— los partisanos

LOCATION: salvador's office, following a meeting with the hanging man associates. FOR: salvador florres-delgado.

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐃 that she was capable of truly loving another human being. not because she didn't feel the familiar vibration of a heartbeat beneath her chest ( contrary to popular belief ), but simply because maybe, just maybe -- she believed she never deserved it. five years ago the hanging man had been on the precipice of a new age -- a new king to wear the crown. a night's celebration had given way to illicit affairs, declarations of the very thing she never believed could be possible whispered between them in their mother tongues. love. love that could never be, no matter how desperately they ached for it. for one night their devotion could be open, hidden from the rest of the world.

she had hated sunrises ever since. knowing what they took from her.

we'll watch it all burn, mi luz del sol. and from the ashes, we'll build something greater.

she thinks about that night more often than she should. after all, it is she who drew the line, no? he had been ready to jump, freefall into her. risk everything. lose everything. and that? that was what scared her the most. she had taken an oath to be his loyal second -- to die for him, to protect him at all costs. even if that cost was her own life.

and yet?

somehow, her cold, desolate mind had failed her. the mind that had merely relished in madness, watched with glee as those who crossed her fell at her feet -- was drawn to him. and then her heart, in tandum, began to call out for him. but she knew better.

after all, who ever heard of an underboss and the boss, devoted to one another? if the tale existed, it would always end in fire and anguish.

he had retreated rather quickly after their latest meeting, despite a promise made to her to indulge her for a drink. and so, she follows -- as she always does. she would follow him to the ends of the earth if she could. knuckles rap against the familiar wood before peering around the door.

— dame la fuerza. te lo ruego, dame paz.

salvador himself wasn’t sure who he was whispering those words to, given the fact that he found himself in his empty office. his hands were shaking, his breathing was shallow. some words spoken by a snake wearing human skin were echoing in his mind, and all he could do was hope that he still had the strength to lead. he had people looking up at him, he had people dependant on him. he couldn’t disappear within himself, not right now.

a shaking hand reaches to remove his glasses as he struggles to maintain a clear mind. — was he ever strong enough? was all of this a sham? did he waste the last ten years on something that he was not made for? — he takes a deep, long breath, leaning back into his chair and shutting his eyes closed. he runs his hand across his face, as if this creeping self-doubt and sense of weakness he feels crawling up his back could be simply… wiped away. but it’s not really that easy, is it?

with his eyes still shut, his fingers blindly find a ring nestled on top of his wedding band. it’s not calming, but it helps. he is reminded why he is here, what he sacrificed to be in the position that he was in. a reminded from two people that were most important in his life. his late beloved elena and—

ah. speak of the devil.   and what a breathtaking devil she is.

his eyes remain shut, but he recognises her voice, the click of her heels along the wooden floor, the gentle and supportive hand on his shoulder. without a second thought, he reaches for it, pressing his lips to her knuckles, ever so lightly. the shaking is gone, thankfully. one less thing to be apologising for.

LOCATION: early morning, a street by nora's home. FOR: nora barnes.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 form of protection. he's heard the declaration more times than he can count on both hands -- and then some. and yet, he sees no reason to hide behind the walls he's built over his life when it comes to nora. something in him may have always known that it was game over from the very first moment he met her, the way his heart induced a protective lurch in his chest, an ache for both her and himself. he had made it his lifelong duty to keep his eyes transfixed on the pariah's mission ever since relocating to the belly of the beast -- el anhelo was supposed to have simply been a means to an end, a way to get by. pay the bills. and while it had never been meant to become anything more than that ( something he had desperately fought to keep that way ), it had become so much more. it was his tether to her -- giving him a reason to look forward to clocking in every day.

and while some my believe that the oath of protection he had sworn to yamato did not extend past their working hours, they couldn't have been more wrong. at least, in arturo's eyes it didn't. however, with nora it holds a certain weight that he thought had been long since dead -- which is why he takes off running the very moment he sees her contact grace his screen. usual subway route be damned.

i think someone is following me. she's in danger. he needs no other convincing -- he'll go to her side. he doesn't know how long it's been since he last felt this, such overwhelming adoration for another human being. but how could anyone not fall head over heels for her just as he has, entranced by everything she is and everything she does. while he knows all to well that no one is perfect, born to carry the shattered fragments of their upbringing and the singed edges that come with such a task -- he knows he'd take it all for her. anything that comes her way, every trial, every tribulation. but what he also knows to be true is the ending of an age-old story -- she very well could not feel the same. and while the reality paws at his throat, the silent killer of heartbreak, it is a reality he knows he will live with just to be near her.

he has never been the white knight before the pariah's relocation, circling their prey like sharks beneath the depths of the ocean. and yet he finds himself in the position night after night -- something that feels more right than he has ever cared to admit. maybe, just maybe, the protector he has become has always been within him. it certainly is now as his feet connect with the pavement below his feet, only able to hear his ragged breathing as his eyes scan his surroundings. he's been able to see her location thanks to his request for her to share it with him -- and he's getting closer the quicker he moves.

his relief when he finally lays eyes on her is palpable, but it quickly fades away the moment his eyes fall on the other figure. if he has followed her this far away from the club -- this can certainly not be coincidental. it is safest not to instigate, but to make his presence known. but -- at the first sign of danger, he is prepared. while this is a common occurance, his preparedness to do what has been asked of him, he can't ignore the lurch in his chest. it's her. everything is different when it comes to her.

deep breaths.

that’s what she told herself as she followed a familiar route home, on foot. one good thing about living not too far from your place of work. she never liked the underground subway — it constantly made her claustrophobia heighten. catching a cab at this hour on a saturday night was a task that probably would have taken her even longer, which would mean even more time away from her daughter. so, getting home on feet seemed like the best option. it was less than a mile away… what was the worst that could happen, right?

she noticed the figure trailing behind her once she was a couple of blocks away from el anhelo. she couldn’t be the only person on foot in queens, could she? this didn’t mean anything… this, most probably, didn’t mean anything dangerous. still, just to be on the safe side, she decided to take a small detour. while a longer route meant that it would take her longer, she would much prefer being safe than being quick. she clutched the phone in her hand and continued walking.

deep breaths.

after several minutes of walking, nora made the terrible mistake of looking over her shoulder. the very same figure seemed to have been lured by her trail, regardless of the path to her destination. she could feel her heartbeat quicken, her breaths becoming a little more shallow and uneven. having adoring fans was not something new for any escorts of el anhelo, and, unfortunately, some of these admirers were more creepy than others… just like this one, stalking their prey in the dark (discounting the occasional flickering streetlight).

her hands, almost acting on their own accord, find arturo’s number in her contacts list. — i think someone is following me. — eleanora never liked to appear weak and uncapable of taking care of herself, but she also knew when to ask for help if she ever found herself in need of some. there was a pang of shame sharply poking at her heart for dragging him out when he, too, was probably on his way home… but that thought was pushed aside when his response came quicker than her guilt could fully manifest inside her.

upon his request, she quickly pinged her current location over to him and walked a little bit further, getting underneath one of the streetlights and having the stalking shadow in her peripheral — just in case.

deep breaths.

nora isn’t sure how long she has been waiting, cursing the uncomfortable high heels (that she absolutely should have traded for a more comfortable pair of shoes at the end of the night), too caught up in her own thoughts to notice arturo approaching and immediately linking their arms together. after a short startle, nora lets out a heavy sigh of relief and clutches onto his arm as if her life depended on it. hell, maybe it actually did — she simply hopes she won’t have to find out.

“you’re a lifesaver, darlin’,” she murmurs under her breath as she nods in response to his offer… but if she’s truly honest with herself, she didn’t even hear what he said. she is so overwhelmed with the feeling of safety next to him that she would trust him to step off the pier if only he guaranteed that she would be alright.

salvador exited the cab slightly more anxious than he thought he would be. it was, by no means, because of something that was about to happen— to be precise, it was because he had no idea what were kai’s motives for bringing him out here in the first place. if there was one thing he had learned to expect about kai… it’s the unexpected. and he was delighted by it each time, regardless of his own nervousness.

still, he takes a deep, calm breath, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and follows a familiar pathway along the narrow alleyways and slippery stairs towards the front door that he haven’t opened in a little while — yet the familiarity still lingers in the air. there was a time when salvador would frequent the cabinet of curiosities quite often, but recent events made him less than available for satisfying his own hobbies or interests.

he smiles to himself. well, perhaps kai knew exactly what he needed at this time, better than he did.

a small bell atop of the door announces salvador’s entrance as his eyes immediately settle on the hanging man associate who invited him here. she has become a ray of light in these otherwise gloomy times and as much as he wants to keep all of his focus on the current events and keep a cool head at all times… he can’t deny that he is grateful for her attempts to keep him from spiralling down.

Yet, the essence of a man's motive, the nature of his being, often betrays itself in subtle markers. There exist those who lay their sins and regrets at her feet, pleading not merely for the erasure from one's mind or another's but for their utter annihilation. And then, there are those who approach with memories cradled gently in their palms, their visages etched with the dual markings of fear and resolve, as they prepare to relinquish a cherished memory, entrusting it to a more forgiving earth.

She anticipates one of the latter.

Valla motions towards a solitary chaise lounge nestled within the lobby, herself settling upon it with a poise that fills the space, her hand extended to the air beside her. An invitation. No hint of haste, no semblance of an impending transaction—merely the pursuit of understanding.

"Speak to me of thy memory, that I might navigate its depths with greater ease. These things are oft afraid to be taken, yet are yielding to gentler, welcoming hands. And to welcome them, one must need know them."

there is something that hangs in the air, unsettling salvador to the very core. inside this space, under the woman’s watchful eye, he feels exposed. it’s a feeling he’s so unfamiliar with that it causes him to retreat, at least in metaphorical sense. perhaps this was a terrible idea to begin with… but what other choice did he have? he knew what had to be done before he entered the building and he shouldn’t look for a different way out just because he begins to feel something that was so unknown to him. for crying out loud, the whole concept was a mystery to him, but it didn’t stop him from signing up for the procedure in the first place.

he lingers by the entrance for just a moment too long, struggling to take a step — both, literally and figuratively. he eyes the chaise lounge with a hint of suspicion, not unlike a stray animal deciding the trustworthiness of another human being after being mistreated by previous one. still, after the inner debate within himself, salvador approaches the seat offered for him and quietly thanks the woman as he sits down.

“i— i don’t know where to begin.” honesty. not something that salvador hands out to strangers, but this was a different situation. if she was to do what was asked from her (after all, the patriarch of the hanging man had made sure to compensate for the consultation up front), there was no point in hiding the truth. if she was as capable as she claimed to be, he would see through any veiled truth sooner or later while navigating the depths of his memory.

the trouble is… he genuinely wasn’t sure where or how to begin.

Having spent a good time of their professional career in Ohio, and another chunk in New York City, Bez had yet to find the inner peace of mind that came with being outsmarted with the criminal behind the crimes. If anything, they’d grown even less likely to admit to it, thrashing around if it took too longer to find the culprit, just knowing who was behind it was enough though, criminals always seemed to have their way to avoid capture, and at least they’d learnt how to be satisfied with having their crimes firmly written on paper. 

They sat with their stack of recent notes in the office at le Dedale, not for any professional personal help they might need - the phycologists at the police office were good enough for them, as was whatever way they’d found to deal with their own issues - but to meet with its owner, again, to get his opinion on this most recent case. Perhaps they’d watched the Mentalist too often, or more likely Psych, needing questionable outside help to solve things. Their leg was bouncing up and down as they waited, while their pen was drumming on the cover of the notebook. They felt like a dinosaur, one of the last ones to be using paper and pen instead of some handy device. 

smiling with confidence while trapped in a den of blinded snakes was a second nature to salvador florres-delgado. over the years, he had learned to keep a cool head and avoid drawing attention to himself. that, to him, was how a true leader of an organisation such as the hanging man should operate. paving the way for his soldiers while keeping himself in the shadows. the less attention he brought onto himself, the better. so far, the man was quite successful in his endeavours — even managing to lure one of government’s very own into their strange, warped idea of a partnership. at least, that’s how their relationship was regarded by the public eye (including behrooz himself).

the doors leading to the main office of the building opens with a swift movement and salvador steps out into the waiting room, offering a friendly smile at his secretary who announced the detective’s arrival a quarter of an hour ago; fifteen minutes that were spent keeping them on their toes, even if salvador didn’t have anything that required his immediate attention at the time. he notices the notebook sliding across the floor and stopping at his feet. without a second thought, he picks it up and hands it back to bez. sure, he could take a look at the page, try and gauge the situation before it was introduced to him, but salvador knew how to play the long game, and this was not the time or place for such crude mistakes.

he laughs.

sooner or later, they all do.

his smile builds again, stronger this time. akira’s scare was delightfully… tame. salvador experienced fear, of course. he would be a terrible leader if he ignored such a natural and, admitedly, important human emotion, especially given the life that he was leading. however, the last thing he was afraid of was the government, especially lavinia nishiguchi.

— and then… there was silence.

salvador’s smile drops, slowly but surely, as his fingers clench around the tumbler of liquor in his hand a little too tightly. a passing comment in hopes to get a rise out of him was one thing. insulting the memory of a woman that salvador loved — loves — by calling her weak causes a string holding the man’s composure together to snap. if he wasn’t the bigger man, he would have leaped across the table right there and then and made akira eat his own words  or die trying. he knows he is better than that, and instead, salvador simply finishes his drink and rises from his seat.

he lingers, for just a second, he wants to jab at the man, insult him, hurt him, but that was the thing about narcissist assholes like akira — it wouldn’t phase him. he needs to retreat to his mind and think. this was only the beginning. he leaves the table with a “have a great night,” directed at the other man, yet his gaze is already disconnected, as his thoughts begin to race in his mind.

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑. even if octavia had become used to the throws of her father's former livelihood -- allowed herself to take on his burdens and his side-hustles, when the end of the day came she relished in the thought that she would soon get to go home. it was perhaps the most human instinct that the woman otherwise viewed as a machine possessed. she picks up the sound of footsteps at the front of the gym with the keen hearing of a cat, eyes darting in the direction of the sound in a matter of seconds. as she emerges from her office, formerly her father's office, she soon assesses the individual in front of her with a raised eyebrow. they certainly don't appear to be a threat -- but octavia has certainly been wrong before. she'll stand her guard, while simultaneously making every effort to get them the hell out of here. much like the rest of society, she had dinner to eat and shows to watch.

Valla's workshop is a rosebud thing, a space dormant yet alive, small but pristine and filled to the brim with canisters and reels and photo albums and the tools to navigate each of them. Here is memory's cathedral, and sin's abattoir.

She glides from behind a silk drape, her fingers trailing across it, her gaze settling on the man before her with an appraising eye. He appears purposeful, a figure of intention, yet she senses an undercurrent, a depth that belies mere purpose or intent. It's not ambition that brings people to her threshold; it is shame, remorse, and guilt.

"Hello," she greets, her voice a silken blend of inquiry and neutral understanding. "Art thou seeking to erase thy own memories, or someone else's?" A gentle probe into the labyrinth of motives that has led him to her workshop, words that echo the ancient seeds of her upbringing.

❝ good afternoon, ❞ he greeted the woman, appearing from behind a curtain. a strange rush overwhelmed the man's senses; as if the stranger was peering right through him, inside of him. the cadence in which she spoke was unsettlingly calming, causing both, salvador's heart and mind to race. ❝ my own memories, por favor. one specific memory, to be exact. ❞

❝ i had always imagined you to be arrogant. what i didn't anticipate was your choice of a twisted game of godhood while you pick and choose your own cain and abel, ❞ salvador responded, selecting his words and keeping a slow rhythm of his speech, which didn't allow even a quiver to come through. it was obvious that such a demand affected the leader of the hanging man, but the said leader was still very much in the game. ❝ i suppose i could be convinced, but peace? please, do not be so dull. why don't you offer me something equally important? you return yamato's parents to him and— well, then you're free to do what you please, i will not interfere. ❞

define a life, past a birth certificate, past sentimentality, and all anyone is ever left with are the blood and brains housed in the prisons of their own bodies. looked at it from this angle, the capacity to inflict harm onto another human might be what separates them -- these short-lived things, struggling and writhing in the wet underbelly and thrumming neon of this city's guts --from the synthetic creatures that stoneage births from its annals. or maybe it's the enjoyment they all get from seeing someone else do it. akira's certainly betting on seeing a few teeth on the rubber-felt cheapness of the ring. it'd at least be worth betting on, if he saw an inside out, and the thought thrills him some.