hell / HEAVEN

When: March 2024

Where: Liddell Hippodrome

If you had asked him a week or two ago, Ansel would have excitedly said there were few things he loved more than a masquerade theme and launched into a rant about how he was developing looks any of the other Jolly Rogers who didn't have the time or the stylistic eye to put something together that would be up to par but still blend in- a complex mix of thrifting, hand tailoring and shopping for strategic pieces that had taken up nearly all of his studio space and practically had Ansel wagging his tail like a proud puppy.

The day of, however, hurriedly checking people over in the vestibule of a mostly-ignored back entrance with a shorted out security camera was a very different story. "I had to hand cut this whole suit to fit you properly and learned couture-passible leather working in a fucking month to make the mask you wanted." He leans in, smoothing the jacket over their shoulders and whispering in their ear. "If they get ripped, scratched or stained in any unplanned way I'll kill you myself. If you're lucky, I'll take the time to make it look like Liddells did it, and you won't you won't have a heart cut into your forehead. Are we clear?"

Salome might not get her hands dirty when it comes to the work that she does for the Jolly Rogers. Still, it doesn't mean that in hidden, stolen moments behind the scenes (outside of the eyes of the party itself and its wandering eyes), she wasn't in the thick of the group.

In fact, stealing moments away from the parties she often had to attend just to be on comms to make sure her plans were being followed was a necessity. She wasn't great at schmoozing and hobnobbing with those particular crowds usually and... a breath of fresh air was a breath of fresh air.

As was the familiar. Ansel's voice berating someone for fucking up his outfit as if they had stumbled a step and fucked up the plan overall was amusing. Perhaps only because she knew he did it out of respect for the job they did and love for his own job... or maybe he's just an asshole that likes to be in control? It's hard to tell, but she trusts the people around her (for the most part) so she'd err on the side of thinking the best.

"He won't, but I might if your faux pas mucks a plan I've had planned out for six months, I promise you that." Salome was near enough to hear what passed for a whisper from Ansel, leaning over his shoulder (as best she could) just slightly to peek at the one who was being dressed down, "Oh, that is a lovely mask..."

When: March 2024

Where: Liddell Hippodrome

On principle alone, Nikolai tried his damnedest to avoid these events thrown by his family. It seemed Viktor finally managed to outsmart him by figuring out that he was not expected to be at the Royal Opera House for the entire week. So, there Nikolai was outside of his house and among the masses. He sullenly drifted among the crowds, half mask pressed to his face (as if it did anything to truly hide his identity), in search of Max or Eliza.

As trays of drinks passed by him, Nikolai's eyes searched until they finally noticed a piano by the stage. A lighthouse in the ocean. Nikolai beelined for his beacon of hope when he stumbled into someone else. He coughed at the impact, mask only slightly askew, and lightly patted the shoulder of whoever he brushed against. "My apologies," he said, before lifting two drinks off the tray. Well, now he had to play social. It was the least he could do, he supposed. "Care for a drink as an apology?"

She'd been avoiding a particularly handsy older male who had wanted to bore her into slumber with his holdings, thinking that money might grease her wheels so to speak. So much so that she didn't even notice when she bumped into Nik until his hand patted upon her shoulder and she seized up, thinking she'd been caught by the geriatric grabber.

"For the love of..." She trailed off as she realized the face beneath the mask she saw was much less... lined, she supposed, and the hair was far darker. A hand hand come up to adjust her own mask, skeletal fingers along its edges curled around her eyes almost as if to draw the attention there, "It was entirely my fault, I was ducking someone and then thought you were them."

A blink, slow and allowing her lashes to flutter, "I would introduce myself but I am unsure of protocol at a masquerade, no?"

He moves over in the chair to let her sit next to him, and although he gives a rueful grin at her words--"It's the attitude that's the problem? Not the murder?"--he's grateful to have her there. This has been weighing on him since before he and Kam finally talked, and his parents won't listen, Zeynep's already been burned, and Emir...

Well, he wants to be a little more sure about everything before he talks with Emir. But he thinks the time is coming.

He leans his shoulder against hers, nodding as she answers. It's the same kind of conclusion he's come up with, no matter how much he's tried to find another option. "I can't do that to somebody," he says quietly. "Hell, we couldn't do it at fifteen." Life is so much more complicated now than it'd been back then--and so, ever since they'd broken up, he'd made a habit of destroying every potential relationship before it could get that far. He just isn't used to regretting it.

Glancing over, he watches her face. They've both learned to survive in this world, and for her, part of that's been securing a better calm than he could ever manage--but after this long, he knows her well enough to see when something threatens it. "Do you think you'll ever try it?" he asks her. "Or is it sleep around 'til we die?"

Her own head tips and bops against his shoulder after a moment. No one would ever convince Bora it's fine to marry and have a family until he found the person that made him FEEL like he wanted to, regardless of the cost. Not to say that he doesn't care about the well-being of his partner or that, somehow, their being in danger is any less... but... he'd have to trust that they could both get through it.

Slowly, gently, she turns to lean up and peck his cheek, "You're fighting it more because you're hurt right now and... let me ask this, mi lobo salvaje, are you thinking about this because your current heartache made you feel it was possible before it ended?"

Perceptive, even outside of these situations — such as the fact that she and Bora know each other as only two people who grew up together and were the others' first loves COULD — she could read through people's looks, expressions, body language... everything. But with Bora it was far more keen.

"A loss is not a failure, sometimes... sometimes things come to a natural close." She didn't truly advocate anyone entering into anything long-term in this job. She'd avoided it for a reason and she hadn't really had the urge to break that rule (as far as she was willing to admit), but... she knew he needed something akin to answer, so...

Rather than feel sorry for herself and let it ruin her drink, Julie was happy to observe Salome as she spoke about her work. "No one likes a micromanager," Julie agreed with a nod; it was part of the reason why she left the hospital, but that was a story for a different day maybe. Instead, Julie looked over and caught Salome's smirk. She looked back to the group. Had Salome seen something? The group didn't even seem to notice them. Before she had a chance to ask, Salome's words drew her back in. Julie stifled a little bit of a laugh. "You'd be surprised how many people get into nursing for the God complex of it all. Or the job security -- but I think that's less egregious. It does get exhausting. That's why I left bedside and went private."

"Yes and no? It's hard to really explain. The expectations themself were high but unspoken, so any pressure I felt was somewhat self-imposed. It didn't make it any easier when I realized the position I was putting myself in but after time...? I owned the space and my job, so it became easier to say that the expectations didn't matter. I was my own woman, just following in the footsteps of my parents in a way." Salome finally managed, allowing herself a moment to actually devour half of her doughy delight and a long draught of her frosty coffee drink.

Salome's confidence wasn't ever considered low, and while some hardships from time to time in interpersonal matters left her struggling to find herself amidst the chaos, she always came out on top. Now, years later, all of the things she used to worry about seemed so inconsequential that she wasn't even sure how she'd let herself succumb to begin with.

Somehow — so startling to think, really — the subject of Nursing seemed lighter; legacies and families were often fraught with complications that were harder to navigate, at least in Salome's mind, than things defined by medicine and personality.

"The idea that someone would go into it for the God complex and security seems so strange to me. I know people are always sick but if you're not doing it to help people and are, in fact, doing it for money and ego then... I guarantee you I'm not going to want to stick around your office long." A pause there, snorting a laugh, "This is the royal you, not you specifically, I know that's not who you are."