El Draque

margarita "peggy" salazar. 27. university student. radio show host. affiliated with no one.

Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art. - Kurt Cobain

the burning cough that he was forced to swallow left a bitter taste on his tongue. as a metaphor for the night he was about to have , it was far too fitting. " that was vile —— " he grimaced and looked at her flash him an amusing smile. that is , until it was revealed to him that he had just downed enough alcohol to make his breath flammable.

" —— that was , just straight tequila? " he couldn't help it , a chuckle of disbelief trickled out of him. at first , he spoke under his breath. fantastic. nervously , he brought his hand to his face and traced the shape of his mustache. the entire night was banking on his model behavior , and Rueng was bound to be here within the hour. " you know what? I don't drink. not very Irish of me but , two beers is my limit. " he pointed at her empty glass. " promise that i don't normally go around stealing people's drinks. "

he nodded at a passing busboy and passed a bill , " a water for me and another double tequila for the missus. " jack was beyond grateful for her apparent kindness , not many people tonight had the tolerance of amateur idiocy. but he couldn't find an ounce of grace within him to salvage his first impression. " name's jack. " he smiled gently and held out his hand , his embarrassment was beyond evident. " really sorry about the unintended thievery , night's got my nerves in a knot. "

....

“Vile to you, liquid gold to me,” she agrees with a slight nod of her head, the smile still dancing on her lips as she watches the other go through the equivalent of grief at the realization of what he had accidentally taken when grabbing an stranger’s drink. “Very expensive straight tequila that I was drinking to take advantage of the open bar, yes.”

He is charming in a way, this stranger, on his clumsiness. Almost disarming, if it weren’t for the sheer oddness of the other’s nervousness. The event had been rather calm so far, so the bout of nervousness was out of her expectations. For the most part, those invited had no stakes on the game, other than the desire to enjoy a good party, and yet, here he is.

“Then I also recommend for you to eat something,” she says, a grimace on her lips as she realizes how truly fucked the man in front of her is if the drinks hit him as hard as she is expecting. “Pay no mind to the stealing bit, it was free after all. I am more worried now about your future sobriety if you aren’t used to drinking hard liquor.”

Peggy watches his order with a light smile and stops the busboy just long enough to specify the Tequila’s brand before turning to the other and taking his hand on hers, suddenly regretting not having worn gloves. The callouses on her hand are a rather big difference from the usual soft hands of the upper class ladies in New Orleans after all.

.

Nalini’s eyes narrow, but there’s a playfulness to it. “I don’t believe that,” she refutes the explanation, a shake of her head sending a tendril of dark hair that’s fallen loose from her bun flying about her face. “If there is an exception, then the rule doesn’t work, does it? It’s faulty before it even begins.” 

There’s a hesitancy to Peggy, something that seems to be holding her back a little. It’s like she’s excited and nervous about the conversation all at once. Nalini wishes she could set her at ease, if only she knew how to do that. All she can do is continue to be kind, and hope that in time, she eases into their conversation, and leaves any shyness at the time. 

“Just Nalini will do,” she laughs quietly. “Or Nali, if you like. My friends call me Nali sometimes. And the pleasure is mine. You’ve been very kind to me tonight.” 

...

“I — ,” Peggy goes to argue, goes to bolster her argument regarding her faltering kindness, but the words get stuck on her throat. There is something complicated about kindness, now that she is beyond war. Her time with the revolutionary army had told her that there was no time for kindness for strangers, stamped any bit of softness that she held so that she could survive but — She isn’t in the army anymore, she is just another flapper in New Orleans, she can be kind. And has been, she realizes in surprise, more often than not despite her paranoia and fear. It’s a startling realization, the knowledge that war hadn’t stamped her kindness despite what she believed, the her self-image had been distorted because of what she had assumed happened in the battlefield. “Maybe? I am not good at this things —  Feelings and all, I mean.”

The words come as a soft admission, a bittersweet smile on her lips as she shrugs. It is a confession, truly, one pulled nearly reluctantly but given because even in her most paranoid she can’t see the kind woman in front of her using it, because even in her most paranoid Peggy doesn’t see how someone could use such confession.

“If it’s alright, I would like to call you Nali?” She asks hesitantly, licking her lips in nervousness. “I would very much like to be friends, but I don’t have many so I don’t know how that works?”

.

Etienne was born into riches and luxury. Perhaps not power - not moreso than the kind the rich usually wielded, because although they were wealthy, the Toussaints had never sought out positions of responsibility. Still, though his head was in the clouds half of the time, there was a certain groundedness to him, a relatability that allowed him to easily speak to everyone he encountered. It was a boon to him in his career, though those who had known him before he became Doctor Toussaint could attest to the fact he had simply always been that way. 

It doesn’t matter to him who the woman he’s speaking to is, nor where she comes from, or how her hands became so rough. What matters is they are speaking, that she is being kind to him, and making sure that kindness, that basic thread of human decency is returned. 

“Ah!” His grin brightens, and he reaches out to take the corsage, fixing it to his jacket and effectively covering the remainder of the stain that still peeked through. “Yes, that’s far better, I think. My dear, you truly are a life saver. Make sure you grab me before you go, though, so I can return this to you.” He pats the corsage-turned-boutonniere, neatening it’s position on his chest. 

A hint of an accent comes through when he introduces himself, and he shakes her hand politely. When he speaks again, it is in tentative, accented, but passable Spanish, a language he has not touched since his university years and is admittedly a little rusty in. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Peggy. I hope you’re enjoying the party?”

...

His response is more enthusiastic than Peggy expected, a loud exclamation leaving him as he reaches for her corsage. There are clashing instincts swelling at the chest and at his action, the habitual desire to flinch at an approaching arm to avoid pain battling the fizzing urge to respond to his grin with a brilliant smile of her own. The instinct to flinch is pushed down, the only clue that it ever existed being a wave of startled blinking at his movement. And that, too, is gone in a few seconds. As for the second instinct, well, she ends up has to press her lips together to hold back a grin to echo his own, the brightness dazzling her for a moment. Her answering smile, instead, is much more understated but pleased nonetheless.

“It does cover the spot,” she notices, her smile widening ever so slightly in triumph as she takes a second to admire the end product. “It even matches, fairly serendipitous all things considered.”

He surprises her again, telling her to pull him aside later to return the improvised boutonniere, and she can’t help the pleased smile on her lips at the prompting. Peggy acknowledges his offer with a nod and a quick promise to do just so, but that pleased feeling is soon overshadowed by the wave of nostalgia that hits her when she hears him speaking Spanish.

There was a warm and fuzzy feeling growing on her chest at the term of endearment, but that is eclipsed by the sheer joy she feels at his deliberate attempt to greet her on her mother tongue. This time, her smile blooms like flower in spring, the grin overtaking her features without her say so.

“Please, you are talking to me in Spanish, the pleasure is all mine,” she says, delight shining through still. “And yeah, I have been enjoying it. It’s been quite an interesting evening so far. As for you, how is your evening faring so far? Aside from the wine stain, that is it.”

.

Nalini cocks her head to one side, moving from touched to an amused sort of fondness the more that the girl speaks. She has never had a problem with making friends, no matter where in the world she finds herself, but the fact that she might find a friend here tonight when she expected only heartbreak provides a glimmer of hope for her. It’s sorely needed. 

“I think you’re nice,” she points out. It is certainly a kind thing to do to offer Nalini such words of comfort tonight, when she needs them the most, but there is no way the girl could have known that. In a way, that makes her words even kinder, even more meaningful. No matter what goes down here tonight, she will hold on to those words, take them home to turn over in her mind later tonight when she is alone. 

“Of course not,” she shakes her head. “In fact, next time you swing by, I insist you pop backstage for a drink. My treat.” It’s the least she can do to thank her. She retracts her hand from hers, crossing her arms in front of her. “What’s your name, Honey?”

...

“That would be the exception that proves the rule,” she tells her with a small smile and just a touch of dryness that does come through without stumbling, the feeling of being startstruck receding slowly the longer the conversation continues. It is still amazing to see her here, to get a chance to talk to her after all the times she has visited Knock Fives Times in hopes of seeing her.

“I — ,” the surprise takes her breath away, paired with a niggling bout of paranoia urging her to say no. Urging her to avoid the attention being seen with such a popular singer would bring, and yet —  It is Nalini. She had all but dreamed about getting to know her, getting to see her singing on a better light. Peggy wants this, wants to know her better, know more about the woman whose voice delighted her.

“I would be delighted,” she finally says, the same shy smile as before on her lips as she looks up at the singer and relents to the request, unable to say no. “My name is Peggy, a pleasure to meet you Miss Nalini.”

.

“touche.” he smiles before taking a sip from his drink. not his favorite, but not horrible. he drinks quietly, watching her watch everyone around them and it could be innocent the way her gaze lingers on people but when he follows it he finds men and women he knows to be vincelli foot soldiers. it’s the same sort of way he stares during his illegal escapades - before and during, carefully evaluating who may be a threat or could become a threat to not only himself but kitty as well. even then, his concerns extend largely to her and ensuring she ends the day unscathed and a little bit richer.

he meets her sharp grin with one of his own, blue eyes sparkling mischievously, “well, that would be precisely why i asked.” he likes games of this sort, this little back and forth, when they’re with someone so clearly holding their cards close to their chest. as much as he’d hate for it to all come to an end, there’s something in the satisfaction of knowing that hugo deeply enjoys.

he gives her a modest once over, eyes never lingering uncomfortably in the way another man might - his thoughts belong solely to kitty -, in a way more of an appraisal of her outfit and belongings than of her. “you look like you belong with the gaggle,” hugo comments, eyes cutting to a swirl of young women he knows to be more focused on finding a handsome husband with deep pockets than anything else. “but would you enjoy their conversations?”

...

“Here,” she says, raising her glass on a mock toast, even as her eyes flickered around the room to ensure no one was close enough to hear them. It is a bolder move than usual for her, but there is something about the spark of mischief on the stranger that makes her chest ache, that reminds her of evenings around a campfire. There is the possibility that she is getting distracted by his pretty face, yes, but there is a sense of familiarity on his eyes that she didn’t expect to find in New Orleans. 

“To avoiding the worst of the flames if this party is set ablaze, but to have the best view of the fallout,” her toast comes out as a whisper, the mischief on her eyes echoing his, before taking a long drink of her cocktail and settling the glass on the table after doing so. There is a moment of silence, as she debates whether to answer him or not. As amusing as the conversation is, as familiar the look on his eyes is, there are some things that might be too revealing if she shares. “Let’s settle by saying neither, shall we? I doubt I am anything but a footnote to most of the people in this room, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

Another laugh escapes her lips, this time a cheerless giggle that hits the perfect note of imitation of that of a naive debutante. As she giggles, she sends him a look with an arched brow.

“I do believe that we both know appearances can be deceiving, stranger,” she comments idly, eyes moving towards the young women he had mentioned and shrugging. Peggy does not deny that the idea of romance might be enticing — more than that, for there is the part of her, unscarred still by the savagery of war, that wants the same thing her parents have, a romance that will never leave her feeling cold — but she doubts she will find it within these halls.

“Perhaps not as much as they do, or the way they enjoy them,” she admits. “But I have learned to find amusement in the driest of occasions, and gossip can be quite amusing if you are not in the hunt for a rich husband.”

“i suppose you can say that,” connie answers. strictly speaking, it’s even the truth: he had received an invitation at the speakeasy, eagerly offered to him by some overgenerous patroness who was too charmed by connie by a half and wanted his presence there as perhaps some kind of companion. connie had demurred, made no mention of already having an invitation, and instead made a remark about having to wait and see.

he doesn’t see why the other should know any better than a stranger.

“yet i don’t doubt for one second,” he says, raising a hand to call the bartender’s attention, “that the story of your invitation’s provenance is a far more interesting tale than my own.” the bartender arrives, and connie motions with one hand both to himself and the other besides him. “i’ll have whatever she’s having, but make it double,” he says without even waiting for the bartender to speak, crooked smile and an overly innocent expression dancing about on his face.

...

“Suppose? Well, that isn’t suspicious at all,” Peggy drawls out, amused despite herself. Just another oddity to add to the list, just another possible lie from his lips to keep a track of. Perhaps she will have to write down all of them to catch him on a lie at some point, just for fun. It would surely catch him off-balance, and she can only imagine how amusing the sight will be. Granted, part of the satisfaction would come from the vindictive glee she feels whenever she one ups someone else.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she tells him, her shrug accompanied by a coy wink as she turns to smile softly at the bartender, as they came closer. She might be mildly irritated by her conversational companion, but she had never been one to take it out on the servers, not hen she is well aware of some of the difficulties they go through. “A Velvet Sea, please. Feel free to throw the cocktail’s balance off for my companion, as I am sure he will still drink it, if merely to prove a point.”

As the bartender leaves, she sends her companion an angelic grin, not bothering to apologize for her childishness.

Closed starter for: @eldraquc Location: Studio of New Orlean’s Beat Timestamp: Wednesday, September 24th, 1924

The idea party set a fire under Bruno's ass. Maybe it was the fact he felt he was walking into a viper's nest if he went or just the heavy sense that sat in his chest at the idea of walking into that house again, but he was...unsettled. So he did the only thing he thought he could do to get some semblance of control - work.

The officer sighed as he glanced up at the large sign outside the radio station. It was a simple job; they had some information to lead them to believe that 'El Draque', whoever that was, perhaps was privy to information regarding mafia activities. It was the sort of tip that would often go completely ignored if Chief Davies got his way. But Bruno never let any information at least escape a cursory check.

The station felt like a labyrinth, but he eventually got to the reception desk and a rather unhelpful receptionist.

"I'm sorry, sir, but El Draque is not willing to reveal themselves to anyone, law enforcement or not. Come back with a warrant."

He could feel the headache coming along already. He honestly couldn't care about the station or the showrunner's identity; he just wanted to do his job. "Listen, I just need to do a quick interview. They could wear a sack on their head for all I care!"

...

As El Draque grew on popularity, so was the desire to meet them. In a city in which secrets where currency and power, it wasn’t odd that people were driven to odd and dangerous actions in order to learn the identity of one mere radio host. Initially, Peggy had not meant to hide herself — the clues where all there for people to find, at the beginning — but the more the show’s popularity grew the more was her paranoia kicked into gear. It reached a point in which she had to go to her boss in order to seal El Draque’s identity, lest she attracted just the wrong sort of attention. From non-disclosure agreements to a hundred million things, including her own tricks learned as a guerilla fighter, she had made sure to erase as many of her tracks as possible.

Unfortunately, that was never enough. New Orlean’s Beat was still a legal radio station, a legal service, and as such, it’s address could be found in city hall for those who searched for it hard enough.

Like the goddamn cop that she could hear from behind the ‘Employee’s Only’ door that led to the studio. She had debated letting things go on, but Meredith really didn’t deserve to deal with a determined cop.

Improvise it is.

Sighing, she opens the door and exits the employee’s hallway, moving until she is next to the receptionist.

“Sorry sir,” she says, offering him her most convincing apologetic smile and she allows herself to fiddle with the sleeve of her jacket to add to the act. Usually there is no need to look twice at a nervous sound technician. “El Draque made sure to impress upon all the staff that they are not going to do any in person interviews. Maybe we can set up a call?”

where? the reception room

when? september 27th, 1924; around 10 pm

If there is something a flapper will do when she finds herself on a party with the greatest performers of the city is dance. For a few minutes, Peggy allows herself to submerge into the music, the performers playing beautifully and prompting her to forget her worries. Suddenly, she is not on a mansion full of mafia soldatos, there is no possible danger. It’s just her and the music and the dance floor, and she is free. Freer than she can be outside this little sphere, freer than she can be when she stops dancing.

And yet, all things must come to an end, and as the song comes to a close, she takes a deep breath and makes her way out of the dance floor. She must take care not too tire too quickly, if she wants to observe the night as it progresses. Her limbs are loose, and she is more relaxed than she had been a mere five minutes ago as she makes her way to the nearest table open table. There is only a woman sitting up, but seeing her brings back some of the trickling paranoia she can’t just get rid of. Something about that woman makes her want to pay attention, but she cannot leave without seeming odd.

where? The Snug

Peggy is not foreign to gambling, but she does not tend to gamble more than she can afford. Not when she sets a budget for herself for every outing, too well-used to being thrift-savvy. She is making her way to the bar, hoping to get a drink before she settles on the roulette table for a few rounds when a familiar stranger falls into step next to her. She doesn’t bother hiding the roll of her eyes at the sight, even if her lips turn into a reluctantly amused smile as she does. She has met the other enough times within Knock Five Times that she supposes she couldn’t have expected anything but his company once he had seen him. It is curious to see him among the hall of the Vincelli, particularly since he seems to have the same keen eyes as those she knows are soldatos.

“Ah,” Etienne sighs in a manner far too dramatic for the situation at hand, but his smile remains on his face. It is clear that the presence of the stain bothers him only marginally, even if he would rather it hadn’t happened at all. “Unfortunately time is one of the things we do not have here. I shall have to endure the embarrassment.” 

He picks up his jacket, a maroon velvet garment slung carelessly over the nearest chair, and slips his arms into it. It covers some, but not all, of the claret on his shirt. He glances down at his chest in dismay, but spreads his arms, allowing her to appraise his attire. “Any better?” He asks, a little too hopefully given the limited effects of the jacket. “At least it matches, I suppose. Had I been wearing another colour, it would be far worse I imagine.” 

From standing, he places himself in the seat beside her. His mind is still half on the shirt, and how his mother would chastise him when he appeared at her front door begging for her help to clean it, but the other half had moved on to something far more interesting - the woman who had joined him, and the prospect of making a new friend. It seems disaster had purpose after all. 

“Etienne Toussaint.” He offers his hand for her to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss..?”

...

There is something undeniably amusing about the man’s dramatics and her lips twitch up into a more sincere smile as he speaks. The man in front of her is different than she would have expected, with their current location being what it was. There is an undercurrent of something nearing the neighboring of naivety on his demeanor that lowers her guard without noticing, a freshness to their interaction when compared to those she has met in the party so far.

It is quite odd, really, for her to find him so refreshing, taking into account how he seems to have a careless disregard for both his expensive shirt and jacket. Her family is quite wealthy, yes, but years at war had taught her to be frugal before all, and to find a certain level of discomfort at those who are not. And yet, the discomfort here is near nonexistent.

“It is a bit better,” she admits, her eyes narrowed in thought as she thinks of what could possibly be done to make it even less visible. She reaches for her glass in thought, and her eyes fall on her corsage, an idea sparking on her thoughts as her eyes flit from the corsage to his jacket. Settling the glass on the table, she takes the corsage off carefully. “Perhaps if we pin this as a boutonnière to hide more of the stain?”

It’s a long shot, but it could be just enough to cover the rest of the stain if he took the offer.

“Oh,” she is surprised at the introduction, having thought he would leave for the dance floor once the problem had been diminished. It’s a pleasant surprise, even if they leave them a bit wrong footed, unused at people paying much attention to her, in part to her own attempts to remain anonymous. Carefully, she takes his hand on hers and shakes it, a small smile on her lips as she does so, even as she hopes he does not question the well worn callouses on her hands. “Peggy,” she says, her accent shining through at her surprise. “You can call me Peggy.”

.

It’s nearly midnight, and the night has passed in an awful, agonising blur. She had been nervous to come in the first place, but filled with something a little like hope. She had sang well, but nothing had quite gone to plan, and she had spent the entire night stumbling around in a state of inebriation to try and dull the growing disappointment, and foolishness, that was threatening to overtake her. 

She’s stepped outside for a moment, hoping the fresh night’s air will do what the drink could not, but out here, under the stars in the sky, she feels a little lonelier. She hardly registers that she is not the only one who has stepped out under the light of the moon - not until the woman speaks, and Nalini’s head whips around to listen. 

For a moment, she can only stare, shocked, but touched. She debates looking over her shoulder, just to make sure that she isn’t speaking to somebody behind her, but it’s all too clear that the words are meant for her. And for the first time that night, Nalini smiles a real, genuine smile. 

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” she coos, and she means it, accompanying the words by reaching out to take the woman’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “You’ve been coming to see me sing and didn’t think to say hello? I promise I don’t bite,” she teases.

....

Peggy is starstruck, there is no other way to describe it. She had first heard Nalini sing on her first venture into Knock Five Times, and after that, she had been unable to forget her voice. There is a weight to it that calls her forth like a sirens song, one she cannot escape even if she had wanted to. She visits Knock Five Times every time she is meant to sing, and Peggy has yet to regret that choice.

It is a shame she cannot capture her voice for her show, for she would love to introduce Nalini’s voice to those who do not venture into the illicit speakeasies. As it is, however, she is glad that she has the opportunity to meet her. Something she had avoided in Knock Five Times out of both an uncharacteristic shyness and the desire not to attract foreign eyes.

It’s a small itch, but sometimes she feels the singer has more attention laid upon her than Peggy would like for herself.

“Oh, it isn’t kindness, trust me. I am not that nice,” she tries for her tone to come out as dry but the words stumble out of her mouth, tongue tied as she is in the presence of the woman before her. Still, she manages to squeeze her hand back and give her a small smile. “I didn’t want to bother you while working, I thought that would be a bit rude.”

for the life of him, he can’t remember her name - or if she ever game him hers, even a bogus one if she had. rather than frustrate himself over trying to recall it, he shrugs the thought away with the actual shrug of his shoulders. “i think that’s the case for most of us.” a chance for the vincelli family to show off which only makes the rumors of the crowning of a new heir all the stronger. after all, it hadn’t been luciano vincelli greeting everyone with disingenuous greetings at the doors. hugo casts a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes roving over rotating faces and slowly returning to the dark eyes of his companion.

“it feels like someone wanted to make a statement tonight. the family never opens their doors to the public like this. not that i can recall, but it worked in their favor tonight. everyone they could have wanted is here.” and more than a few unwanteds of which he likely fell into the category of. hugo smirks. “and probably more than a few they didn’t. which do you think they think you are?”

...

“They really wanted to make a show out of the event, huh,” she mentions idly, her hand moving to reach for her cocktail as the bartender sets it in front of them. She sends them a polite smile as a thanks before she turns back to her yet to be named companion. There is curiosity on her gaze, she wants to ask his name, wants to learn who is the man she keeps meeting without meeting. He is a curious fella, after all, all polite but a hint of something underneath the manners that makes her pay attention. That tells her to be wary.  Curious indeed.

“We can’t say if it worked quite yet,” she disagrees with a sliver of a smirk on her lips as she looks around, eyes stopping on those who don’t move quite right. On people who move like they are packing. The Vincelli are armed, that is for sure, but she can’t quite tell if they are expecting trouble or is merely paranoia leading their hand. “The night isn’t over yet, and it could go out in flames before we realize it.  I wouldn’t call the night a success for them until tomorrow morning.”

There is a quick laugh that escapes her lips at his question, and she sends him a brief, yet unbearably sharp grin. What a question indeed.

“Well, wouldn’t you like to know?” It is perhaps not wise for her to let the question hanging, but she suspects where the man in front of her falls and well. A little truth once in a while won’t do too much damage, right?