look at me

It was rare that Pestilence ever had something to be proud of these days. The past few months had been a slew of unfortunate events, one piece of bad news after another, one loss after another. Even the sinking of Death’s headquarters had been tinged by Fazal getting shot, and the uncomfortable knowledge that they’d had to resort to a temporary alliance with Famine and War in order to regain some control. But tonight, for a change, they could finally celebrate something. All hurdles had been successfully cleared, PEST was full to capacity, and they were forecast to make a small fortune from the sale of Cupid tonight alone, and even more in the coming months. For the first time in a long time, Iniya actually felt quite happy to be a part of the gang.

After Mitzi and Genie disappear to count the money earned so far, they are left alone, detangling themself from bodies on the dancefloor to seek refuge in a double vodka tonic at the bar. Their eyes scan the room, searching for anyone worth interacting with, her standards high even when several drinks in. A hit of something would likely loosen them up, but they were yet to sample Pestilence’s (or rather, Mitzi’s) latest triumph, chiefly because she had a rule about doing drugs alone. And so she finds herself lurking in the corner as she so often did, disconnected from everything and everyone, with folded arms that form a protective and judgemental barrier. It isn’t until the familiar face of Monica appears at the club’s entrance, having just returned from her trip to Death’s Studios, that the barrier falls, and a comfortable warmth settles in their chest. They quickly order two more drinks from the bar before moving through the crowd to the figure of her best friend, offering a real, genuine smile as she arrives in front of her. “For you,” she announces as a greeting, pressing the glass into Monica’s hands. “Figured you’d need it after your little trip. How did it go?”

INIYA — natal chart

DOB: 17 November, 1995 Time: 6:00am Location: Leicester, England

[full chart here]

Ever since Jackie’s death, Omer had lost sense of who he was as a person, the man he once was had died the night she had and he was born again to live a life without colour. Waking up every day was a constant battle, grief consuming him completely and making the simple act of living, breathing surviving the hardest challenge of his life. The only way he knew to survive was throwing himself into his work and that was what he had done over the last three and a half years, worked, worked, worked, at the Conservatory and for Famine, the thought of his revenge propelling him to continue. There was no space in his life for anything else or anyone else. He was a broken man with a broken heart incapable of taking care of anyone, including himself. His edges were too sharp that if anyone tried to get close to him they would bleed in an instant and all he would be able to do is watch them fall. He was quick to cut strings of the flings that warmed his bed and that was probably what he should have with Iniya six months ago when he discovered that she was in Pestilence. Yet, rather than keeping his distance from the Power, he got closer to her, giving himself to her whenever she sent a text or called, hoping that maybe by spending time with her that could find out more about the gang he wanted to destroy. The only problem about their arrangement was that Omer never suspected that he would crave her as much as he did, or that he too would seek her as much as he did at all hours of the day.

.

Gigi wasn’t ignorant. The knowledge that the theatre fell within the jurisdiction of Michaela Pinkett had not eluded her, made even more inescapable since aligning herself with Death. However, she wouldn’t turn down a part because of it. The Pestilence matriarch’s face was one known to her, though not one she could have claimed to see in the audiences (particularly given how the stage lighting often obscured everyone other than the front couple of rows). Like a fly banging against a window pane in summer, something incessant if she focused on it but, otherwise, would fade into the white noise of her thoughts. She would confront it if (and now likely when) it became a problem.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” she responds, Iniya’s comment pulling the edges of her smile higher, before waving aside the unnecessary request of forgiveness. “There’s no such thing, it’s all subjective.” The actress lowers her voice then, almost conspiratorial, as though she were sharing some great secret with the other. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Gigi winks, offering an answer to the question that’d been posed, “Crazy for You, it’s a musical comedy type show. We’re just workshopping it at the moment though, which is the same show without a lot of the frills of a full-scale performance.” The addendum is added for the other’s benefit, making a gesture to the plain-looking stage.

“We could swap numbers and I might be able to get you tickets if something comes from it,” - which she liked to think it would, but that was the optimist in her - , “Only if you’d be interested, of course.” The last thing she’d want was to bring in a reluctant audience member. “But I doubt you’d need that owning the place, hmm?” She muses, a knowing glint sparking in her stare, subtle but present, having deliberately posed her presumption as a question with the intent to satisfy her own curiousness. 

-

While at university, Iniya had managed to befriend several actors, or at least children of actors, which was virtually the same thing, because nepotism usually guaranteed that they would end up with a part in the newest Marvel film whether they had talent or not. All of these people had been one dimensional cutouts with little to no variation from one to the next - boring, but predictable and therefore easy to befriend and take advantage of. Gigi could not have seemed further from this. There was no pretence, no simpering expression that begged like me like me, just a remarkable self-assuredness that they instantly both admired and envied. They had always found themself drawn to those whose confidence did not seem as faked as their own, and Gigi Quinn was certainly no exception.

All of it drew them in - the winking, the lowering of the voice - so much so that they weren’t entirely convinced she wasn’t still performing. Yet even if it was, it was a compelling one, one that their analytical mind wanted to inspect the layers of. It also didn’t hurt that the woman likely had equally famous connections that Iniya could make good use of if she played her cards right, and it was that thought that propelled her to navigate her own standoffishness and continue a conversation about which she knew almost nothing. “Sounds like it’s set up to succeed. You as the lead, comedy, musical. I’m sure people will love it.” They, of course, hated both comedies and musicals, but it didn’t seem worth it to mention that fact just now. “And it seems to be going well. Thanks to you, I’m sure.” They shift their weight from one foot to another, casting an eye over the stage and the other actors milling around.

“I actually have my own box here,” she confesses with a proud half-smile, pointing above them to the first box on stage left. “That one’s mine. It has a great view, naturally. Like you say, one of the perks of buying the place. But —” She unlocks the phone in her hand and proffers it to her after a couple of taps, the screen displaying an empty contact form. “—We can still exchange numbers, if you’d like. You know, just in case you have any complaints about the venue, or your understudy has to take over or something. Then I can know which performances to avoid.” They tilt their head in lieu of another smile. Making herself useful was the best way she knew how to build good connections with others, and her half-joke half-vague flirtation was thrown in as a bonus. Either one or the other would work.

     “I fucking did,” he parrots Iniya, tone tickled by their disbelief, in part because he knows it’s not entirely sincere. Of course he fucking did and there’s little he can do to wipe away the grin that threatens to drop his cigarette. “And how th’fuck they gonna know I got it? I’m not even sleepin’ t’night. Takin’ the sucker to the first vet who’ll check ‘em for chips.” He bends to the side toward them, facing forward as his eyes shift to look at them, “I’m sure ya know… docs’a all varieties really love their coke.” Speed came in second place; though it’s less glamorous by reputation, and not nearly as much of a magnet for pretty young party goers. Vices link them all, no matter their social status, and everyone wants to escape. In a city as large as London, it’s easy enough to find, and the darkest corners of the hottest clubs are one of the first places people look. 

     He’s watching them as the boat sinks, wondering if they’re buoying among choppy, internal waters the way they’re pinching their cigarette, how Fletcher can hear the swipe of her thumb against the filter. They’ve worked together enough that he’s aware they aren’t fond of violence, only there’s suspicion to be had in their ranks, with Death closing in and traitors skittering throughout the older families. How strong are their alliances to the likes of Monica, who even wields the Pinkett name? Fletcher doesn’t let his sentiments — what little he maintains — dictate what’s good for business and Iniya is a vessel of ruthless logic, differing in reason but not in the fact. He has to question who can be bought by Death — or anyone else — because every plank they slip out from under them is another hole to trip over, or if it’s one as large as Charlotte, fall through altogether. 

     They mention Charlotte and it underlines his apprehension, because their question isn’t about what needs to be done or will, but rather where they can even go from here. It’s dangerous talk, especially at their rank, even if Fletcher shares their anger about Charlotte, the topic igniting a fiery plume that stretches from his core. And with it, a resolution. “Where we should go is on a hunting trip. For the very Pinkett who turned her back on the name.” If she won’t come back to them willingly, if she won’t help them regain their status, than in his mind, it’s the only road to take. It’s the only option merciless enough, heartless enough, to fill the very cracks Charlotte had shaken open. “And then make an example of whoever’s responsible for Fazal.”

     The aloofness of his expression falters at their observation about Mitzi, a quick draw of his brows, concern accentuating his jawline. “I haven’t seen her since before all the fuckin’ madness started. At the bar.” He falls silent, stepping away from the vehicle to yank the door open once more, doing a quick count. Someone asks him what the fuck he’s doing and Fletcher doesn’t respond, slamming it shut again. Monica, Milo, Fazal, Jaemin, Iniya. He’s ripping the cigarette from his lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he throws it down, “I don’t see Nadia around either. Maybe the two of them made a run for it.” He refuses to leap to the worst, refuses to allow himself to get boggled down in what ifs, hammering any that try to sneak through with the harsh knowledge that they’ve all signed up for this. They all arrived at that party knowing exactly what could happen. There’s always the chance they’ll lose someone and lately, between Charlotte and Jack and Ricardo and Priscilla, the bodies were piling up faster than ever. And if anything happens to Mitzi because of the former pair, Fletcher will make sure they pay tenfold. One way or another. 

His mockery itches, crawling under their skin though they knew it was relatively lighthearted by his standards. Though they were technically on the same level in Pestilence’s hierarchy, Iniya had spent enough time ranked below Fletcher that the feelings of inferiority lingered quite distinctly. She had been a Power for less than two months, and while ordering Angels around was a responsibility that came quite naturally to her, in many other respects, she was much less qualified. A fact both of them were acutely aware of. “You going to keep it? So you always have a friend?” The idea of having anything belonging to Uriel in their possession filled her with anxiety, let alone his presumably beloved pet, though perhaps in Fletcher’s principal line of work it might be useful to have a guard dog. "He’s probably trained to only respond to Uriel. You’ll be lucky if you can get him to sit, let alone attack your enemies or whatever it is you want him to do.” 

Her feelings about Charlotte’s actions were somewhat complicated. There were, of course, feelings of betrayal and indignation, mirroring that of everyone else in Pestilence and somewhat heightened by her closeness to Monica. But there was also a little admiration toward the Seraphim for having turned her back on her family, and some understanding at her decision to leave a gang that was floundering where once they had been so sure. They were envious of her for having the backbone to do what they could only fantasise about doing, though her choice to join Death was certainly not one Iniya approved of or understood. And it was because of all this that they weren’t really sure they wanted to see the younger Pinkett sibling destroyed in the way that other members of the gang did. “Sure, we could hunt her down. But do you think Death are happy about having a billionaire’s daughter calling the shots in their little riot squad? They’ll probably rip her apart for us.” Frankly, she was surprised that she had been let into the gang in the first place, but she neither knew nor wanted to know what went through Uriel’s head.

For all the shit Fletcher had put Mitzi through, Iniya was fairly confident that he would never actively want harm to come to her, and his erratic reaction confirmed that. His observation about Nadia makes them even more unsettled. Nadia was one of the few competent members left in the gang, and they really couldn’t afford to lose her. If she had been captured or worse, Pestilence would be even worse of than they were at the beginning of the evening - something Iniya had been sure wasn’t humanly possible. They take their phone out of their pocket and check their notifications. Fourteen emails and a text from their assistant, but nothing from Mitzi or Nadia. “They would’ve made contact if they were off but weren’t joining us. It’s what we all agreed, and I’ve got nothing.” Their eyes return to the steadily sinking boat, and her stomach sinks along with it. “Unless they ended up in the water so their phones are useless. Fuck.” A slightly furrowed brow is the only visible indication that Iniya is not perfectly calm, but the balled up fists in their pockets were a little more telling. “I know we should stay here, but I want to look for them.”

“Good,” Jaemin affirms, glad for Iniya’s confidence in their endeavors. It’s one thing he admires in them – the ability to see what they wanted and go for it. It’s not that he doesn’t do that himself but seeing it in someone else, someone younger was always refreshing. “I would love to see them for sure. Who knows, maybe you’ll be our new landlord someday,” he jokes good-naturedly as they walk. The sun is almost fully up but the chill of early morning hasn’t left them yet as they get closer to his stop. He’s glad to have run into Iniya, glad that she talks to him, that he’s still able to have some positive impact on someone. Charlotte’s betrayal was a blow to them all but it had been different to Jaemin. He’d believed Charlotte felt like they could talk to him only to find out that he’d been so full of his own ability to help and be a mentor that he’d failed to see the obvious signs. But he shakes himself from those thoughts now, and instead nods as Iniya speaks.

They are better. They didn’t murder people on television and call it justice. Retribution maybe but equity was different. Death is different too, he supposes. But not enough – not so different as to not call themselves a gang, just like Pestilence, just like War and Famine. They were all trying to gain power somewhere. Maybe he’d gotten into the wrong business all those years ago. Except, he’d make the same choice again and again if it meant being by Apollo’s side. It’s why he doesn’t understand how Charlotte could leave her family for someone who’d terrorize them and everything they’ve done. He’s not sure…but maybe he doesn’t need all the answers. “Ah, right, the mask. Good to know that’s what’s keeping you,” Jaemin quips as a small, ghost of a smile crosses his lips. The question has him faltering in his steps slightly, not because he doesn’t want to answer it, but because he doesn’t know how.

“Hmm.” There’s a pause, and he can hear the train approaching the station below where they’d just stopped, the rumble of it beneath his feet. “It was strange. I mean…I’ve touched a corpse before, you know, med school and all,” he’d not yet had someone die on his operating table, but he’s moved bodies before, down to the morgue. He’s told families they’ve lost loved ones. But Priscilla didn’t have loved ones to tell. Not that he knew of. “I guess I just didn’t expect to be moving her body…I don’t think anyone was.” He clears his throat, considering Iniya’s words, hearing the tube station’s intercom playing, announcing the train that had just arrived. “I don’t agree with what she did,” trying to sell out to Death, “but it was mostly just sad.”

INIYA BASNET: character parallels

claire (fleabag) [x]

control freak / hidden depths / stepford snarker

Claire and Iniya both measure their worth by their professional success. Fortunately they are both extremely successful, unfortunately it does very little to fix any of their deep-rooted insecurities. Completely control freaks. Enjoys pretending that everything is absolutely fine when it very much isn’t. Uptight and repressed, they are the “straight person” in any comedy double act.

miranda priestly (the devil wears prada) [x]

deadpan snarker / disapproving look / married to the job

Hyper-competent and genuinely passionate about their jobs, but horrible to work for due to their impossibly high standards and eye for detail. Very concerned with aesthetics and perceptions. Hates incompetency. Good at a sneaky business deal. They do both have softer moments, but you aren’t likely to see them and they’ll pretend they never happened if you do.

michel gerard (gilmore girls) [x]

small name, big ego / the friend nobody likes / passive aggressive combat

Good at their jobs but terrible at dealing with people. Neither are physically violent, but their words are enough of a weapon. On the surface they are both somewhat jaded and pessimistic, but underneath they are softer than they let on. Some respect for authority figures, but only when earned. Prefer their pets to most humans.

rachel duncan (orphan black) [x]

green-eyed monster / i just want to be special / teeth-clenched teamwork

Born from various issues in their childhoods, both Rachel and Iniya are particularly envious of others and probably go too far in attempting to boost their own self esteem. They’re both wrapped up in some pretty dodgy organisations, but for the most part successfully avoid getting their own hands dirty. Highly independent and ambitious, they dislike relying on others for anything.

david rose (schitt’s creek) [x]

the unapologetic / narcissist / the perfectionist

Neat freaks, narcissists, and yep, you guessed it, deeply insecure. David and Iniya enjoy the finer things in life, and make careers where they get others to appreciate these things, too. Unhelpfully sarcastic and snarky. They care for the people closest to them fiercely, but that really isn’t too many. Sometimes they’re the only people in the room with a braincell, but god, at what cost?

annalise keating (how to get away with murder) [x]

brutal honesty / inferiority superiority complex / byronic hero

Another character who’s good at their job but horrible to work for. Like Annalise, Iniya is involved in a lot of illegal shit that she at least somewhat attempts to avoid, but they usually just end up digging themselves in deeper. A deep distrust in basically everyone, they struggle in the majority of their relationships. Some addictive tendencies. Uncomfortably honest.

Jaemin chuckles lightly at the admission of threatening one contractor with another, “well, I hope it’s effective. At least enough to go through the trouble of all this in the first place,” he commiserates. It’s not like they could do that at the hospital when a doctor started slipping. There was no margin for error, and even less for repeated ones. “Is it corporate or residential?” He asks about the property Iniya is visiting today, genuinely interested in the little facets of their work. The Dominion had always been curious like that – gleaning knowledge from whomever, whenever he could. You’re like a sponge, his mum would always say, just like your sister. Sun-Young had a brilliant mind, one Jaemin knows he won’t live up to, but that’s never bothered him. He’d rather live up to her legacy than to her intellect. The thought brings a twinge, a sharp slice of guilt as he thinks back two days. He can see Priscilla’s lifeless body in his mind’s eye, and though he’d not shot her, he was complicit in her Death. All of Pestilence was. But he doubts few carry that around like he does.

Shaking off the thought, he glances down at them, puffing out his cheeks in exhale. They were right. People can’t trust Pest, so Pest couldn’t trust people, so people couldn’t trust Pest. He appreciated Iniya’s candor, the way they want answers, the way they vocalize their thoughts and opinions so clearly. They’ve grown since joining Pestilence, but growing in a gang was both a blessing and a curse. One had more agency but could no longer plead ignorance to the violence or situations going on around them, even if they could have a bigger hand in either. “You can always tell me what you’re thinking, Iniya,” Jaemin reassures, scuffing a trainer on the sidewalk as they stroll. “I just still processing it myself,” he admits.

"“And I don’t want to give you an answer that isn’t true. I’m just not sure what recourse any of us has right now. Pestilence is still better than Death. I believe that. And I believe that loyalty still matters.” At least Pestilence knew what they were about. Death said they wanted equality and justice, retribution against those who’d corrupted London, but weren’t they doing the same thing? And weren’t they even more hypocritical in offering a chance at redemption, only to turn those who sought it out over to Pestilence? “I’m not going to bug your house but if I had to, I’d be sure to use wall-safe tape.”

"I'm confident that it will. Depending on how things look I might just sack the others and keep the new ones on permanently. Either way I'll be fine." Work was Iniya's solitude, a place where everything was under their control and had to meet her standards, a stark contrast to every other aspect of their life. She clung to it, allowing it to fill her up and keep her sane. "Residential. It's a building I'm converting into flats in Waterloo." Their new pet project, something more enjoyable on the side to return to when her larger projects became too stressful. "I'll show you them when they're finished, if you like. They're going to look amazing. Great views, good investment."

It was rare that you found someone too good for gang life - after all, you had to have some sort of moral failing to be willing to join a gang that pushed drugs - but it were true of anyone in Pestilence (and one could make a strong argument that it wasn’t), it was true of Jaemin. Even with the people she cared for most - Monica and Mitzi and Genie - she accepted that none of them were exactly good. Frankly, she probably wouldn’t have liked them half as much if they were. But Jaemin was a doctor. Jaemin actually cared, and tried to mend things rather than break them. Perhaps it was why Iniya was inclined to go to him rather than other senior figures within Pest, some desperate unacknowledged desire to have someone fix things. “I appreciate that,” they respond quietly, knowing full well that the chances of them ever confessing her thoughts to him were so minuscule they were hardly worth speaking of.