake of her head.  “I don’t do well with funerals.”  Honestly, there was a part of her that wondered why she’d even come, but perhaps it was a morbid curiosity.  That had to be it.  The danger of it all….she found it thrilling, but it could end up just like this.  “What about you?  I can’t imagine this is fun for anyone.”

“You hide it well enough, but I can read you.” He only greeted, if to push people out of his way to reach the redhead. “Please, Vi--” Richard chided her. It was practically painful to keep the shit-eating grin off his expression. “I’m having the time of my fuckin’ life right now. Only thing better would be a double suicide from Bianchi and his other kid to top the day off. Take all the work off my hands.”

The significant height difference, or maybe it was the fact that the male mentioned the word friend, didn’t cause Leyla to cower. Spring tinted orbs were now hardened like emeralds, arms folding over her chest in an act of defiance. “I’m not throwing you out, it’s a wake, everyone is welcome to pay their respects, so at least have some respect and compassion or kindly leave.” She of course took it to heart, the threat he used, fearful of Gwyn’s life and that naive human resilience in protecting another. “And keep the people here out of this, enough of them are hurting already. And what does my little friend have to do with this anyway? You’re being a bully in a place that has no need for it.”

"I would leave--” Richard made the intention, every inclination that he was mocking the brunette in every stance, one foot extended. “But I don’t think I will. My Mommy died before she could teach me a thing or two about kindness. ” He leaned down slightly, staggering height held over the brunette. “Besides... I don’t think I have it in me to give a shit about Bianchi’s dead son when I’ve got plans for the one that’s still breathing.” He beamed brightly at the brunette. “I’m very interested in her. Wouldn’t you be?” He smirked. “Curious yet, o’ little one?”

His smile was unnerving, full but not quite genuine. “Well, thank you for coming and paying your respects.” She felt compelled to extend the Bianchi gratitude in their stead. Especially since the majority of them were hidden away to mourn in privacy. “I’m—” The word nobodies cut her off right then and there, reeling for a half second before she finally digested the confirmation. “¡Disculpe! Have some respect for the dead. If you’re one of those lingering around the room hoping to act like they’re winning at life by showing sympathy for nobodies, you can leave.”

Richard’s façade—while orchestrated to mock at those in the room experiencing pain—fell immediately. Perhaps the girl just didn’t know—how quaint of Bianchi, keeping people around who hadn’t a fucking idea the people who really stood in the room. A foot stepped forward, towering over the woman as he tilted his head to one side, lips curved into a smile. A nonchalant pose, hands pocketed. “I wouldn’t try to get me thrown out of places, if I were you. It might hurt your little friend in the long run.”

Relief washed over Whitney when she felt his touch, pulled closer to her worst half. While they were still in the public eye at least the facade she’s so used to wearing could drop a little now that she was in the comfort of her own. “You know I can’t turn down a good party – especially if it’s a celebration.” Whitney replied with a small smirk tugging up in the corner of her mouth. “Plus, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.”

“Really—who didn’t give you a choice—“ Richard spoke to her in a mocking tone, a history of commanding her in their relationship rather than asking her stood against him in the statement—but he didn’t care. “I probably didn’t help anything going to Bianchi and giving my condolences in person—“ He looked down at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He was in an annoyingly good mood. “But I’m not here to cater to their emotions, I’m here to see who might die next.” It was like Christmas morning for the Dixie President.

He could appreciate Richard’s dark side (if he had a light side to begin with if they were being completely honest), but it was oftentimes like these where he’d known the man would be the main cause of his eventual snap. He brought out the worst in him. Was it any wonder why the Guerra/Blackshaws looked to Richard like he put the stars in the sky? They all mutually benefit from each other. Lorenzo and he were best friends. Malakai kissed Richard’s ass to gain traction. Roman did as he was told— Lucille would’ve loved him. He let the smoke drift out of his mouth slowly, gaze fixed on the blonde in question.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he snickered, instinctively clenching his free hand, the bones popping. “Just let me know what you need.”

It’s amazing what one person could do to break down others. It wouldn’t have been his first time, hues peeled from the blonde to the security that seemed to surround her. He couldn’t help but draw a laugh, exposing his humour to the situation. It wasn’t his brother—he wouldn’t be so careless to let something like that happen. Grinning, a wave to the security, he turned to Roman. “This is the problem with the Italians—“ He spoke loudly enough, safely out of earshot of police officers who might’ve lingered inside. “They don’t know how to keep their kids on a fuckin’ leash, and then they end up playing in traffic.” But he was just edging it on. Wasn’t that the play on words—considering the boy’s body was found on the road. “Wish I knew who fuckin’ did it—give ‘em a gift for a job well done.” And he eyed Roman. “Did you?”

There was something insincere about the way the tall male spoke–each tsk hitting hard and ruffling her already frayed feathers. It had to be her exhaustion, and the fact that Leyla was now wary of anyone that showed up to the wake–worried for Gwyn, worried that she herself would overhear someone say the wrong thing and tear them a new one right then and there. Naturally protective, Leyla was unable to help herself from resorting to old habits and marking every exit. Training that had been ingrained four years ago, rusty, but still useful, her rough excuse of gun marksmanship all but forgotten. “It is a shame, and they were tragically taken too soon. Who did you know?” 

He’d seen her lingering around Bianchi’s only living child now, which he couldn’t help but slide in, snipe and try to make a jab where—possibly—it wasn’t needed. Not that it was ever needed, but it made for Richard to have a fun time, and wasn’t that what life was all about? Hands pocketed, as he looked down at the shorter woman, a Cheshire cat smile on his lips when he spoke. “Oh—I know the boy’s father. We’re old colleagues.” The grandest of lies, of course, but Richard wasn’t about to explain it to the woman. “But how do you know him—don’t tell me someone’s lingering around the room hoping to act like they’re winning at life by showing sympathy to nobodies—“ And there was the guiltless jab at the Bianchi’s misfortunate loss.

He took the lighter without comment, but he couldn’t exactly disagree. They were wired to hate the other side, and he did— God, he did— but he also felt the remorse. He remembered losing his sister and how hard that was on the rest of the family. He didn’t particularly care if any of his brothers dropped dead, but Lucille was the closest to all of them. Losing her was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. He could only imagine how it must’ve been for the Bianchi girl. He wouldn’t dare show he cared, but he was there to pay his respects (and whatever Richard needed of him).

“I would’ve taken his head the moment you touched hands,” he added. He could pity the children, but he shared Richard’s sentiments towards their father. “Just say the word and I’ll grab her by that nest she calls hair and string her up above her brother’s coffin.”

That bark of a laugh caught the eyes of many, but it wasn’t like Richard to walk into a room full of sorrow and mock the broken hearted people within. They were weak, weaker than he ever expected. “I thought about it—but I plan on winning this war, and the only way I do that is if I keep him alive… for now.” Not that there was much of a challenge at the moment, a weakened stance from the opposition was just enough for Richard to gain momentum.

“Not yet—“ Though it pained him to admit such a truth. “I’ve got ideas for her, a simple death won’t do.” He moved to Roman’s side, leaning against the bannister as the man smoked, eyeing both the blonde as she silently stewed in her pathetic emotions—and the display of people exiting and entering the halls. “I’m going to break her. Make her either beg us to kill her, or be so mind-controlled she tells us everything.” He looked over. “She’s fucking my brother discretely—so we’ll see how desperate she is for someone to acknowledge her existence, right?”

Secrets really could control your life, he thought arrogantly, grinning to the idea.