fallen angel.

INTRODUCING: LEONA HOLMES

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     SUMMER  HEAT  ON  THE  COAST  by  slowly  until  it  starts  going  fast,  and  for  the  four  weeks  that  ticked  by  in  july  and  carried  onward  into  a  ferociously  fevered  august,  there  was  hardly  a  moment  for  salma  to  catch  their  breath.  they  quite  liked  the  fact  though.  their  time  was  well  kept,  always  a  meeting  to  tend  or  a  man  in  a  pinstripe  suit  to  sway  toward  their  own  prerogative  without  hardly  missing  a  beat.  time  was  their  business  and  they  had  intended  to  make  the  most  of  it.      even  happening  upon  nola  was  yet  another  investment  of  their  time.  salma  was  two  days  on  the  train  and  five  hours  in  a  honey  colored  apperson  denoted  by  the  driver  as  his  ‘dependable  old  girl’.  but  my,  were  those  two  days  an  insufferable  tale.  perhaps  just  about  the  heat  they’d  withstood  since  the  summer  of  ‘09.  and  yet,  all  their  efforts  and  business  aside,  are  redeemed  the  very  moment  they  set  foot  into  the  chatty  little  bistro. 

    there  she  is,  a  magnolia  fully  in  bloom,  hardly  wilted  beneath  all  the  sticky  orleans  heat.  something  profound  could  be  said  of  a  love,  much  less  an  adoration  that  transcended  time  and  the  space  oft  wedged  between  them.  salma  hadn’t  the  words  for  it  though.  not  when  the  mere  sight  of  her  had  winded  them  like  a  meter  sprint.  leona  was  like  a  note  clipping  they  kept  in  their  breast  pocket  on  particularly  lonely  days.  always  on  their  heart.  and  now,  just  within  arms  reach.      “  i  wager  you’ve  missed  me  then?  ”  they  know  they  needn’t  ask  such  a  thing,  not  when  the  answer  perched  right  in  front  of  them.  rather  it  was  a  retort  of  affirmation.  something  to  look  forward  to  because  they  knew  for  certain  leona  would  be  there  had  they  called  upon  her.  and  she  had  been.  grin  blooms  across  visage,  a  natural  tinge  of  carmine  warming  their  cheeks  as  they  were  sat  adjacent  to  her.  “  hope  i  didn’t  keep  you  long,  ”  they’d  made  a  note  of  punctuality  and  yet  the  avoidable  was  just  that.  “  traffic  ..  in  this  heat,  could  you  imagine?  ”  

♡

Leona could have very well leaped for joy were it not for the fact that propriety outweighed all else. Still, though, she could have very well done so -- swept her sweet Salma up and twirled her in the air. There were few people that managed to have Leona so absolutely under their sway, adoration never-ending and ever-pouring, and Salma was one of the two. She ushered the other to sit, practically fluttering about like a butterfly that had been enchanted by a rather saccharine looking flower. 

She sat across from the other, content for a moment to just sit and look, basking in the seconds that passed between them. That is, before she remembered that they were in public and they were always eyes prying -- watching. In their business, such laxities were a luxury and vigilance was something that she was still trying to grasp. Leona often felt so comforted within the city’s borders, that she forgot how precarious things could get from one moment to the next. 

Clearing her throat, she tried to gather herself together -- stopper the excitement to the best of her ability. But that didn’t stop the grin that painted across her lips as she reached across the table, hand clasping Salma’s, head canting affectionately. “Even the shortest time away is still far too long, Salma. Who else keeps such splendid company?”

ines lifts her chin to hold the other woman’s gaze as she gets closer, and she gets both more annoyed and irritable in comparison. she stands firm anyway, feet squared, half-expecting the other to drop a quick remark before going on her merry way, but alas—that would have been hoping for too much, it seems. “you aren’t supposed to be here,” she says instead while allowing leona to reach for her hand and utter a greeting that seems both too sincere to be false, yet too easy to be taken seriously. still, something in ines wants to soften at the abruptness of her touch. unfortunately, old habits die hard and she far too quick to steel herself against it when she retracts her hand with a cough.

the last time they spoke, ines only managed a few words between them before leona gave her the slip, thanks to a fellow student of hers barging in and making a scene about something she doesn’t even recall. ever since joining the bootlegging scene and becoming a rival, ines thinks she’s been forced into a position of continuously having to chase leona. she’s unsure if leona has noticed and if yes, she’s done a good job of hiding her feelings on the matter.

“the vincellis are shooting up bourbon street,” she replies sharply, a glimmer of warning in her eyes when she fixates on the other woman with a disapproving frown. “and you’re gallivanting around here, thinking that—what? you’re invincible? that nothing will happen to you?”

♡

It seemed that with Ines, their exchanges always ended with Leona feeling a little prickly. She always felt a little raw whenever they parted ways, as though Ines had used her like a leather belt a butcher sharpens their knives with. Ines always seemed to walk away glinting like the shiniest, sharpest thing and Leona envied her for it. There are a lot of sins that she has to own up to in the confessional every other week and that was always on the top three glaring blights that gnawed at her soul. The dark stains of these sticky little sins were a difficult thing to rid herself of, and each time she couldn’t help but begrudge Ines for it a little more. 

IWorse still, was that she had to confess to the envy of it all too. Though she dutifully set it aside, so that the admiration might be genuine and true. Untainted by her own frustrating shortcomings and insecurities. So she clawed for each and every win that she could, batting her lashes and lacquering her words with honey. It was beginning to get easier and easier each time, and soon she’d have Ines walking away, feeling as prickly as she did. 

closed to : @leonaholmes​ location : the streets of new orleans time : september 12, 1924

they’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that the dead quiet of night had meant things had calmed down. that there’d be enough time to grab a few more bottles to replenish the empty ones. we’ll just pop around the corner—leona knows someone, because of course she does. aurélie had been correct on one account, bootleg liquor tucked into her leather satchel. 

how wrong she’d been on the other. a shot rings out, followed by a scream and the crumpling of a body to the ground. instinct has her clutching leona’s hand in surprise, and her grip loosens when all goes still again. worse comes to worse, she’ll whack someone with her bag—two bottles of gin would hurt, wouldn’t it? 

leaning back against the wall of the alleyway, she peeks her head out. “for fuck’s sake, don’t they get tired of shooting each other?”

♡ 

Okay, so she knew a lot of people -- it was due to her sunny disposition, she liked to say. Even when life was hard and cruel, she found it much more agreeable to wear a smile on her face, armed with a kind word on her lips. That usually got her a lot further than dour words ever did, and as a result, she’d accumulated quite the little dance card of agreeable contacts willing to loan her a bottle or five. Leona just had to make sure she buttered them up a little bit more before saying goodbye. 

A shot rang out and she couldn’t help the squeak of surprise that escaped her, a gloved hand flying to her mouth to stifle the shriek that might have followed -- were it not for the instinct to swallow it all down. Which she did, the fear and terror growing down easier than a spoonful of sugar. Too bad it wasn’t as sweet as it, though. 

Her hand clung tightly to Aurelie’s, a frown on her face as she thought of the poor soul laying there in the dirty street. She wanted to peek her head out too, but she knew what would happen if she saw the crumpled body on the street. And then she’d probably be the next one to drop, too, if the scrap was particularly blood-feuled. 

“Doll, how do you think we’re going to get home? We can’t very well stay out here.”

still maintaining a flagrant disregard for how any decent and god-fearing man might sit next to a woman unrelated to him, hugo sat with his shoulder just brushing leona’s - nothing more than a few layers of clothing separating them from being skin to skin and flush with each other. tempting, without having to do much. tempting, if only to see how little or how much pressure he needed to apply in order to steal all of her attention from fanciful figures in the sky and back to the tangible earth.

and, more importantly, back to himself.

lips parting, the shushing finger beat his taunt to the punch and his gaze fell to it, to the little nub of space left between the tip of a slim finger and the curve of the silk. he’d half a mind to take it in his teeth, steal the glove away from her, because she’d have no choice but to abandon her useless prayers and follow him. you care about me enough to respect the fact that i care about him? no. but leona needn’t know that. needn’t worry about whether or not when a lie, small and white as this one, would send her worries away.

he softened his expression some, adopting a slightly more sincere look. “of course i understand how important this is to you.” clinging to the belief that there would eventually be rewards for unyielding obedience to someone no one could see or touch? just the thought alone made him want to laugh. it tugged at the corners of his mouth and he allowed it, tone returning to it’s previous playfulness as he leaned into her in a conspiratorial manner - close enough to feel the warmth of her breath. close enough that he swore he would be able to hear her heart skip a beat.

“but i don’t think it’s much of a competition.” earnest and sincere, in his own unique way. his eyes dropped from hers to her lips and rose again, teeth catching on the swell of his own bottom lip. “even if i’m having a hard time remembering what it’s like to be spoiled by you… i think i’m starved, actually.”

♡

Her eyes flickered between his as they studied each other, her breath stilling as the space between them ceased to exist -- save for the few breadths in between. Still, though, she remained faithfully, devoted. After all, one didn’t cease attending church just because the devil stood in the way. Although, truthfully, it was difficult to discern which he was: a personification of sanctuary or damnation. His gaze caught onto the tip of her glove, but she remained fixated on him -- the line of his brow, the slant of his eyes, the curve of his nose. No, that wasn’t the truth. She knew what he was, and offered him her heart willingly still. 

A sad tale of heartbreak, undoubtedly. A beautiful parable of love, absolutely. 

What a sad little thing she was -- doomed from the moment she met him. What a cruel, beautiful thing he was -- for sealing her damnation with each one of these stolen moments. Another nail in her coffin, buried under the weight of her own enchantment. Though, she still couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit at his blatant lie, a smile still tugging on her lips regardless because what mattered was that he wanted her to believe him -- and was willing to tell little white lies to appease her, still, no matter how badly he wished to laugh in the face of God. 

Closer, ever closer -- yet never close enough. She could count his lashes with how close he seemed, her own fluttering as she grew more flustered by his nearness. Leona ought to pull away, ought to simply slide over, genuflect and exit the church entirely. Maybe it was his warmth, the feeling of his breath against his lips, or the way that he made her blood rush so that it made her feel like she was in a waking fevered dream. “You’re being mean, Hugo.” Half an observation, half a plea. 

LOCATION — Liberal Arts Building

FOR — @yourpensandink​

In her spare time, Leona allowed herself to fall under the enchantment of academia. The one thing that keep the determined fire stoked within her was the reassurance that, when she reached the precipice of her achievements, she’d be able to learn for the pure joy of learning. And if she happened to dislike the lecture, well, truthfully she took a small amount of pleasure in letting her criticisms be known. It was the small indulgence that she’d allow herself — one shining moment of unfettered honesty, and she never said boo about it again. Most guest lecturers got a warning about her meticulous evaluations beforehand and most welcomed the lively debate that she was to follow. 

This particular lecturer, however, did not seem too keen on allowing her past the doors even. They had given her the wrong time and lecture hall, but she didn’t mind much. It had been a lovely walk from the commons anyway. Stealthily, she slipped through the quickly closing doors, tailing after a poor — and beautiful — soul who was none the wiser. 

Quietly, she sat herself next to him. Leona had been so lost in the earnest task  getting herself settled and ready for meticulous note-taking that she failed to notice the silence in the lecture hall. Slowly, she lifted her head and glanced around, brows scrunching together in confusion. When her eyes trailed over to the lecturer, she realized he was staring in her direction accusingly. But no, he wasn’t cross with her, no…the victim of this all was the person beside her. 

Her mouth caught up with the events before her mind did. 

“He’s with me,” she declared, handing him her writing materials.”He’s my research assistant. Please, continue.” When the silence of the lecture hall prolonged, she raised her brow. “Go on now.” 

Then, Leona turned to the person, whispering under her breath. “Heaven’s above, that was scary.”

neither god nor church had had much of a place in hugo’s life. he lacked an interest in both, borne more out of the sheer fact that the idea of serving someone else in the hopes of obtaining wealth and riches never appealed to him and never would. not in this life, not in some fanciful spiritual afterlife. worse than his lack of interest was his lack of reverence for it all. 

that he had stepped foot in more than one church prior to today and not been smote on the spot did nothing to change his opinion but, in fact, bolster it. if there were ever a time for an all powerful mysterious figure in the sky to flex their might, the presence of one hugo brandt in the holiest of places should have garnered something.

all it told him was that the powerful, real or imagined, were only as powerful as the illusion their followers created.

hugo passed behind leona closer than he ought to, closer than what would be considered acceptable even outside church walls - blue eyes fixed to the front as if daring someone to appear and see even as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “i think i intimidate him, don’t you?” before she can slap him, he sneaks a kiss to her cheek and settles in next to her. it’s her who owns his gaze then, an ever present cheeky smile curled across his mouth. “having a nice chat?”

♡  

It didn’t take much coaxing to undo what poor excuse remained of her resolve. It ought to be studied as a phenomena, the way in which she turned to him, revolved around him, orbited about his every wish and whim. The fashion in which she did so was natural, intrinsic almost -- practically built into her person. It was akin to the way sunflowers turned their faces towards the sun, similar to how the ocean’s tides reached towards the moon. She should know better, though. When he turned to her, it was nothing more than Narcissus catching sight of his own reflection. She made a perfect looking-glass, didn’t she? For Leona and Leona alone only saw the best and the worst of Hugo -- and, to her, it was all worthy of unconditional adoration.

Again -- it was natural. It was intrinsic. It was built into Leona, and to try and rid herself of such a seemingly necessary thing was laughable. Would you remove a heart from a person? Or force them to extricate their own ribs?

Perhaps someone ought to.

She was about to chide him about stepping into  a church with such flippancy when she felt his warmth close to her face. Her heart stuttered and lurched, quickening in its pace as he presented her with both heresy and temptation. Was it temptation when you knew you were about to give into it anyway? The minute that his lips press against her cheek, she turns away, bashful, quickly wrapping her rosary around her wrist. It felt a bit sacriligeous to cling to it when her devil was so near (and dear). 

“Well, I was until someone decided to interrupt our conversation.” Leona’s eyes lifted to his -- briefly, shyly, before skirting away. She adjusted her gloves, keeping her gaze low and fixated on her hands. With the way that she looked, one might have thought that she really was in conversation with God -- but no, it was only Hugo. “You know, people who are respectful usually wait until someone is finished praying until they interrupt. But you aren’t most people, are you Hugo?”

Before he could answer, she held a finger aloft to shush him. “You care about me enough to respect the fact that I care about Him,” her eyes shifted to the crucifix, only to meet his once more, her gaze softer.”Right?” 

“What, you don’t like having to compete with someone else for my attention? Did I spoil you too much?”

LOCATION — Knock Five Times

FOR — @gibscns​

There was something about September nights that made Leona a little melancholy. Perhaps it was because September seemed like the final chapter of summer, and if there was one thing that Leona hated it was the feeling of things ending. So she tried to work off the melancholy, shirk it like an ill-fitting coat. The attempt to do so resulted in a kitchen full of baked goods and not enough people to give them out to. For nearly twenty minutes she packed the muffins, cookies, and scones into what paper bags she could find. Yet the melancholy clung to her still. 

And it was getting rather irritating. 

Huffing impatiently, she gathered up the items and glanced at the clock. It was early enough in the night where people were still likely to be roaming about. Thankfully, though, it was late enough that they would want some baked goods to satiate their alcohol-induced appetite. With that reassurance, she set out into the night, determined to do what little bit of good that she could before conceding to a melancholy-tainted sleep. 

It was sleep that was needed, apparently, because Leona found herself in front of Knock Five Times with no explanation to offer. Her feet had simply carried her of their own volition, and when she looked at the basket in hand she realized that she had baked treats that she thought would be his favorite. Marco. 

Holding the basket aloft, she smiled bashfully at him in lieu of a greeting.

“I brought you some late night treats. I thought you might enjoy them and I didn’t even realize I was baking things that you might like — heaven’s above, you should see the state of my kitchen right now.”

“It’s been a number of months since we first became friends — it deserved a celebration of sorts.”

LOCATION — Banquet Hall of Tulane University

FOR — @zophistication​

If there was one thing that people with an exorbitant amount of wealth liked to do — they quite enjoyed flaunting it. No matter how hard her parents and sister tried to coach her into emulating the careless disregard they had for their cash, she never seemed to quite manage it. Leona had a little too loud of a conscience for that. As she looked at the rich foods that filled the plates of the donors and social elite, she couldn’t help the way her stomach turned. It was far more familiar with the pangs of hunger — better equipped to handle it too than the decadence that was before her. 

That is why she depended on people like Zosia. 

Leona looked around the crowd, gloved fingers clasping behind her back as she did her best to appear haughty and aloof. It was more than likely she looked panicked and earnest more than anything. How could she not when she felt as though people were pointedly looking at her — evaluating her for every flaw she already knew there to be. Perhaps they could see in the way that she carried herself that she wasn’t one of them. 

Blessedly, she caught a break in the crowd — slipping through the currents of people that milled about. And there she was, her savior and salvation, Zosia. 

Huffing a bit, she sidled up next to the woman. “You know, I don’t think I would mind things like this as much if people actually contributed stimulating conversation. I thought these sort of parties were supposed to be fun and bawdy — not stuffy and a drab.”

LOCATION — New Orleans Museum of Art

FOR — @lcttieli​

You’d think that Leona, being a good Catholic child, would know better than to indulge in her vices. But, to be fair, this particular service that she provided wasn’t for her own benefit. She didn’t ask for any money, save for the amount that was requested by Lottie. The only money that she took was the cash that was forced into her hand by the few who could provide it. So this service that she provided was fully for the benefit of those who needed it — fake passports, citizenship documents, IDs. 

And when she helped Leona lift some art that the rich and the wealthy stole — well, she was simply the sword that was wielded by Lady Justice. Nothing more than a ready and willing blade meant to fell the upper-class. None of them could tell the difference between the original work and Lottie’s pieces anyway. And Leona couldn’t help but be incredibly proud of the other woman for that. It was as though the two women were sharing an inside joke — and the elite of New Orleans were the butt of it. 

Leona ambled through the gallery, eyes skirting over each painting appreciatively. She wondered which one she might be able to get her hands on next, idly tucking the idea away for their next venture. Today, though, she had to remain on-task. They were here to discuss something time-sensitive, after all. 

The staccato of her heels preceded her as she walked into the hushed room, falling into stride beside her partner-in-crime. “Lottie, doll,” Leona cooed, “don’t you find the weather incredibly agreeable this time of year? The crisp air, the onset of winter, the way that the cold bites at your nose…it’s a great time for people to pay an extended visit to our lovely little city, don’t you think?”

LOCATION — St. Mark’s Catholic Church

FOR — @scofflawed​

Leona spent a lot of time on her knees. 

Praying, of course. 

Catholicism required a lot of external forms of humility — genuflecting, bowing of the head, kneeling. It was something that Leona did a lot of, without a second thought. Why would she think of her own pride in the house of God? If anything, the quiet of the large church offered her the ability to stop minding the weight of her own burdens, of her own achievements, of her own shortcomings. In this space, she was able to bask in the peace and tranquility of something holy. Far holier than herself. It was nice to feel close to something that was the epitome of perfection, something she was decidedly not. 

So, she clutched her rosary closer to her chest, murmuring a steady and near-constant prayer of Hail Mary’s. Holy Mary’s. Determinedly, she pushed out the thoughts of the crimes she’d witnessed that day. Stealing, pillaging, greed, pilfery, disobedience, vandalism. The silk of her gloves felt heavy on her hands. Perhaps it was because she was reminded of how dirty they actually were, so the cleanliness of the cloth felt more burdensome than anything else. 

Leona squeezed the rosary tighter. 

Footsteps echoed in the emptiness of the church, but still her head remained bowed. The gait of them was familiar, heavy but leisurely — bearing a certain swagger in the stride. Her heart stuttered a moment and she paused, mid-prayer. 

Dark lashes fluttered open, but she kept her gaze fixated on the glinting bead of her rosary. She shouldn’t say hello, she really shouldn’t because when has this ever ended in anything other than a tender bruise in her heart —

“I’m surprised you weren’t struck down the moment you passed the threshold,” she said quietly, a cheeky grin curling the edge of her mouth.

LOCATION — Lilette (a french bistro)

FOR — @selfmaed​

Leona had an affinity for the changing seasons. She adored the cold and gloom that the winter months could bring, the invigorating charm of spring. But August held a rather surprising enchantment on her heart — or perhaps the enchantment stemmed from a someone rather than a something. 

The postcard was tucked into her purse, readily available at her fingertips. However, there was really no need for it to be kept so closely to her person. The words etched onto in black ink were similarly etched into her memory. Almost everything that Salma ever said or did was burned in there. They occupied much of mental space these days, but perhaps it was because distance wasn’t the easiest thing to bridge. It allowed for many ruminations while offering no reprieve save for the sporadic communication that the two managed to scrounge out in their spare time. 

Finally, though, her longings would be abated. One of her favorite people was going to be within reach, she would receive a salve for her aching wound. 

Her stomach grumbled its discontent. Leona bit her lip. 

Food first, salve later. Glancing around to make sure none would witness her impropriety, Leona reached for a menu, eyes skating down its selections. She had to bite down on a groan of hunger as her mouth started to salivate at the possibilities. So engrossed was she that she missed the apple of her eye rolling in. 

Her head snapped up, the menu falling from her hands as she practically squealed in excitement. 

“Salma! Salma you’re here!”

for: @leonaholmes date: september 12, 1924; in the early evening. location: near the police station, new orleans.

the town is unusually quiet.

ines stands in the same spot she has been occupying for the last ten minutes, half-torn between two thoughts as her body sways back and forth. she is neither willing nor able to enter the police station, at least not without warranting trouble down the line for herself. a vendor nearby glances over her for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, then through her once more, pretending as if he is looking beyond her and seeking out people he might impress with his wares.

she knows that’s a lie. the town is quiet, and only fools come out on the streets now.

new orleans is a hive activity, a splice of so many different kinds of lives. normally, it’s a wonder to see them all together, bunched up as they are but tonight everyone feels the threat hanging in the air.

a voice cuts through her thoughts—feminine, collected. it takes ines all of three seconds to put a face to it when she releases a ragged breath. “you here too, eh, holmes?”

♡

Summer was a rather romantic thing in New Orleans. 

At least, that was Leona’s opinion. She loved the way that the heat acted as a molasses for people, forcing them to slow their tempo. Everyone was drawling through their daily activities, the heat making even lifting a cigarette to one’s mouth something of a show — the slow lift of an arm, the steady drag as their lungs eased out the smoke. Leona never partook of course, knowing that the vices she had accumulated over the years were more than enough. There was no need for her to add to St. Peter’s marks against her. She had to get through those pearly gates somehow. 

With her hands clasped behind her back, she rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet — surveying the scene about her. Cops milled about her, and she tried her damnedest not to catch their eye and scurry away. Instead, each time she did, she smiled at their briefly — a warm quirk of her lips, before glancing away. Hopefully they’d assume she’s here to catch her lover, offer them a lunch and a quick kiss on the cheek. 

So when someone offered her a reprieve from her anxious surveillance, she couldn’t help but look a bit relieved. Of course none other would come to her rescue save for Ines — always at the right place and the right time. A person of good fortune. God help her, she couldn’t help but be a little jealous.

“Ines,” she trilled excitedly, unable to smother the light of warmth that gleamed in her eyes. “Thank the good God above! What’re you doing here?” Clasping the other’s hand she stepped closer. “Aren’t your nerves absolutely howling?”