Jameson Farrow

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                                   A͛n͛d͛ ͛d͛r͛a͛g͛ ͛m͛e͛ ͛i͛n͛t͛o͛ ͛p͛l͛a͛c͛e͛                                                  ͛A͛n͛d͛ ͛l͛o͛c͛k͛ ͛t͛h͛e͛ ͛f͛i͛r͛e͛ ͛e͛s͛c͛a͛p͛e͛s͛ ͛                                                               I͛'͛l͛l͛ ͛b͛r͛e͛a͛k͛ ͛y͛o͛u͛r͛ ͛p͛r͛e͛t͛t͛y͛ ͛f͛a͛c͛e͛

❛ ━━━━ zehra doesn’t often get cabin fever—actually, it’d be more accurate to say she never does.  she leaves when she has to: errands, work, whenever her neighbor gets one of their bright ideas of taking random cooking or pottery classes.  the other few times that she leaves is when she feels like she starts hovering over him, or anyone really—like an insecure child, or a haunting.  it’s not the greatest feeling, feeling like a parasite.  if her husband were still here, he’d probably smirk his little stupid charming smirk and snicker about her being too in her head.

anyways, this is one of the rare days where she needs to take a walk around the block, and it is just her interesting luck that she stumbles upon an interesting sight: a man with a flask breaking the window of her stuffy bitch-of-a-neighbor’s beat up hyundai.  she steps closer, hands in her pocket and head tilted in an intense fascination at the speed in which he disables the alarm. 

she whistles, impressed, as her shadow settles onto him. “wow, you thought you lost your keys so you decide to break the window and short circuit the alarm system your own car.”  she snorts.  “you’re in luck, though!” zehra exclaims, leaning against the metal as she peered at his handiwork inside the vehicle. “i am not the owner.  this car actually belongs to the miranda priestly wannabe across my apartment, and she fucking deserves it.  if that’s not enough for you, i’m pretty sure she keeps a wad of cash and some goodies in the dashboard compartment—i’ll split it with you 50/50 and we can take this baby for a joyride?”

Jameson’s attention turned towards her. Flashing her a charismatic Farrow smile that looked more devious in nature. Hoping that got him off with this criminal act, until she kept talking to him. “I mean yeah, when you say it that way.” He couldn’t help but laugh more at his own misfortune than her bluntness of the situation. Immediately he took interest as soon as she wasn’t trying to choke him through the busted window. Intrigued at the story he leaned forward to listen intently. 

open starter / location: some pretty, vague corner

There's gold in his eyes, scratching itself into his skin, trying to blur the lines between real and fake until he's turned into one of them. Some voice in the back of Danny's head reminds him that he should be used to being undercover — after all what's the difference? A gilded mask, someone else's name, satin swallowing him whole, a life full of lies.

He has no idea what a guy like the one he came with tonight would be doing at an event like this but that just reminds Danny of what a terrible date he's being. Oh, he's laughed at (almost) all the right times. Smiled and sighed and tried and tried and tried to be a normal person on a normal date for once – but when Thomas had turned from the family friend he was catching up with and told Danny he could mingle if he wanted, Danny had let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Maybe he does belong here.

Here in the figurative sense but also here in a what has to be the nicest fuckin' corner Danny's ever had the melancholic pleasure to stand in — where he's frowning down at his empty glass of champagne. He can't remember if he had been sober when he walked in here tonight and he's trying to remember enough of his story to get straight when someone tries staking claim on his corner. There's a quick debate in his mind over how rude he can be until he remembers he's here with someone and they're wearing matching masks. He doesn't want to do something to outright embarrass Thomas so he does the next best thing, which happens to be grabbing the other's champagne and downing it in one. It isn’t until he’s finished the drink that he wonders, in immediate retrospect, if that might have been rude.

" — eh, thanks. Sorry. "

Corners. Maybe no one would notice the trash mask mock up he had to do. Jameson walked the sidelines keeping himself out of the anonymous eyes. Most were distracted by other things, which worked perfectly for him. It gave him more time to straighten his tie, and try to hide the stains on his collar shirt. Fuckin’ hors d'oeuvre trays were out to get him. He swore they were. 

A commandeered champagne glass, and he saw the perfect place to people watch. Unfortunately, he hardly took note that the corner wasn’t empty of another presence. He eyed the figure next to him skeptically under his makeshift mask. Probably some yes man trying to figure out where to ----. His line of thoughts cease as the champagne flute is plucked from his fingers. 

Jameson couldn’t hold back his impulsive nature. His fist flew before he could even blink to catch his own knee jerk reaction. The crinkle material of the bag mask rippled through his ears as if it was played out in high definition.  Punch first, ask later. He blinked, his mouth agape as he murmured a quick automatic apology. Unsure if he hit this dude in the face or not. It was all a blur, but he did try to punch this champagne thief. Ironic, since he had stolen it from someone else.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jameson hissed lowly. 

Location: Undisclosed Meeting spot

Jameson hated these things, he wasn’t like the others in their regard to fall into mostly order. Part of him wanted to create Molotov cocktails as a distraction to get out of dodge quick. Instead he treated the venue like an obstacle course, swerving to avoid the clash between him and servers. Avoiding anyone he could, unless they happened to meet in the dark of a closet someplace.

He did his best to ensure that he wasn’t followed. One finger moved to itch underneath the mask that hid his face. This thing was absolutely worthless to him. Something he would easily vocalize if asked about it no doubt. Before he passed into the final spot, he did a quick look around  and waited for his siblings to show up. As soon as he saw the first figure approach.

“What’s the password?”

‎

     HE HAD JUST GONE OVER TO THE BODEGA ACROSS THE STREET to get snacks and a lighter to replace the one he had stolen and had later lost from a bouncer at a nightclub he’d visited last night. it took all of five minutes and when he returns, jameson is gone. he’s quick to work out his brother’s location - a blaring car alarm leads him straight to the scene of the crime. literally. he looks both ways before hopping into the car like it had been waiting for him this whole time. jameson’s opening line does little to amuse him. 

“very funny. you couldn’t wait?” a bag of chips is tossed unceremoniously at jameson’s lap, the rest dumped into the backseat. he wrinkles his nose, quickly scanning for the offending air freshener, a tin can called apricot delight sitting in the center console. it’s thrown out the broken window in record time. he’s rummaging through the glove compartment next, the registration soon in his hand. “let’s get out of here before… terrence johannsson clocks us. jesus, it’s like his parents were trying to fill the character count.” 

There’s a second he ponders playing a prank on Deacon, but he realized it wasn’t the best of times. Besides, his brother had brought him some chips he wanted. “I don’t wait DeaDea, cease the day or some shit bro.” Jameson retorted with a laugh. “But for real I thought this pretentious classic shit was Lucy’s. I mean besides the air fresher, it looks like his ride right?” He tore open the bag of chips with his teeth, as he turned over the engine of the car.

He paused before he peeled out of the parking spot. “Terrence johannsson, really? Who the fuck..” Jameson had started to hate before he took notice of someone starting to run int he direction of the car. No doubt the owner of the car. “Hang on.” The abrupt warning barely given before he put his foot on the gas and swerved into traffic.  “What a fucking loser, am I right? His parents were definitely missing a few extra characters on that count. How many silent h’s are there?”

‘It’s not late at all   […]     and we’re both alright,     I promise.’   A soft laugh,   wrist lifting delicately as she waves the apologies from the other away.    She was here for those who needed help,    and refusing anyone at the door seemed too cruel for her to stand   —    her belly turned at the thought.     She is not immune to cruelty,   of course,   as they all aren’t,    but she always had a habit of unsuspectingly revealing more of herself than planned.    Even amid a sea of deception,   she would be the lone soul struggling to convey her enjoyment of saltwater in her lungs and the moonlight in her hair.    ‘What’s going on?’    This sentence,   for example,    is built from professional assertiveness and vague concern,    but completely devoid of anything malicious.    She is not a liar,     but she often carries herself like one.    An elusive enigma.   Like one of many myths she had whispered out during the time of war and violence,    like shushing a crying infant while wearing the mask of some horrifying creature.   The truth carried knives overseas,    and it was only the dying ones who saw them glint underneath dead stars.    Selena has teeth,    but they’re all too familiar with those faces she’s told this promise to.     The ones who never followed her home,    at least not physically.      A smile of encouragement,    brows raised,       ‘I have my morning free,    don’t worry.’

Jameson rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t a stranger to embarrassment, but he felt more nervous about who he truly was around her. He was afraid there would be a slip of the tongue, and she would learn that he had embellished some details of his past. There was more truth to his statements, but he refused to see it that way. “Okay, yeah..” He whispered with a slow nod of his head. The next question so loaded he contemplated turning around and running away. “I just was having flashbacks.” His hand anxiously scratched at his chin. “I can’t make them stop.” The admission of the haunting memories in his mind. It wasn’t ones tainted with war, but the soulless eyes of his mother staring into his. “Oh uh.., are you sure? I ..I could just come back. Maybe not run physically into you next time.” A soft chuckle followed by a warm smile.

.

There was a certain level of attractiveness that led him here. Mischief was like a seductress. Faruk knew this territory was not something he was associated for but it didn’t alarm him either. They were all wolves, one just had to decide who was the toughest and the most hungry. Impatience he could slightly understand such a trait. “I suppose I am just thankful to get a show, for a second I thought it was going to be a boring night.” Faruk could appreciate the answer of the other’s. At least it seemed his humor was much rewarded. “If you need someone to egg you on, I might be your best bet. I just hope your bark is as strong as your bite.” There was that push. Nonetheless, Faruk was intrigued by the words of the other. “Sometimes. It depends on the situation. I think I’m more just waiting to see what happens. Not entirely by these uncoordinated clowns.” Faruk wasn’t a ticking time bomb. He had heard the stories about this place just as a half brained person. The man liked the attention but he wasn’t going to let his own presence be known by all the wandering eyes. Or at least be so open about it. “I’m not past doing some enabling though if the show doesn’t progress.” Sliding some sort of object their way that could be as a weapon seemed tempting after all.

This wasn’t going the pace Jameson wanted, but for a brief second he could see it through Faruk’s eyes. “You mean watching someone else fight for a bit?” A chuckle parted from his lips followed in quick succession by a slight cough from the smoke being inhaled wrong. “You on a bit of a fist break or somethin’?” Color him curious about it. Though the more he drank, the more compelled he felt to start more violence. A slow nod, “y’think there’s gonna be reinforcements or something?” Jameson made a swoop of his gaze too quickly, and for a brief second he felt dizzy. “So you are an agent of chaos?” Jameson inquired with a broad grin. His attention back to the commotion at hand, but his own patience had grown thinner by the second. He poised his hands, much as he would about to throw a curve ball. Then he pitched the empty glass in the direction of one of their legs. Watching intently to see if they would collide, or if the shatter itself would echo. 

                     The city had woken up loud today, a steady buzz that had decided to haunt Danny from the moment he opened his eyes. He was going through the motions —  a little bit. One foot in front of the other until he made it home with his paper bag, regrettably full of vegetables and some ginger drink that promised it would flush any toxins from his body. Danny thought about the last twenty years of his life and wondered if maybe he should have brought two. 

He was sober ( again, ) technically. As of that morning.

It was going well, he thought, definitely better than it could have been given he had just crossed paths with what was almost certainly a grand theft auto in progress — in broad daylight, no less. Danny slowed down as he approached the vehicle and did a quick mental checklist of where his standard issue pistol and badge where on his person ( holstered on his hip and tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. ) He wouldn’t need them but figured, in this city, it never hurt to think one step ahead. The stranger alerted before Danny could speak first; clearly intoxicated ( ugh ) and as fate would have it: not a stranger at all. “Grand larceny’s a felony in New York, you know.” And Jesus, he would love to put Lucien Farrow’s baby brother in jail for 18 months but making a move like that, this early in the game, might be dumber than trying to steal a car before lunch. 

Which. “And that’s in the case that they don’t find any priors or crimes linked to that pocket knife you got there.“ Danny stared at Jameson blankly, hitching the paper bag up his arms. “— you don’t have any priors, do ya ?“ It’s not the question he would like to ask ( which is: why are you two blocks away from my apartment? ) but nothing about what was happening screamed premeditated so Danny figured his point stood.

It’s times like this that he considers that perhaps he should be a superstitious person. Jameson had spilled some salt at a dash & dine the night prior. Perhaps this was the consequences of spilled salt and broken mirrors. Of course he recognized the detective’s voice from their past. The way he saw it he had very few choices what to do in the moment. The first was just speed the car away and possibly hurt them both. That sounded more like him, but instead he decided he didn’t want to fuck up that badly. 

Instead his bright blue irises flickered from the pocket knife to Danny’s face, and then to the paper bag he held. He flashed that mischievous Farrow smile, that only meant bad fortune for him. “Well, well, hey Brian. Been a bit” He had to sell this moment, even though he was thoroughly fucked. He turned his gaze down to his pocket knife and furrowed his brows. “Look man. I would love to play this game with you, but not today. I got important places t’be. The car is started, and have you seen this car? If I was doing Grand larceny doncha think I would pick a BMW or some car that looks much more classy than Lucy’s?” He deserved an academy award for this performance, until...

“What do you think you’re going to find on this pocket knife? Clearly there’s no blood spilled here. It’s not like I just had a jonesin’ to murk the prior owner of the car and hide him in the trunk.” Fuck. He didn’t actually know what was in the trunk, since this was clearly not his brother’s car. Jameson cleared his throat and did a circular motion in the air pointing at the bag in Danny’s hands. “What’s in the bag, buddy?” Ah yes, a good, clearly not obvious, change of subject. 

y/muse could be catching him red handed, it could be their car, or they could have just stopped for a second and he panicked, or whatever you want to roll with!

He was over halfway through his flask. It's where his brilliant stupid plans come to him. Jameson barely caught the car from the corner of his eye, looked like one of Lucy's. An old car practically winking at him to steal it. If he wasn't doing something to terrorize his eldest brother,  was it really his life? A bit shaken on his knees he glanced to the license plate. It checked out. It did not. In reality he was one number OFF.

Jameson saw this as an opportunity he would solely regret if he didn't pounce on it. A challenge he couldn't just leave it alone. There’s a few minute performance from the random passerby whilst he patted himself down for phantom keys. Looked through the windows and cursed as if he had locked his keys inside for any curious fucks.  "Alright Lucy." He muttered to himself, while he haphazardly  broke the window to the car. Alarm started to blare as he opened the car from the inside. He worked quick, using his covered sleeve to brush some shards off of the seat. Pocket knife out as he started the work. The alarm had been disabled, and if he would have taken two more seconds he would have noticed the detail on the dashboard. Clearly not Lucien Farrow's car.

it didn't register until there was a shadow that approached from his peripheral vision. A quick jerk of his head and it collided against what was hanging off the mirror. FUCK. Jameson cursed at himself. He was quick to get in, and he needed to be quick with his words. His head pivoted so his blue hues met the other's. A chuckle followed by a hiccup. "Oh shit. Is this yours? Thought I lost my keys." This was just his luck.