*HEART / LESS

OPEN.

        noemi’s breathing was steady as she stared, silently but pointedly, at a large board in front of her. it looked the same as her board in los angeles, but it felt backwards. everything about being in london felt backwards. the halls of lsea looked similar but where they should have snaked left, they took a hard turn to the right. black transport cars with generic looking license plates and tinted bulletproof windows looked identical to ioa’s, but the driver’s seat was on the wrong side, and the air was stuffier. everything was so familiar, yet so bizarre. she wondered how many campuses like this were littered across the world, and for a moment, she longed to see every single one of them, to walk the streets of barcelona on a lowkey recon, to survey the terraces of thailand on a recovery, to see the world in a position of power, prestige, and importance. but for now, she had london. backwards london and an unsettling feeling of nausea in her stomach, too many nerves, not enough sleep. 

        she sat in an empty debriefing room, right on top of a conference table with her legs crossed underneath her, hands resting on her knees as though she were meditating. monitors lit up on either side of the board, surveillance footage on a loop, data scrolling in bright lettering, images from overhead taken by drones. she always preferred physical photographs, though. snapshots of evidence that she could touch, pages she could scribble on, boards she could take a marker to, thin pieces of red string that could connect one point to another. it was outdated, but physicality made things easier. photos of crime scenes, possible suspects, and locations were stuck to a clear board, little notes written in her handwriting next to them. noemi had been in that conference room for over an hour, fuming over intricate details and running the mission over and over and over in her mind. the contents of tan files were scattered over the table, the board probably looked like a maze to anyone else; the entire room was in disarray except for atlas, with his ‘do not pet’ work collar on, curled up in a ball in the corner nuzzling his a stuffed lion, his favorite toy from home. ciro would say she was in ‘full on nancy drew mode’, and he was right.

        brown eyes zeroed in on a picture towards the bottom left of the board, the spark that ignited the whole mess. odessa hearst wore a smile like a tiger, fierce and ominous all at once, iee’s school crest emblazoned on her jacket. it was a smile that caused the hair to stand up on the back of her neck as odessa’s sickeningly sweet voice whispered in the back of her mind: figure it out, emi. don’t tell me you’re not smart enough to figure out who pulled the trigger. it’s right in front of you. her gaze hardened, burning holes into the photo of the ghost who haunted her thoughts, and she was only shaken from that feeling when she heard the handle of the door clicking, opening, and footsteps coming in without hesitation. “ blinds are closed for a reason, ” she could’ve sworn she’d locked the door. she eyed atlas who’d been alert for only a moment before relaxing back into his napping position, lazily blinking at the intruder. it meant they were safe, it was someone they knew. her voice was rough, quiet, a little bit of distance lying underneath lilting words, “ if you need a conference room, there are twelve others on this floor alone. if you need me, try to make it quick as i’m a bit preoccupied. ” her brow furrowed as she noticed a figure on the surveillance footage on the left screen, a blonde woman darting about. she grabbed for a file as her thoughts began to race; it was probably nothing. she’d probably looked into it an hour ago, but still. “ and if it’s neither of those things, please exit through the entrance and lock the door on your way out before i give atlas the signal to go all kujo on you. ”

        london is familiar to her in a way that makes her skin crawl. the foggier air sets the scene, the perfect back drop for M E M O R I E S that maritza would rather forget. tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she tugs on it first to bring it forward, ensuring the color is still a dark brunette. thoughts of platinum locks feel so real -- her hairline slightly itchy from where the wig would have attached. ‘sol had insisted on pretending to be cousins their entire trip -- foreign & so L O S T in the big, rainy city of london. the ruse worked to their advantage, the trip a blur of free flowing wine & limbs tangled in multiple, different sheets. the trip ended on a L O W note,  body seemingly glued to the porcelain toilet as her body self - detoxed. london, a city with tainted memories that leaves a sour taste in her mouth -- wounds still F R E S H from the fall out. london is a reminder of another lost friendship, one taken by F O R C E. her eyes prickle, irritated by tears that she refuses to let fall. clearing her throat & averting her gaze from the gloomy city outside the window, maritza wanders in search of a distraction. 

✩ — THE AESTHETIC OF PHOENIX & SCORPIUS !

✩ — THE AESTHETICS OF CYGNUS & SCORPIUS ! 

✩ — THE AESTHETICS OF AURUM & SCORPIUS !

a venom as poisonous as it was sweet dripped from the flush, scarlet lips of the woman who thirsted for his blood, and he was thankful, brimming with an unyielding gratitude that ultimately caused him to yearn for more, to allow her fingertips to run along those strings of his that she was so intent on plucking, an instrument that only she, and she alone, knew how to tune. gone was self-preservation in the presence of something so wholly damning, everything about her, from her sensuous essence to the enticing way she could so easily inveigle those who dared cross her path. she often adorned silks and lace, satin and velvet, fabrics that only further enhanced her purpose of desire … but rhysand was more aware of the way she donned a second skin, so much like him, speaking with an open daringness, each statement that perched itself on the tip of her pink, pink tongue something that was far from chaste, riddled in a filth that rhysand couldn’t help but subscribe to. she epitomized temptation, in each curl of her smile, every trailing touch of her fingers that left gooseflesh in their wake. she was all too aware of how good she was at this, and rhysand was, for once, the predator turned prey, falling pretty to the flash of vibrant color and her birdsong, only so she could easily lure him into a trap that would have him dead by his own doing.

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        his darkened gaze indicates that she’s managed to get U N D E R his skin. the rush of victory consumes her like a tidal wave, trying her best to keep the glow of triumph within. it feeds her ego, power thrumming through her veins like electricity. maritza hopes this ends in flames, the heat between them building with every passing second. she holds her breath in preparation, waiting for rhysand’s control to S N A P like a rubber band. he holds on for too long too tightly, carrying tension around like an extra weight. & maritza prides herself on being his E S C A P E route -- the illusion of control his to hold. the real power rests with her, pressing every button to get the desired effect -- to make the experience pleasurable for the both of them. the outside world doesn’t seem to exist when body presses up against body, the spark only a taste of what the two could do together. her gaze drifts to his mouth, parting & confirming her win against her opponent -- rhysand’s will.