finnick gustafson

“His name is Steve…” By the look of the receptionist’s face, he knew he must be off. “Sven…” No, something else with an S. “Russian accent–look, I know which room it is. This would be easier if you’d let me go up. I just need my phone.” This was worse than what Antoni had been trying to avoid. He’d left quietly, had even felt secure in the fact that he had his wallet and keys in his pockets, so how the fuck did he manage to forget his phone of all things? “–Sev!” Instead of letting him run up for his belonging, the front desk employee began to dial a number. A small groan sounded at the back of his throat and he almost hoped Sev wasn’t there, that in some perfect world they would allow him to check the room on his own. Wishful thinking.

[ Catarina ] hey…you’ve been a stranger lately.

[ Catarina ] come pick me up…i’ve chosen you to have the honor to take me to my place

Maks didn’t attend the party mostly because he was on a deadline with his editor. Send in the next few chapters of his latest by the end of the week, they said, or else. Or else what, he wanted to ask, it wasn’t like he needed the money. His dear old brother had that taken care of, didn’t he? Besides, he hadn’t really been in the mood to sit around dealing with rich American’s for the night, or deal with Sev once again shying him away from his mob life.  Probably a good thing he didn’t go, because just after he sent the pages off to his editor, there was breaking news that the Gala had erupted into chaos. 

He supposed he should check on his brother, then. To make sure he didn’t die - for the third time. Maks vaguely wondered if Sev was like a cat with nine lives. Still, he cared enough to check. He planted himself on the couch with a book, mindlessly reading some NYtimes best fluff book, until he came home. 

sevastyan didn’t question maks choice to stay behind, for starters he’d known there’s be a shoot out. he’d planned for a shoot out as it was how one planned any gala in new york city. poor birthday girl might’ve been left scarred but the bratva needed those diamonds. he hadn’t heard back, which was natural but he’d hoped they’d be in their hands now. with his family though, he didn’t like their involvement. it wasn’t a place for his beloved siblings, he couldn’t bear the idea of losing them too. 

maks was working anyhow, so sev had gone alone and kept a close eye on zoya who knew better than to stay when guns were involved. they all had guns though, protection was key. 

      It was literally a steak knife. She had a steak knife for protection against the chaos going around. She had lost Mia and she still hadn’t found Aaron or Javier or Lorelai… All she wanted was her friends and family to be alright. A bullet had whizzed by her so quickly and so close that she had screamed and ran and suddenly she didn’t know where anyone was. People were getting shot and other people were rioting to be let out. No one was supposed to be in or out of the hotel, and security was overwhelmed with the amount of upset and hysterical people trying to hide. She didn’t know why everyone had to shoot each other - it was so unsavory. 

     Mariana remembered from one of the classes she barely paid attention in that the professor had said, and it stuck out to her because it was so surprising, that some people used chaos to commit more crime. To steal… To raid… And Mariana may have been a bit naive, but she wasn’t stupid. She had diamonds, real diamonds encrusted in her shoes, in her ears, and around her neck, and she was a perfect target. Poor, unsuspecting rich girl, blah blah blah. So, la princesa had reasoned with herself, that it would probably be best if she grabbed a knife. For protection. Until she found her brothers or Mia again, at least.

after having snuck down to the chaotic party, he was bloodthirsty and craving something. someone to scare, that’s what he really wanted. he wanted to scare the crap out of someone, make them fall to their knees and cower. sevastyan was hungry and he wanted a snack, he wanted to hurt someone just for the hell of it. after all it was a blessed day, he’d seen his darling fiancée who believed she was dead. and! he had all these guns and fucking nothing to do with them. he stalked the room, sometimes appearing distraught and sometimes vacant of any emotion on his cold face. he stopped by a couple people, searching for his perfect target but anyone in a group wasn’t it. 

“keep putting pressure on it, you’re fine. it’s just a flesh wound!” probably. rowan was exhausted, the nights events catching up with her as well as the amount of wine she had consumed, and honestly, she didn’t want to deal with the rich socialite that was freaking out about being clipped on his way out of the main hall. his date was equally hysterical.

“he’s been shot! what if the bullet is still in there!” 

“it isn’t. he was grazed. it’s a -”

“i don’t want you to die!” she was wailing, clearly considerably inebriated. her date, the one that was actually injured, wasn’t much better, holding pressure around his arm like rowan had told them too. she really wished she hadn’t just come across them. she had a duty to help, of course. “i -”

“enough!” rowan finally yelled, snapping.. “both of you SIT DOWN! now!” it was the tone of voice she used with the interns. both of them shot to the floor like they were currently being gunned down. “you! pinky, put your head between your knees. you, gunshot-wound, continue to keep the pressure on your arm with your hand security is making their way over here, it’s a superficial wound. you’re going to be fine. you should be safe here.” she wasn’t sure if she was calling people by their descriptions because she had too much wine or because she was annoyed. 

both. probably both.

rowan stalked away from them after making sure the couple was content with doing what she said. she needed to find nova or someone else from the NYPD and she needed to now. the chaos was just getting worse, people were using it as an excuse for it to be the fucking purge. it was going to be hard to determine what was actually mafia activity and what was people being assholes. rowan took a moment to rest against the wall, leaning her head back. fuck. she pushed herself off the wall, and continued down the hall before rounding a corner.

she ran straight into a man. rowan’s short fuse burst. “can you get the fuck out of my way before i shove my foot so far up your - sebastian?” rowan backed up, looking up, instantly recognizing the face on the man. it would be pretty bad if she didn’t. he looked older, but he was still the same man. her dead fiancee. a dead man walking, so to speak. she gaped at him. 

logically, there was only one one explanation for this, because she remembered identifying was left of the body. 

“oh my god.” rowan recoiled in shock and disgust. “i got shot! I’m dead. that’s so - oh my god, they’re going to let jim mccauly do my autopsy!” she had definitely had a little too much wine. she looked back up at him, making a face at him. 

“this party blows.”

sevastyan was short tempered and crazed this evening. things were hectic, he was shining and the bratva were going good. sure, shit was going down and he couldn’t find half of them, he assumed it would be going well. he’d seen dimitri around and ceiline was surely getting up to all types of trouble. he wasn’t worried, they had the strongest mafia. sev hated events such as these, big events where everyone came out and it was impossible to avoid anyone. he had people to avoid, one tiny person by the name of rowan jaxson. his fiancée. ex-fiancée. but he never stopped considering her a part of himself. even if rowan didn’t have a place in his life and he’d never let her into it again. he’d seen her running around, helping people and just watched for a few moments. she yelled at the couple to stay quiet, she had such stature, she dominated this room. she was short tempered too, he could see the anger in her eyes, he loved the anger in her eyes. 

it wasn’t her fault she bumped into him, he’d gone to stand right in her way, big blue eyes looking down at her as his mind blocked out all the memories that didn’t matter-- so most. sebastian! fuck, he hadn’t hear that name in so long. sweet russian-american immigrant sebastian vasiliev. what a pile of shit, he’d have an american wife, they’d have american children and a fucking white picket fence life. that man faded away when he killed him, that man ceased to exist and sevastyan vasyutin came back in full force. sebastian might’ve been kind and caring, and sevastyan was anything but. right now, standing in front of rowan as she freaked out in the most adorable way possible.. he felt like both men. she’d hate this man, she’d hate everything about him but she wasn’t sane enough right now. 

thought she was dead, well that’s enough for now.