Finally getting to their room felt like a blessing to Viktoria. Exhausted from all the mingling, people voices getting louder in her head the longer she had stayed in the ballroom. She had always liked the quiet calm of her office, surrounded by nothing but screens, numbers and codes for her to break through. Or the comforting silence of their room, with only Davika's captivating voice gracing her ears. They didn't often stayed at the Bastion though, but Viktoria could still appreciate the privacy of such a secluded room for someone so high up The Table.
Her arms had been around her wife the moment they had walked in, and she had pressed herself against her back in a tight embrace, taking in the lovely perfume that often helped ease her mind. A kiss had been placed on her wife's shoulder as her hands splayed on her stomach before the lights went out. Viktoria moved back with a frown. She didn't like this, the sinking feeling in her gut twisting horribly, she had been on edge most of the night, keeping a sharp eye out to protect her wife. Frontiniano's death working as a reminder that very few were to trust and in a room full of assassins and more, Viktoria trusted no one. "I'll call management." She told her wife, making her way blindly to the phone in their room, coming up with a dead line that only worsened the dread growing in her chest. "Why don't you check if there's anyone out that could explain what's happening, my love? I'll get my phone."
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Devin: Thats not what I fucking meant at all
Devin: How has no one else caught your ass
Devin: But im used to fucking warzones which this fucking hotel has turned into
Devin: IM HERE DOING MY JOB
Devin: WHICH IS NOW MAKING SURE YOUR ASS GETS HOME TO HIM
Sage: Whatever
Sage: I'm just that good baby
Sage: Yeah? Gonna tell that to your cuz? 'Hey I came here bc i'm used to warzones and shit'
Sage: MY ASS IS GONNA KICK YOURS AS SOON AS I FIND YOU IS2G.
Devin: Now you're the one being fucking stupid.
Devin: Your dumbass is gonna stay fucking put and keep your head down.
Devin: You cant go wandering around the hotel like a chicken with your head cut off. You've got your brother to look after
Devin: If you're hurt by the time i get to you I will kill you myself.
Sage: Fuck you, I'm not a chicken... I'm a freaking cat.
Sage: Lord knows I'm better than you sneaking in and out of places so Stay. Fucking. Put.
Sage: Is that how you treat the injured? Thank god you're not a medic. And I KNOW. It's why he's at HOME WHERE YOU FUCKING SHOULD BE.
Devin: Well I'm fucking here now and I'm not fucking leaving without your dumbass.
Devin: I'm not alone, im locked in some fucking room with some asshole.
Devin: These doors are too well made.
Devin: your fucking bosses need to have cheaper taste.
Sage: Right, I'll tell them you said that.
Sage: After I fucking kick your ass.
Sage: Don't do anything stupid, or say anything stupid... I know stupid is your default but fucking try.
Sage: I'll find you.
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@hydraschaos Texts to Sage
Devin: I heard the gunshots. please tell me you haven't done anything stupid and are safe.
Devin: Where are you?
Devin: Stay put till the lights come on I'm coming for you.
đ :  how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them?Â
She's often seen as a friendly person, very outgoing. Golden retriever type of energy. And it rings true to a certain point, she's definitely a sunshine type but also a very determined person, fiercely protective of her family, so she'd do anything to keep them safe. She's a fighter and has done things she's definitely not proud of. But that she'd do again if it means her brother will be safe. She definitely doesn't care about reputation, she just tries to keep her life divided and it will likely come to bite her in the ass at one point.
It had been just her and her mom for the first ten years of her life. The presence of her father had been but a whisper and the lament of her mother whenever she remembered him. She had done all her best to push forward, push Sage into a life where she could more or less have what she needed. Carrying a child she had never wanted, but had grown to love no matter what.
She wasn't expecting him to come back, search for her only to find them exactly where he had left them. A dark shadow that came to loom over their lives when her mother decided to take him back. Sage could only remember the smell of alcohol, the disgusting stench of cigarettes and something more that clung to his clothes and the way he'd wrap his hand around her arm and leave angry reds and bright purples of her skin.
She remembered only the sight of her mother, cowering behind a couch and turning a blind eye to the hateful tone with which he spoke, when he'd throw her to the floor for getting his food wrong. Sage could only remember the fear that had crept deep into her bones and the resentment that hadn't been there before.
She was thirteen when he left again, at the news of a pregnancy that, like hers, hadn't be planned or wanted. Leaving a broken woman on his wake, a ghost of the one Sage had known before but could hardly remember anymore.
Lost in her depression, her mother struggled to push them forward, drowning them deep in debts as the years fell upon them. By fifteen, Sage found herself caring not only for her little brother, but for a mother so lost in her distress, she could not longer pose as a figure for them to lean on. Taking little jobs wherever she could after school, to try to meet ends. Soon learning to steal little trinkets to resell, and small items of food to give to her brother. She had always been light on her feet, quick with her hands.
By eighteen, she had done her best raising her brother, caring for a mother that was but a shadow in their home. Enlisting herself for the military had been something she hadn't anticipated, but felt make sense even after the little missteps she had had. But she had been there only for a year when she was forced to drop out. It was a moment of lucidity for her mother, where she had grown desperate at the debts piling on their door, and in a weak attempt at helping, decided to ask for a favor from the wrong people.
The Sapphire Devils were a gang Sage had never heard of, but that would soon become familiar for her in an almost intimate way. She had been basically sold by a mother that was more a lifeless entity than the mother she should had and Sage found herself working as a thief and a soldier for The Devils, bound by contract.
She didn't have it in her to be devastated when her mother died, and instead took her brother with her and moved to a small apartment that held no marred memories. Hiding her true job from him, she found herself extending her deal, too entangled in this world now to leave, in order to be able to pay for his studies. Hoping to give him a life better than hers.
Aoife had been stabbed, shot and beaten within inches of her life, each of those seemed preferable to the way Narcisse said her name. Aoife remembered how it used to be wrapped in laughter, a fondness that Aoife had tucked away in her memories to pull out when the darkness creeped too far in. Now it rang with a cold steel that conjured up images of rose covered knives in Aoifes mind. A humorless chuckle fell from Aoifes lips as she tore her eyes away from French women for the first time to look back at the crowd. Trying to find peace for the restlessness in her blood among the faceless masses âI suppose boring isnât the word I would use for tonight anymore eitherâ Aoife mused, her mind a windstorm of words that could describe the turn in which her evening took.Â
Aoife straightened her spine slightly, uncurling from the deafed hunch that was starting to weigh upon her shoulders. The Bastion, on a night like this, was not a place for Aoife to show weakness. For every ally that walked these halls there was a rival, an enemy, or someone looking to get the upper hand. Affection, or if Aoife was being honest with herself, Love, was a dangerous thing to show. The librarian refused to be the reason that a target could find itself on to Narcisses back. âYouâve never needed an invitation before my dear.â Aoife said with a gesture to the chair. A silent invitation. It had always been something Aoife had taken for granted. Since that first day in the gallery Narcisse had always found her way to the Irish women's side without question. Whether it was on the couch in their small shared apartment, or at a lavish dinner party hosted by someone Aoife had never bothered to remember the name of. Narcisse had always been there. The same could not be said of Aoife anymore.
 Taking a pause to take a sip of her whiskey, letting it burn a familiar path down her throat. Perhaps it would be easier to keep locked in her heart if she was not too aware of her present. It seemed easier than feeling a part of her die each time Narcisse looked at her like a stranger, or something else that Aoife refused to put a name on. âI had been waiting for someone, but youâre here now, and I have a growing suspicion they have found someone else to occupy their time withâ. Aoife lied easily. She had spent most of the night alone, and that's how she intended to have ended it. Yet it felt too much like giving in to this silent war to admit that. To admit that the hole that Aoife had carved out of herself still sat empty. Maybe if she lied well enough, built her walls high enough, Narcisse would be able to go back to Paris and live a happy life. One Aoife knew she couldnât give her.
She could still taste it, the bitter taste of a name she had avoided for ten years as it rolled past her lips. Mixed with heartache and pain, laced with needle-like blades that cut through her throat and opened her heart raw. Narcisse hated it, the devastating effect a single name and the woman's face had in her, turning her entire life upside down and leaving her a carcass of the woman she once was. "Anymore? Should I feel flattered your night seems to be getting interesting in the very least?." She threw with a sharp smirk, tried to hide behind it the pang she felt in her chest when the thought that she didn't quite have such a huge effect on the other's life crossed through her mind. When memories of them laying tangled in a bad that ended up feeling too big flashed through her mind, it was difficult to remember she didn't mean as much as she thought.
Taking a seat, she brought her champagne back to her lips. Thinking perhaps she should contact her parents once more, and ask for some of their champagne to be delivered to her new apartment. Wondered how they'd take her moving to London, so close to the woman that had broken their little girl. Took comfort imagining her mother concocting a brand new poison when the image of Aoife with someone else crossed her mind. The fire that was always present in her heart growing into a blazing flame that was threatening to consume her. The grip on her glass tightening only enough to keep her expression void of anything but the ardor in her eyes.
She hummed, taking another sip before finally lowering her glass onto the table, letting the bubbling exploding down her throat be enough of a distraction to gather herself. "I imagine it must be quite a... devastating thing, to be cast aside to swiftly." She shot, unable to hide for a second too long the hurt still hidden, buried deep into her bones. Before a smile grew on her lips, too sharp, too cold. "But well, I'm sure you'll get over it, a woman such as yourself..."
đ đđđđđ đđđđđđđđđ đđđđđđđ  ⥠ đđđđđđ đđđđ
  send the corresponding symbol(s) for headcanons surrounding the given topic(s)!
đ :  how comfortable is my muse in their body?  how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type? how important is being attractive to them? Â
đ  :  how does my muse feel about plastic / cosmetic surgeries  &  procedures? is it something they have done or would do? do they mind if others do it? Â
đ  :  how stable is my museâs physical health? do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician? do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication? how often do they get sick?
đ  :  how stable is my museâs mental health? have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and / or conditions? do they or should they attend therapy? Â
đ :  how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance? do they spend a lot of time on their hair, makeup, grooming, and clothing? is there a particular reason why they do or donât? Â
đ :  how much does my muse value companionship? do they constantly keep people around them, or do they prefer to be alone often? do they have or desire to have many friends? do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend? Â
đ :  how would my muse describe their childhood? how much has it impacted the person they are now, or will become as an adult? around what age did they or will they start to mature, and why? do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood? Â
đ :  how intelligent is my muse overall? are they smarter than the average person, or less than? are they primarily self-taught, or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school? are they more street smart or book smart? Â
đ :  which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why? Â
đ :  is my muse inclined to help others, or will they only do it when it benefits them, if at all? what makes them this way? has it ever gotten them into trouble, or inconvenienced them?Â
đ :  does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more â naturally? â what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes? Â
đ :  how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them?Â
đ„ :  does my muse have any â unusual â habits,  interests, and / or talents? do they hide it, or are they proud of it? Â
đ :  what kind of diet does my muse have? do they eat regularly, or the standard 2-3 meals a day? do they have to be reminded to eat, or are they likely to remind others? do they cook, or have others cook for them? do they eat healthily, or not so much? Â
đ„ :  how important to my muse is their hometown, or where theyâre from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero?  did they move away, or do they wish to?
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In her hands lay pictures of Viktoria whenever they are not together; she finds it hard to breathe when the woman is gone. A devotion Davika never thought possible now takes root in her heart, occupying the space between her ribcage and her diaphragm, painful swallows of air filling her lungs with a sweet poison slowly eating her inside out. A past stained with dirt and blood gives way to a present of smiles and happiness the blonde never thought existed. The hands that pull the trigger living as a marionette having her strings pulled doesn't deserve this kind of love and adoration, of that she is sure. The swiftly delivery of justice in a lawless underworld by her slim hands leaves a trail of blood she cannot escape; stains so deeply in her core it's carved into her very bones. A life of luxury cannot hide that. A happy wife can't remedy the lives she has taken. Even her encounter with Vik was heavily coiled in violence. A hunt for a man whose head would bring her to glory. Despite the guilt weighing her heart, part of her is content Vik chose to love her still.
A strange feeling, love. She loved her sister like an ant must love another. Loves her parents like birds must care for each other. Is loved in return as much as they can provide. And yet, she loves Davika as the ocean loves the earth, the moon loves the stars, life loves death. Strange, indeed.
A chuckle, then, hand resting on the chest of a wife she would destroy the world for, a butterfly touch like a careless whisper on a rainy night. âYour room? Huh. Could swear it was ours.â A smirk. âYou are not breaking her, or hurting her. It was a harmless comment that we will forget about, won't we?â A command presented as a question, a raise of a brow challenging defiance, fingers digging deeper in the softness of a chest she desires to bury herself into. Be one with this spectacular woman in all the ways she can. âShould I spin you around like a jewel I wish to brag about, my love? Or should we go to our room where I can show you just how brilliant I can be?â
For years, she's lived a lawless life. Hidden in the shadows, untraceable, unreachable. Treating the world like an infinite code for the to decipher, change, play with and break. Do with it as she pleases from a place so high above, not even the best players in the world could find her. Viktoria had never existed to the law, was a nameless face in masses of crowds, no one surrounded by thousands. And she had reveled in it, enjoyed the taste of being a ghost and threw herself fully into it. She was a drop of water lost in the sea. Ready to take on entire cities in the might of her fingers and a wave of digital horror. But her curious mind had always been strong, alive. It's what made her grow into what she is, and what led her to allow The Table to find her. And with it, a whole new world she had never been privy to opened up before her eyes. In biting words and sharp smiles, challenges she was determined to win.
She had never knew devotion until she met Davika. Her love for her only closely followed by the pride she felt for the empire she's created. An entity not even The Table could control just yet. Even when she knew herself to be more than willing to please her wife in anything she wished.
"Didn't I hear you calling it yours before?." She smirked back, her hand falling on top of the one Davika has pressed against her chest, holding it there, feeling it close. "You don't get to give me orders, love... you're not my boss, but..." A pause. "Since you ask so nicely, I might just forget about what's her name, after all... a happy wife, is a happy life." Taking hold of Davika's hand, she pried it gently from where it was digging into her chest, moving it up to press a light kiss against her palm. "You're always free to do both, my love, if you find you have the chance to sneak out of here."
Closed starter for @hydraschaos Narcisse
Location: The Bastion Gala
Sloane was getting bored, tired of waiting and being forced into small talk with people she didnât know or particularly care about. She was stuck in conversation with an older man whose name she had never bothered to learn but knew she needed to at least pretend to respect. He never failed to make some sleazy comment that made Sloane want to slit his throat. They were quickly reaching the end of their patience, fingers itching to grab the knives tucked into their waistband when they caught sight of the familiar Frenchwoman. Making not even a halfway convincing excuse she tore herself away from the man and into Narcisseâs path.
âI swear one of these days I am going to find an excuse good enough to kill that manâ she hissed in French a sneer marring her face. Grabbing a glass of whiskey from a passing waiter and downed half it before taking a deep breath and attempting to center themself. âThese things are always too long, and I know I shouldnât hope for excitement but Iâm bored and itâs still far too early for thatâ
Hands shaking, Narcisse made her way among the masses of people almost absentmindedly. Just distracted enough to let her mind wander, thoughts reeling with the encounter she just had. She had known, of course, when moving to London, that the chance of meeting her here was... unavoidable. But Narcisse hadn't been at all prepared to see her this night. Hadn't been at all prepared to talk to her. And another curse left her lips as she remembered the sound of her voice and the way it had washed over her body like her most precious blanket. Warming and comforting still until slipped away and left her cold.
The french words reached her ears like a blessing, a most precious distraction from the thoughts circling her head and the need growing seeds in her heart. She turned to Sloanne with a smirk, and a murderous look in her eyes that reflected the conflict in her head. "Go along darling, you know I won't stop you." She threw back in french, a musical tone to her voice as she reached out to take a glass from the tray for herself. Narcisse has never been a huge whiskey drinker, but tonight she felt made for an exception. She hummed in agreement before taking a sip of her drink, clearing her throat lightly as the liqueur burnt its way down. "We could always ditch it... I'm far beyond this night already, I don't think I have it in me to force my stay a minute longer.
âI like to think I'm learning from you,â she says, smiling tugging at the edge of her lips involuntarily. âShe is too busy trying to charm Mrs Smith to care about me right now.â Even the thought of her old piano tutor makes her shiver. What a despicable woman. âAre you hiding from people too or did you just come to rub on my face how shit at this I am?â
"Is she now?." Casting a brief glance around, Viktoria tried to set her eyes on her wife, coming up with nothing but the growing annoyance building in her core. Her distaste for these useless parties was only ever fed by the latent jealousy she couldn't control when it came to her wife. But Viktoria turned to the other with a growing smirk on her lips nonetheless. If she could find some solace in this place, it should be in the presence of the younger girl.
"I'm always hiding from people, dear... it's the biggest talent of mine." Humming, she looked around once more, glad she couldn't see anyone from this... complicated family she found herself a part of. "I must say you chose a nice spot to hide, I guess I'm just missing a drink now, would you have happened to steal some?." A raised eyebrow, amusement on her eyes. Viktoria knew the likeness of it happening was larger than anything.
âAnd have someone give me a watered down version of the events, leaving important information out of whatever little facade they want me to hear? No, I have no one to trust for that,â accent thick on the anger ever coiling around her throat like an old cherished friend, Aleksandra reminded herself to breathe for a second. Blake wasn't at fault for the fractured empire she inherited, wasn't witness to the bloodbath which took the Snakes to the both; a feared beast amongst wolves, red stained fangs striking at any opportunity. Many loyal to Mikhail remained, many against her tried to crawl into her good graces to strike where it could damage her the most. A step out of line in this world meant death, and Aleksandra couldn't risk that. Not for herself, not for blake. From the moment she met Blake, something stirred inside her heart, warm feelings she had been desperately searching for without knowledge. She snuggled closer into the woman.Â
A gruff escaped her lips at her girlfriend's words, rolling her eyes as she watched fools prance around like birds in mating season. She didn't wish to waste a single second more in their presence. Holding Blake's hand, she led the woman to an empty smoke area, sighing in relief the moment the crowd became a distant memory. âI hate parties like this.â Useless, especially for the Antoninis. Shameful. âPutting everyone here, where danger could be lurking in the shadowsâŠâ A shiver ran down her spine, and she reached for her cigarette gold box she hid in her bra, pulling one and balancing it on her lips as she turned to Blake, âdo you have fire?â
It was only the familiarity with the rage often coiling inside her lover that kept Blake from reacting in any way at all. Only the amused scoff leaving her lips as a response for the tirade Aleksandra had gotten herself into. She knew, of course, from the moment she made the suggestion, that this would likely be the gained reaction. She knew very little of the wars fought within the very same empire Aleksandra ruled over, knew only little details of the man that couldn't be called a father. Blake only knew of the sharp edges that made up her girlfriend and the fire burning behind them. "Not even Voros?." She continued to tease anyway, cherishing the way Aleksandra molded herself against her body, every part of them touching like they couldn't be apart. Blake knew she couldn't, not here. Where danger lurked in the shadows and the promise of death loomed above them.
A smirk reached her lips at the sound, and she followed after the other without much of a protest, and as silence enveloped them, Blake could feel some of the tension piercing through her shoulders ease away slightly. "Most people here can more than defend themselves..." She shrugged, looking around and out into the open space where the faint sound of music was coming from. "I only care about you." Turning back to her girlfriend, her voice remained as even as always, as if she was delivering a daily fact. She reached into her pocket absentmindedly. The presence of a lighter could almost be considered an accessory, and she realized as she reached it up to her girlfriend, and light it up, that it was mainly because of her.
Aoife had found herself shadowing the edges of the ball, leaning against one of the small tables stationed around the room, near empty drink glass being rolled in her hand. Simply watching the party goers dance and drink the night away, debating if it was time to make her exit as the pit of loneliness rolled in her stomach. Then, without a warning, Aoife's world shattered into pieces once again. A familiar lilting voice cutting over the music. The sound of that voice had been burned into Aoifes soul long ago. Her head jerked up, eyes almost frantically moving to the source of the sound, unbelieving. Words died on her tongue as she took in the familiar blonde women. Just like the first time Aoife found herself at a loss for words when confronted with the women. Someone that she had dared not hope sheâd ever see again. âNarcisseâ Aoife spoke, disbelief dripping from the name, her own accent heavy. Aoifes mask cracked open, falling to pieces as her world tilted on axis. It took the span of several heartbeats for Aoife to compose her face, whipping the surprise, and the longing off her expression. Sliding the porcelain mask of composure back into place.Â
Aoife set her glass down, and locked her hands together on the table. Stopping the silent desire to reach out and embrace Narcisse. She had made her choice, and now she had to reap what she had sown. She lost the right to her heart. âTen years ago if my memory holdsâ Aoife provided her voice soft, like the last moments she had seen Narcisse didnât play behind her eyes each night. The soft morning light against skin, a life tangled together being served. Aoife bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ground herself in the moment. The bitter tang of blood coating the inside of her mouth, serving as a sharp reminder of why she had walked away. âI didnât think this was your sort of event, too boringâ Aoife spoke, voice growing more steady with each word as she worked to steady her racing heart. â You seem to be doing wellâ The silent addition of Without Me hanging heavy in the air. Aoife wanted to curse, feeling like she was on the back foot in the conversation already unsure of what Narcusse wanted from it. Unsure of what she would be able to give the other women.
The sound of her name, wrapped so wonderfully in the heavy accent she had once known so well had her heart beating frantically against her chest. And Narcisse found herself cursing her betraying body once more, her inability to remain unbothered and untouched by such simple things. All the time they've been apart, all the time she's spent trying to forget should've been enough, but the sight of Aoife and the aching longing she caught on her face, gone as fast as it appeared, had Narcisse doubting she had imagined it, had her thinking that it was all for nothing. That it shouldn't matter because it was still there, all the love and want. The years behind her shattering in a span of a second before Narcisse reminded herself harshly to not be so foolish once more. She had been broken once by this woman, and that had been enough. "Aoife." She had spent so long trying to avoid speaking the name out loud, it sounded almost foreign to her own ears, if not for the memories wrapped around each syllable. And the tug on her heart as it rolled past her lips.
Humming, she looked at the other quietly for a second, almost assessing their every expression. She wondered briefly if there had always been this distant and she had just been too blindly in love. "Ten years, you might be right." Moving slowly, almost tauntingly, she rested a hand on the back of a chair, her fingers toying with the edge. "I wouldn't call it boring... insipid, perhaps, a little tasteless... but well, boring seems too harsh of a word right now." Her smirk growing sharper, Narcisse looked around briefly, completely ignoring the last comment as if it never reached her. Deemed it ridiculous enough to not entertain it. It seemed silly, really, if not the bit cruel, of an observation. Like a tease. Turning back, just as quickly, an amused glint in her eyes that seemed almost dangerous. "Won't you invite a lady to sit, darling? Or has London strip you of your manners?... or were you, perhaps, waiting for someone?."
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 It was only years of experience with needing to maintain an exterior of professionalism that stopped Aoifes half smile of greeting from morphing into a sneer of distaste. The edges of her ruby red lips flicked for half a heartbeat before settling back into a veneer of a pleasant smile. There was nothing necessarily wrong with the woman herself, but rather who her darling wife was. The shadow of a women who haunted the darker parts of the Liberians mind. The parts that craved blood dripping off her knife. Her grip tightening slightly on the icy glass held in her palm as images of revenge danced behind her eyes. Aoife took the time to set her glass down on the bar to center herself. A deep breath through her nose, slowly exhaling through her mouth, letting the fresh air dampen the coiling embers of anger that flickered under her skin. âAh yes, betrayal , another English specialty besides invading most of the worldâ Aoife couldnât help but needle subtly. Hazel eyes flickering over the other woman's face, attempting to gauge a reaction, wondering how much she knows.
Aoife sorted through her mental Rolodex of the inhabitants of the city, trying to pick through for a name to maybe gain the upper hand in the conversation. It was Aoife's business to keep tabs on just about everyone, a name wasnât hard to remember. Viktoria. The Irish woman turned her body to face the other fully, tilting her head and offering her free hand to shake. âViktoria right? I donât believe weâve formally met before. Iâm Aoifeâ She introduced herself, baring her teeth in a simile more resembling a wolf's snarl.
The amused hum that left her lips was all the reaction Viktoria could give to the light jab. Davika had only mentioned her briefly, like a fleeting thought, and what she had done to make them part so... disastrously. But that had been her wife's doing and job, and Viktoria's never had much of a saving conscience to matter too much. "And stealing other's riches, if I'm not mistaken... I do believe that's what makes most of the Museum, isn't it?." The pleasant smile on her lips was almost taunting, a content expression on her face that almost made it seemed like there was no other place she would rather be right then. Viktoria often found too much pleasure into deciphering things, breaking down a code that'd let her into all the information. She found, she often treated people the same way she would a machine.
The sound of her name doesn't surprise her, if the position the other woman holds should mean something, is that she must value information almost as much as Viktoria does. And that alone makes this all the more interesting. That she'd choose to work for The Table, as a Librarian, after what Davika did, comes as a surprise and something entirely intriguing. "We hadn't had the pleasure, unfortunately, but I'm incredibly pleased to meet you now." A pause, she takes a sip of her drink with her smirk growing sharper around the edges. "I am... a fan, of the job you Librarians do, all that paper must be exhausting."
where: the bastion, during the ball
with: @bvrnin | catalina
He didn't come here often, rather staying around the academy The Vipers trained in. The sound of music enveloping his body and the firm instructions of Madam De Santis ringing loudly in his ears, demanding of nothing but discipline and perfection, the only way they were to have any hope of surviving outside the walls of the academy. When not even the tall and imposing structure of The Bastion could offer safety and protection.
Looking at her now, he worried for her safety the same way he had when she had been among The Vipers and besides him, a partner as deadly as many. The pang of guilt he felt everytime he saw her was still there, gnawing at his insides. But there was a smile forming on his lips still, soft and content as it always was when he watched her sing. He waited by the edge of the scenery, the sound of her voice washing over him, lovely as always. And when she was done, he clapped lightly, stepping just the bit closer. "Beautiful as always, makes not having you around all the more unbearable."
