Her eyebrow quirked only for a moment before letting out a breath with a sound that could have been interpreted as one of amused disbelief. “Not in my experience.” Anyone who could consider not having a home as beneficial was someone who clearly had never had the very real experience of having lived on the street more than once in their life. Or maybe he did have a point. Not having a home might have been better than majority of the ones she’d ended up in and the abuse she’d endured inside of them. “Maybe you should listen to it then and get out while you aren’t tied down.” She didn’t care much either way. Outside of this conversation, River was pretty sure she’d never had a conversation with this Silva sibling. 

Sam was involved in some sketchy shit, usually of the pyromanic variety, but if you were looking for anyone down by the creek it was only for less than savory ( and less than legal ) things. “He’ll know…that you want to find out who hired him or you have a revenge job for him?” It didn’t seem all that far fetched to assume that their local pyromaniac had something to do with the random blaze that had reduced his place to ash. “Or maybe not.” She added with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “Hope insurance isn’t being too stingy on the payout, can’t imagine what kind of stuff you must of lost.” 

.

"When people had less there was more community,” he remarks simply. He doesn’t need to go into it. Too many details. Individual experiences are something that are often harnessed but impossible to compare. Neek means that he thinks that having things is overrated in a way, a world so full of things that people think matter but don’t. “It seems like the more you have, the more there is to lose. People are losing a lot lately,” he points out, an all too realistic point drained of usual optimism. Does he think the people that are missing or dead deserved their fate? That’s questionable but it has happened either way and he isn’t the one that knows what, how or why. People are dropping like flies around Vertmoor, the towns population seeming unwavered by killers, gun men and kidnappers possibly being on the loose. Home sweet home. 

“Neither. I just wanted him to investigate something for me, he knows who I am, we have history,” Neek says with a rather charismatic glance. He knows already most of the people that hang out at the Creek, he associates with everyone and has many friends and followers and very few foes. “I won’t be claiming, the most important things are often priceless, aren’t they?” he says, although she cannot possibly know what he is referring to, the body that was taken from the legendary and completely ignored break in at the Vidal Athanas foundation that even the security seem to have all but forgotten. “I think I can start afresh. Maybe this is just a temporary stop before I move on. The worlds a big place, it doesn’t have to end with Vertmoor even if that’s where it starts.”

She gave him a look but didn’t say anything in response to that. Most people were looking for something, down here it was usually Mitchie. He always had the best stuff and, over the years, he’d grown to like River which worked out in her favor when it came to getting the best deal. Her eyes roamed over his features and had to wonder how unfortunate it was to be related to someone like Bluebell. The two hardly seemed similar and she had to assume he didn’t realize how horrible the other was or maybe they were both horrible - she hardly knew him at all. “So you homeless now?” River asked, not much emotion behind the words. Having a house burn down was not ideal in any way but she was sure someone like Neek, with all his connections, was hardly hurting because of it.

At his words, River took another hit, watching him in a way that hovered between interested and bored with the interaction. “Curly hair with a lighter.” She scoffed, her lips curling into a smirk that could have been warm but wasn’t. “You just described over half the guys I see here.” Tapping her spliff out, light eyes trained on the smoldering end of it before speaking once more. “The name does sound familiar though. Been to a few parties with a Sam like that before. What do you need with him?” The brunette asked, her curiosity getting the better of her in the moment. Sam was someone she recognized but River wasn’t that easy to get info from.

.

"Having a home can be overrated,” Neek said quickly, the same charming and utterly passive expression on his face. He was known for being able to talk to anyone, he was born to be a socialite but rebuked it at every step unlike his sister whom he had never understood. He had felt like he was part of a litter growing up rather than the son of two empowered people and he had loathed the emotion of always wanting more. “I’ve decided to go back to basics all things considered, I’d say this was the universe telling me that it’s about time that I take up pitch somewhere else and stop leeching off of modern society.”

He ran a hand through his raven hair, dark eyes watching her as she responded. He knew that if she understood who he was talking about that she should already know what it was that he was after. He made his involvement with the community his business and he had gained friends and allies from the bottom to the top of the pile in Vertmoor (not ranked by himself, of course). “I’ve heard that he knows a thing or two about how fires start. If you see him let him know that I was asking about him. He’ll know what that means.”

… .

and there it was. neek silva, further proving his status as a bell-ringer. neek silva, putting his own platform above all. even before the man had stolen his father’s body, demir had a distaste for him. he held himself in high regard. he held himself as the hero vertmoor needed. and yet, he was no more or less man than demir was. he was no more or less man than vidal was. he was no more or less man than anybody who worked within the foundation that he so detested. and he would never admit it. but there was a fragment that was just as despicable. the only difference between his despicable fragment and the despicable heart of the many was that his had a martyrdom about it. but was it truly such a martyr ? would it die for its causes ? even if it would, would it die for its causes out of genuine care ? or out of desperation to prove that it was the only heart left within vertmoor ?

“ a guilt-trip does not make a successful protest, ” he stated. “ it is just as reprehensible to attend out of guilt as it is to not. perhaps more so. ” and that was not even beginning to delve into why some may not be able to turn up, why some would hear the words of neek ringing through their minds as they were housebound for ample cause. “ if you long for the people to listen, the crowd must be impassioned. a half-hearted crowd whispers. what good has that ever done, silva ? ”

he would not bring his father up. that would do nothing but muddy it all. demir was not meant to know that neek silva had what remained of aydin arslan. neek silva certainly wasn’t meant to know all of the arslans knew. the knowledge was better if kept silent around the man and all those he associated with. what they could do of all the possibilities they were still debating worked far better without neek’s knowledge. as far as the other man was concerned, he was two steps ahead of them. as far as the other man was concerned, he knew far more than any of the arslans combined.

*

"a conscience is a strange thing, demir. some people are born with one heavier than the earth and others with none at all. sometimes you have to remind them what they’re missing. i might as well tell them.”

he folded closed a piece of paper that he was holding, sliding it into the pocket of his worn brown suede jacket easily. neek was known for being passionate and parading his beliefs and whatever else he deemed necessary for the world to see but that did not mean he thought anyone else was a lesser person; they simply had not seen the light, sense, the path ahead. perhaps one day he would be able to shine the light that would show them the way to go but only if they would open their eyes to it. he was sure that somewhere deep inside demir was a good person too but it was well hidden and in the world they lived in perhaps it was easier to dance a dance of pretence but he did not want it. 

he knew already that news spread quickly and that few of those present would keep their mouth closed. he had never expected them to. the thing about neek was that he did not hold his tongue and he did not keep secrets, he was not aiming to be manipulative with information that he had. it was what it was and he would not hide from it, “will you listen to me or are you full of that arslan pride that we know too well? isn’t it strange to live in the shadow of a man that you already know is a ghost? it seems a waste to me. you could be a great man but when you’re pretending to be a loving son, you will only ever be a mediocre one.”

he had swiped the key card earlier that day although he had likely not needed to, he was a well liked individual. the residents of vertmoor all but ate his words and his colleagues rallied in corners where they would not be heard to pledge their allegiance to his movement. he did not see himself as some great hero but maybe heroism and bravery would come along the way. all he needed was time and he had bided away so well to make sure that he would have enough. he had slaved against every fibre of his being to be a dedicated member of the vidal atahans foundation. every part of him wanted to revolt and yet he stayed. 

It was true that some would say he too was INSANE, he had stolen a body from a devious and questionable foundation that seemed to know no limits in their experimentation. It was clear that at least they were limited to being unable to revive the dead judging by the corpse that was now in his basement waiting for an opportune time to show the world how truly awful things had gotten. For years he had been hell bent on exposing the foundation and everything it stood for but now he saw clearly with wide open eyes that corruption ran deep as if flowing through the water or crushed into Vertmoors strawberry jam. Nobody had escaped it even if they thought they were merely onlookers.

He stood in Vertmoor’s town square, the very spot that Summer Fest normally began but it had ended a long time ago and now it was the perfect spot for him to discuss the issues on his mind, “And we’ll be gathering here, in this very spot at around three o’clock to begin the march against human trafficking. Remember, if you don’t turn up then you’re contributing to the common evil that holds us back in this world.”

erebus popped the lollipop into his mouth forgetting about counting the licks, it was pointless now that he had company. he supposed talking to himself in a random bench on the outside just asked people to approach him. finding himself had proven to be a lot harder than he had expected. how can he begin to find his true self when he didn’t feel lost in the first place. he’d dived into the tootsie pop commercial strategy as a way of disconnecting with everything. how many people of his age chose to figure out how many licks to the center, if not for an existential crisis.

“they aren’t mutually exclusive, but i’m the common denominator so in this case they do have to do with each other.” erebus bit down on the lollipop, feeling himself get down onto the chewy center. “no. sure, experiences allow you to pick things from it to grow and create new things. however, i don’t believe you need some sort of foundation to become something.” erebus laughed, thinking about his father and his sister. they wre his foundation, the base this person spoke of. yet he wouldn’t blame this on emilio, saving her had always been his priority. it was just funny how by trying saving her he had lost himself. 

.

"The idea of the Tabula Rasa. Before our senses come into contact with things we know nothing. We are born a blank slate and everything that comes after is what we encounter in this realm of existence,” Neek points out. It is an age old argument that will not be settled through two dark haired men batting back and forth about their view on the world but it is something that exists and is processed all the same. Neek could argue all day for the good of the world but this was not for the good of anything, it was simply a conversation. 

As a psychological study, he was sure, Erebus would be a perfect candidate when it came to relating brain activity to speech and actions. Perhaps with a heart monitor attached and the monitoring of his pulse it would become clear whether anything he said was true or dignified with the bodily response of being not-so-true simply because he wasn’t quite himself. Neek had always been interested in the twins mainly because it was so odd to see two so alike when one had all the natural markers of some kind of sociopathy or psychopathy while the other lived only to imitate. There were some benefits of having experience inside the foundation, small insights he latched onto about the children that Vidal raised and other people who had ended up in the mix. Still, he did not have a full picture and he rallied for it so. 

“What is it about yourself that you feel you have picked to grow and create new things, Erebus?” he asks, no feigned interest. He does not pretend when something does not suit him. He simply stands there with his lips turned upward in an interested smile, nothing faux about him or his actions at any one given time. There is something so calm about his stance as if nothing in the world can touch him and yet he is touched by everything that seems evil and wrong, his constant campaigning a way of life now; a full time career. “You can change any time you want to, that’s the fantastic thing about life,” he says it knowingly, a grin now, “One moment to the next you can be a completely different person.”

in front of him lay the holy grail of holy grail. every piece carefully selected from the ten pound bag he had bought. he had filled a couple of bowls across his apartment with the ones he’d deemed subpar, knowing that he wouldn’t let them go to waste. now sitting down on a bench somewhere in nature he began to unwrap one of them, eyes calculating it slowly. he’d posed this question to himself when he was a tiny child, wondering how true the commercial was. the center was filled with incredible chocolate taffy, making the wait worth it. however, it wasn’t the center that mattered at all, o no.

“what truly matters is how many licks it takes to get to it,” he whispered to himself, giving the tootsie pop its first lick. emilio had told him to find himself, to decide who he truly was rather than who he forced himself to be. unsure about whether such an idea could become true, because he’d been this way forever. “what if i’ve become what i’ve created.”

He found the Athanas children interesting mainly because even a man like him couldn’t derive exactly what had been done to them but in some way or another they had been distinctly moulded and altered. Vidal Athanas had been an employer who left nothing to chance and even Neek had been unable to outsmart him in the end, little blood sucking insects like Louis clinging to the source and swallowing corruption like a meal. They could never be squashed but Neek believed more than ever that there was a place in this world that would allow them to see all thee things wrong with their outlook. It was just a matter of time.

There was something rather off putting about Erebus’ words but it was merely a byproduct of the strange person he had been raised to be. Neek did not see yet what the purpose of most of the children was but he was almost certain that Vidal had one. He wasn’t the type of man to do something for nothing in return, not even adopt. “I doubt that has much to do with lollipops although you should be careful not to lose too many teeth,” Neek warned, a passive expression on his face although he was somewhat interested, “To create something then you have to know it first, there has to be some sort of base idea. You can’t become something you’ve never experienced or been told about by some source outside of yourself.”

flaws/strengths - bold which applies to your character

littleredridinghxxd:

“Actually I’ve seen a few second gender reveal parties where the family sheds the child’s old identity and introduces their true one, so should that be the case I’m more than happy to support my child in that way,” Azra countered, “And in that case, I don’t think that it would look stupid at all, and should that be the case where it’s needed, it’s a good way to fuck the patriarchy’s normal standards while still keeping a celebratory tone.”

"Well, you’re entitled to your opinion.” Neek simply decided not to comment. He thought it all sounded incredibly stupid, over complicated and added to the patriarchal system that women like Azra thought they were so against. What was the point of a party about who you had always been? Oh well, it seemed that everyone in Vertmoor was far more interested in parties than anything meaningful and of substance. They probably could of saved planet Earth if they put all the event money into doing something useful. “Are you going to give birth naturally?”

Bluebell liked to think she lived a rather uncomplicated life. She had all she wanted and essentially made her own book of rules, never having strayed from the path she set for herself. However, a complication that sort of came with the package was Neek. Bluebell was not close with her siblings, not since she had been a child. Neek, however, was a whole new level of not close. She could feel how much he despised her way of living, and while she liked to think she couldn’t care less about how he lived his life, he left her bitter.

“Oh yes, Neek Silva, just in time to save the world.” Bluebell rolled her eyes at her brother. She simply could not handle him and the way he thought about things. “Maybe you should just write the history books if you’re so worried about being on the right side of history, brother.”

“One day I’d love to write about the history of Vertmoor, I’ll find the time somehow. Maybe after Wednesday night dinner with our parents. I must have more time than you, you’ve been missed lately, Bluebell. I understand that being an Instagram Influencer is a full time job but it’d be nice to remember the little people like your parents.”

Neek Silva was the definition of a social justice warrior who would do anything to prove his point. He never said anything to be cruel but he also didn’t beat around the bush, each of his points often accompanied by the same dashing smile. He was born with a face that could make people believe in him and worship at his temple as if he were someone of great importance and he used that to his advantage. Never did he believe that he did a thing wrong in the process of campaigning for what he thought was right but there was no space for other opinion, only what he deemed meaningful and important really mattered in the end. 

His dark brows raised as he awaited her response but he wasn’t phased, knowing already that her response could never affect him because she was too vain and materialistic to even be a real human existing in his world and his mind. “Have you taken my recommendations on cutting down on your hairspray usage? I really think it’d make a difference to the planet.”

It was a rainy day in Vertmoor, which always managed to put the blonde in a bit of a gloomy mood. Rain meant that working out outside and soaking up a bit of sun was near impossible; at least for someone who wasn’t fond of others seeing her with her usually maintained blonde hair dripping wet. So, instead of going for a run or sitting in the garden, she’d grabbed her favorite yellow raincoat and a bubble umbrella and headed to the grocery store. Sometimes she wondered how her siblings even survived staying at the house on the hill. The fridge always seemed suspiciously empty. Flowered reusable shopping bags filled to the brim draped over the arm not holding her umbrella, Belva doesn’t even notice Neek until he speaks up. The blonde’s blue eyes widen at his little speech, not an altogether unfamiliar character trait for the man, and she pauses as she shifts her weight to one hip.

“Do you really think they’ll write about us?” There’s a hint of shock in her voice, perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed. Had she pictured herself mentioned in writing one day? Yes, in magazines and perhaps a memoir, but never a history book. Something resembling a frown tugs at her painted lips as the rain continues to fall around them. “That would have been nice, I guess.” It’s hard to imagine a world in which Vidal Athanas hadn’t created this strange world that they lived in; it seemed that even after his death he was still controlling things.

"It seems like something to write about. A scientific woe that we’ll learn from for years to come that resulted in a murder. It’s a shame, what happened, even the worst of people deserves their day in court instead of someone taking it into their own hands.”

There was no real sadness and yet a sense of ingenuity that lingered wherever he went, something sincere in his expression that his sisters had never quite inherited in the same way. Whatever was in Neek Silva’s veins was definitely not something that could be passed on through generations, the spring in his step belonging to him alone and all his ideals shrouded around like a mist that made it impossible to see the dark truths that even the best intentions did not always lead to a happy ending. He held his a box of peaches in his hand, a small but obviously real smile on his face as if he hadn’t been talking of such sordid affairs. The world was full of pain and suffering but it never really affected him, he was too busy trying to put it right to be concerned with the small detail of adjusting his tone. His lips lifted in the corners, “You look like you’re doing well. That’s the thing about psychological damage, apparently it actually increases your ability to bounce back. It’s called emotional resilience.”

He slid the packet of peaches into his basket and turned to grab a box of the famous Vertmoor strawberries, it was odd that perhaps that was the one thing he debated over being positive or negative. Did the emotional harms that occurred as a result of those strawberries being grown in that town outweigh the joy that the exact same action brought to many? To be concerned with so many things was a chore and yet one of his greatest joys in life. His dark eyebrows rose slightly, “How is my sister doing, Belva?”