b o u n d

As if it weren’t enough to truly be out of her depth, almost meeting one far deeper than even her own debt had left her far more irritated than usual at being called upon as she had. The lavish hotel and the dress that’d arrived at her door not nearly enough to swallow back the bile in her throat at being used as leverage one again. You could have died. Could have drowned. A thought that apparently didn’t deserve the time to swallow back and come to terms with before she was reminded that she was little more than a pawn in a larger game. Perhaps, the watery depths might have been a saving grace from the Casanova and his claws, sunk deep within the expanse of her lungs tightening with every passing moment that her refusal erupted across the lobby of the hotel. “I’m not fucking...” Her voice lowered somewhat, “I’m not doing it. I told you already, I’m done. You’re insane and you can’t keep doing this to me.” Adamant that somehow, it would leave some lasting impression on him, Nic drew her arm roughly from his grip to ignore his objection, the fervent hiss of threat that left his lips gone wholly unnoticed by anyone closeby; a lovers spat if anything. Certainly not something worth paying attention to, even as he reached for her and pulled her back. “Let go of me, you literally have what you want already, you don’t need me anymore.” Yet, the saccharine smile that split his features told her otherwise. “Security!” Certainly not her best moment, as those settled few and far between when it came to Monica Pelletier, yet it was just enough for the Casanova to draw his hand back, giving her just enough time to slip between other guests towards the exit.  Heels clicked notoriously against the marble flooring and truly, she might have liked to disappear beneath it entirely, but she’d never been granted such luck and surely it wasn’t about to start now. Though, perhaps some sense of light on the horizon for this moment, in particular, showed itself in a familiar face. One that gripped at her heart and forced her in a different direction, “Val, hey ---.” Nic reached out for him, the curvature of her palm settling against his shoulder as she sought out something that might sooth the turning of her stomach. “Can we go? Can you take me home? Please?” The succession of speech far too quick for her to catch her breath, only.. her breath hitched on the look on his face that didn’t hinge itself on any sense of surprise in seeing her, rather... he looked livid. “Val?”

It should have been like any other day -- one of those that closely follows almost being thrown clean off of the side of a 200 ft yacht to meet the depths of the ocean that she’d barely been able to comprehend beyond her own blurred out haze. Oh, if her brothers could have seen her, perhaps it might have spurred on the relentless telling one more more lecture. She’d been cleared of any injuries beyond the realms of shock and she’d barely slept, unable to feel anything but the struggle and her fingertips slipping from the railed until she’d been pulled back to safety. Like any other day, a concept that differed in every other aspect, including that which had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end at the sight of officers making their way down the city block towards her. It swelled something in her throat that she couldn’t dislodge even as she pivoted and plowed right into the solid form of another. Instinctually, digits curled around their arm and she stepped a little closer, her small form much less notable next to his. “Look, just.. please don’t question this, I’m trying to avoid someone.” Someone being the shadow of anxiety creeping in against her spine. Relentless shards of memory from the barely forgotten night that painted the police as just another entity she had to find a way to protect herself from. “I’ll..--” Doe hues cast up and shock reverberated features until recognition became enough to force her to take a step back. “You’re the..-- Mayor. Shit..-- Shit, I’m sorry, you were just the first.. you know what? It doesn’t matter, I didn’t like.. scuff your shoe or something, did I?”

azrakaran‌:

prcspect‌:

          The initial offer of drugs hit Vinny like a brick; now he stood in one of the crew bathrooms below deck with three close pals, most of which who seemed to carry similar interests. He couldn’t be one to say no at a time like this. The atmosphere was impeccable, an entire powder room separate from the stalls themselves, seashell shaped mini soaps by every sink, and cubbies cut out of a fine black metal along each wall. It was like a school gym changing room, but fancy. Vinny swore he saw a bunny popping out of the toilet as Azra scattered out of one of the stalls, surely trying to prevent her bladder from exploding.

          “My hands smell like the beach at sunrise. Smell,” he exclaimed, shoving his freshly washed digits in his roommate’s face and interrupting her progress of attempting to make a swan out of a heated hand towel. Jasper wasn’t far, a horde of potpourri petals at his feet. There also happened to be a tray of prawns, or as Azra had so nicely put it, vegetables of the sea, on the counter next to the mad scientist, which’d supposedly been swiped for Monica’s sake. Like it mattered— three out of the four of them were too far gone to care about the party any more. They were having the time of their lives, well, with a stand-in mother figure in tow, but she was more than welcome.

It was the last place she expected to be. In fairness, she had a tendency of using bathroom trips as an excuse to abandon her date, to the point she’d very definitely need to order cranberry juice when she headed upstairs. Yet, she hadn’t anticipated the scene she’d walked in on. Certainly didn’t imagine she’d linger to watch the effects take hold, but someone had to keep an eye out, and she needed an excuse to unmask for a while.  She ducked under Vinny’s arms, weaving between he and Nic to get to the sinks. Couldn’t testify to him being right, even after she sniffed her own hands as she reached for a towel. Carefully nudging Nic’s artistry out of the way so she didn’t spoil the attempt. “Does anyone need water?” At some point there was a cocktail glass settled on top of a cistern, leaving her to seek out something a little more sanitary- a silver flask now perched on the counter. The room was much more appealing than might have been suspected, given most of the passengers were using the fancy facilities upstairs or in private rooms. It had suffered a bit with the groups presence, however. Still there were parts of it they hadn’t fully explored, too invested in the little corner they had carved out. She may not have been under the influence, but there was just something about sitting on top of a sink counter that made you feel a little whimsical. She reached out for a handful of petals from Jasper, before perching back up on it. “The music’s still playing. You’re safe.”

@jxsperlee​

Jasper’s eyes had remained trained on one of the small soaps from the sink for near minutes. Something about it… maybe it was the scent of food wafting over from the prawns near him or just the fact that all his senses had been dialed up to twelve, but something about the soap made him think it’d taste fantastic. He jerked up when it seemed like Azra had materialized next to him from out of the blue and opened his mouth to add to the conversation, only to sit there and continuously open his mouth for a handful of seconds. “Water? Why?” He lifted his hand and let the fine tremor in it shake the soap for him. “For this? I think he’s dead already, no water needed.” Jasper sniffed and used the back of his free hand to rub his nose. Fuck. He felt good.

The enclosed space was much, much better than the party that went on outside the door. Jasper felt clearheaded and alive instead of anxious about the entire affair like he had been. His attention came back to the soap once more, lifting it up to his nose to smell it. With how much powder was up his nasal cavity, it was a wonder he could smell anything at all. The potpourri that laid at his feet was evidence he’d been enjoying smelling any and everything in the room a bit too much. “Hey,” he announced suddenly, his voice just barely too loud. “I have an idea. Do you think this,” he lifted the soap for the second time, “is the same as that,” he sharply turned his head to the tray of prawns, “and tastes good, too?”

@nicpclltier​

Hands shoved towards her knocked the twisted hand towel beside her to the floor as she lent away, the drawn out and childlike groan that slipped her lips loudly despite the fact that her own digits curled around Vinny’s hand to tug him a little closer to the counter she lent against. “I almost had it. I literally..--- almost had it.” Her one-track mind pinning itself to the quick demolishment of what barely consisted of a scrunched up towel, let alone a swan. The pad of her finger swiping up what little remained of her last line, slipping between her lips to rub into her gums, “Which beach?” She noted with a shockingly calm curiosity as the tip of her nose met the middle of Vinny’s palm. “We’re literally on a boat, we ‘got plenty of water. --- She’s cute, who invited her?” The sharp ramblings of details Nic had missed within the folds of her intox as she let go of her roommate's hand and instead reached out for a strand of Azra’s hair. “Didn’t we make a rule about adopting strays? ---- We should get a cat.”

Catalina leaned into the sofa to get herself comfortable in order to listen to Nic’s ordeal. It was a welcomed distraction from her own problems — until the mention of Julian’s name arose. While Nic was her friend and someone she cared about deeply, the line often got blurry when Julian came into the picture. Stuck between warning the woman to stay away but also wanting to encourage her happiness, she never quite knew how to answer. “What did he want?” While a part of her assumed he had went to seek her out to ensure her safety, that mere thought didn’t settle well with her. How a man so cruel could drop everyone for the woman he seemingly loved? She’d once thought it possible, even hoped for that herself. However, that outlook had changed after being shown anything but disregard. “How do you feel about that?” Out of everyone, even herself, Nic deserved more than that — whatever Julian could falsely give her. 

The shrug that lifted barely notable, truthfully, she didn’t know how she felt about it, didn’t know what to think when it came to Julian anymore. “He said he tried looking for me, couldn’t find me there so.. figured I’d already be at the hospital somewhere.” And she remembered, so vividly, how terrible he’d looked, and how it’d pitched something so painful within her chest to see it; despite hoping something would strike him down for everything he’d left her with. “How do I feel about that?” Nic laughed, though neither amusement nor the light attached to it lifted within doe hues. “I hate him.” And she did, mostly. “I hate that he can just.. snap his fingers and everything I thought I felt about him just.. turns to fucking dust until the second he’s gone again.” Curling fingertips into the cushion beside her, she draws it roughly into her lap; only after lifting it high enough to yell obscenities into the fabric, of course. “I can’t even hate him with conviction, how is that fair?”

@nicpclltier;

                    There was a chasmic separation between her devised metier at the Cabaret and genuine thespian wanton, the one ounce of zeal she garnered dedicated to those stuck under the limitations of said club with her. Commanded acts of moral turpitude pervaded the very essence of such club, those who littered the floor plan hemorrhaging knavish objectives. Sierra observed such vertiginous reminder once more, the fragments of contusions bestrewn among Monica’s visage. “Are you gonna tell me who the hell did this to you or just let it blow over?” Lexicon is flippantly placed, the ire that plumed at such sight something Sierra could not help but succumb to, akin to bile rising in her throat. Some of the girls within the club could chalk such abuse up to a quotidian regard, the final seal to a life they were deemed fated into — yet there was far more than an inkling to the fact that Monica was never much that girl. 

Deception lie in those closest to him, and Valentine was far too trusting to see that. Funnily enough that he’d never considered himself close to Azra but the years they’d spent parading being together for whatever reason necessary at the time had given his buried instincts the perfect environment to rise. And all of his stemmed friendships had never been in the cards. Yet here he was, looking at Nic like she meant the world to him. Red flags should have raised but it was hard to notice them when all he ever saw was red. “Good. I’m buying,” he always would. Tired. That was one way to put it. “I-” how would he even put it? “Yeah I haven’t been sleeping well.” He stood and shook his head at the last question. “Not yet but I’ll go ahead and get it if you wanna wait here.”

“Not a chance, we’ll split it.” Far easier to comply with whatever she had left after her bank account and everything she had hidden within her shared apartment with Vinny had been taken. Easier to pretend she wasn’t barely getting by considering Val was more than aware of the attention she garnered at the club. “Yeah, clearly. What’s up? And don’t give me some bullshit answer.” If he’d known her at all, even a little, knowing that she’d never settle for the same half assed reasoning she could spin herself when it came from anyone else. Far easier to focus on the woes of anyone but her. “Would you quit it with that gentlemanly bullshit? It’s just me.” She balked, shifting to stand again, fingertips tucking in beneath his bicep with a short tug to coax him to his feet as he moved, “You’ve been cooped up for fuck knows how long, and I’m a shitty friend for not coming to see you when I should have, can we pretend for like.. two seconds like there isn’t any other possible way to make up for it besides pizza and day drinking?” Of course, her buzz was already filling her head and drinking wasn’t her greatest intention. “I’m also pretty sure, if I let you go order now, you’ll forget what I look like and get lost on the way back,” She grinned, toothily. “take a few more minutes to remember that subtle irritation that goes with my voice before you’re leaving me all on my lonesome.”

As soon as the woman turns two things become apparent. The first being based on the scathing look in her eye and the bite to her tone, it’s clear that she would have preferred to have escaped from the meeting in peace. The second happens simultaneously, the edge of familiarity he felt towards her suddenly clicks into place, dropping into his gut like a rock, as he places where from his memories he’s seen her before. The group had been brought in after a car wreck, but the woman standing before him now had been the only one to leave on her own accord. Certainly not unscathed, mentally or physically, but with a beating heart, and after fighting a futile battle attempting, and failing, to stabilize and then revive her friends, it had felt like a success at the time. Roe wonders if she sees it that way.

They’re sending people to check in on me now? The accusation catches Roe off guard, leaving him fumbling his words in response. “What? No, no—I’m not, they don’t…” He sucks in a breath, calming himself before attempting to continue. He feels guilty having approached her at all, she’s in a grief group and he’s undoubtedly a trigger towards the very thing she’s supposed to be healing from. As much as he wishes to have the last five minutes back and change his actions, all he can do now is damage control and try not to make things worse. “They didn’t send me to check in on you. I’m off the clock entirely, just a patient tonight.” Roe confesses with a wry smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s my first session here, and I fell into the newcomer mindset of finding someone who seemed as excited as I was to be here.” Which was to say, not at all.

The ability to hide her every inner turmoil turns to ash whenever she’s forced to think about it, and she’s sure it’s exactly that which makes it impossible to curb the sharpened edge of her tongue now. Features soften, a hand lifting to wave off her quick=fire reaction as if it were little more than those damn eggshells they all seemed to be walking on each session. “Sorry I..-- this place makes me fucking uncomfortable.” Admitted with a hefty roll of her eyes as she breathes in heavily and calms herself. It’s never easy, looking her mistakes in the face - even less so when they come with reminders like other faces, one of which he surely carries with him. And it’s not his fault, she had to remind herself. Carve it in stone and repeat it like some god awful mantra that she barely even believes. “Excited is definitely an interesting way to put it.” She cooes, the huff of laughter hinged to the drifting sarcasm that she thrives on. “I thought you guys didn’t do the whole, hanging up the stethoscopes to become a patient? Thought you sucked at looking after yourselves or is all of that bullshit too?” A shoulder lifted in pause, “Not that I’d call this looking after yourself... it’s a little closer to actual torture if you ask me.” 

There was an enormous amount of information in her words, Remington knew it. Even though she didn’t have much to say, the words she’d chosen told him enough. It was always going to come down to this. There was a point in time that Remi knew he wouldn’t be able to protect Nic anymore, no longer attempt to be any kind of buffer in any situation. Hell, he could hardly do it with Isek. But with the Faction’s involvement, and with Nic being known to sleep with what was easily considered the enemy, well, Remington’s involvement was coming to an end. He just didn’t think it would cost him the nice turkish rug in the other room. But what they did have in common was their ability to recognize when death was knocking on their door. 

“What did you do? The festival. What did you do?” He repeated the words, his tone getting far more stern than it had been moments before. Remington had always been gentle with her, but he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not while things were getting out of Nic’s control; he couldn’t have that in his bar, especially when Emir Kovali wanted his head. “Then someone here will,” he finished her thought for her, again moving her hair out of her face so he could see her tear stained features. It almost reminded him of Cassidy; of the level of aggression he’d been forced to take with her. He didn’t want to do that again, but her words were only giving him more questions than answers, “Tell me, Nic. What did you fucking do?”

It’s a line she knew existed well before she thought to catch herself on the very precipice. The world that split ways between Isek and Julian had carved itself to stone even before Monica considered the fact that one way or another, it would surely become her world too. Only, this was certainly never how she imagined it’d play out. Nothing of what had happened since the moment she thought to admit any feeling solidified within the cavern of her chest for Julian Sigara. That she could exist as something so, inconceivably irrelevant, and yet play part in anything that could surely implode what was left in her life that even painted itself close to stable, was a pill she couldn’t swallow with Remington shifting hair from her face. Doe hues danced in any which direction that didn’t point to him, the ache in her throat ebbing closer and closer to ash and flame. “The festival, they wanted me to..--” It was small, almost entirely inconspicuous, which had been the entire point she supposed, but maybe there was some hope that he wouldn’t put too much weight in it --- though she’d never been all that favored by hope at all. “The fight, at the booth... they wanted me to cause a distraction so they could...” She’d never been given details, but considering the chaos that ensued; gunfire and the impending chase through the city, it didn’t take long for her to put it together. And people had been hurt --- Val got hurt, a little boy had lost his life... the thought alone that she might have played any part in it, drew bile into her throat. “They keep.. asking me to do things, making me do things I don’t want to but I can’t..-- I can’t say no to them.” And nor could she ask for help, knowing the people who stood to help her, were the very ones standing in the line of fire when Nic gave the faction the opportunity. “I’m sorry..-- I’m... I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” Fingertips lifted to drift across the heated and imminent bruising around her throat, “They’re not gonna’ stop---” Not until they got what they wanted.

Remington wrapped his arms around Nic, holding on to her tightly as she finally collapsed against him. He knew he wasn’t the best form of support, but he tried, and that always seemed to be good enough. “I got you,” he breathed out, essentially picking her up at this point. It was easier to do so, his hand sliding down to hike her legs around his waist so he could carry her. Backing out of the room, he kicked the door open to the one across from it, one that didn’t have a body or any blood in it. Setting her down on the couch, Remington disentangled their bodies, and he stayed there crouching beside her, “Think, Nic.” 

He pulled his hand away from her knee, standing up to grab the nearest bottle of water. Holding it out to her, he glanced over his shoulder at one of the bouncers. “Ice – go get it. Then take care of the body.” Maybe he shouldn’t have killed the guy so quickly, but his anger had won out in the end. And now Nic was hurt – and he was trying his best. “What did he say to you?”

She’d heard it before, believed it before but no matter how many times three simple words might have long since left her stomach turning with uncertainty, it doesn’t this time. Nic only wonders briefly if it’s because he’s there, because she can quite literally feel him despite the trembling of her entire frame with the unforgiving mottling of pain that blooms underskin. Lips purse tightly as he sets her down and she knows..-- she knows that there’s nothing she can tell him that doesn’t implicate herself all the more. “He just..--” Internally, she cursed herself for speaking too quickly in the moments before. Faction. He’s faction. It didn’t leave a whole lot of room for any sense of a white lie to topple her lips now, but there’s no mistaking the crumbling sense of relief that maybe.. maybe she doesn’t have to lie through her teeth or piece together something far more exhausting than the truth. “T-that,” the bottle of water she took from him settled in against her knees, the pads of her fingers pressing in against the split of her lip until they came away with crimson. “He .. he said they owned me, that I couldn’t,” she swallowed thickly, “Couldn’t keep playing both sides without.. without..” Her throat constricts and she’s choking back against tears she doesn’t want shed anymore. “It’s my fault.. this is..-- what happened, at the festival it’s..” And maybe, she’s sealing her own fate, but Nic Pelletier has been tired for years, and maybe.. maybe she’s just ready for some kind of reprieve and some part of her settles just enough to level hues with his, “They’re gonna’ kill me, Remi.” And she knows he hates it, hates the nickname, hates the way it sounds, but.. “And if they don’t then..--” The Kovali would after they knew the hand she played in all too many moves against them.

Remington had been on edge as of late. Everything had been spiraling out of control after Irena was arrested, and the city had erupted in chaos. What was he supposed to do now? Zephyr wanted him to invest more time in the trafficking ring – he’d murdered a faction member and sent their car spiraling off into a river. He’d turned a blind eye to murders that he’d wanted to happen within his own bar. Who did these kind of things and kept their sanity? Remington wasn’t built for the kind of violence that controlled his life, but he was good at pretending he was. Yet he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up the façade. What he didn’t like, however, was when people came into the Cabaret expecting to get away with something. He was still a Kovali Capo, and he wasn’t planning on losing that anytime soon. 

The ruckus was easy to seek out, and it took him only a moment to recognize the room. It was the room he’d assigned Monica, and there was no way he was going to let something happen to her under his roof. Remington shoved the door open after opening it with a key, and the last thing he’d wanted to see was the commotion in front of him. He didn’t lift a hand, instead, he held out his gun, pressing it flat against the Faction member’s forehead, “Step back.” His words were cold, and he didn’t take his eyes off the male as he bent down, curling a hand around Nic’s wrist to gently guide her to her feet. He let her lean against him, and Remington clicked the safety off of his gun. “You okay?” He still kept his gaze and gun trained on the stranger, only releasing her when he was sure she could lean against something else. “I don’t know who the fuck you are or why you thought you could get away with this shit here, but you made a terrible fucking decision.” He lifted his gun and pulled the trigger without hesitation, the man receiving a bullet between the eyes and crumpling to the ground. 

Tucking his gun back into the waistband of his jeans, he turned towards Nic, searching her and taking a mental note of her injuries. “Nic? Nic, look at me. Are you okay? Can you focus?” He pulled her closer to him, picking her up bridal style and leaving the body in the room. It only took a quick nod towards the closest bouncer to have them take care of the mess, and Remington made his way into his office, still carrying Nic. He set her down on the couch, sinking into the seat beside her and pushing some of her hair out of her face, “I think he fixed your face,” he joked quietly, though the concern was still there. “Where does it hurt the most? Do you know who he was?”

All she knew, was that the boot to her ribs never came despite the inward flinch of every muscle in her body and Remington’s voice sounded far more distant than it should have as she kept her face covered, huddled against the wall with baited breath. The touch to her wrist sent a tremor through her but noting that it was far softer than what found her before drew doe hues, glazed over, to what might very well have been the only man she trusted so vibrantly and the heaved sigh of relief as he helped her to her feet to lean against him was pitched in the ache already blooming in forming bruises as she nodded silently beside him.  She’d never been relatively new to the sound of a bullet being fired, but something about this echoed through the very marrow of her bones and there was no hiding the way her own body reacted to the sound. Tensing, she curled in on herself and something of a whimper slipped through her lips knowing damn well that she didn’t want to look up knowing what she’d see, and maybe, If Remington hadn’t sought her out again, she might have collapsed beneath the weight of being somewhat at fault for the body that now crumpled to the floor. That somehow, this would come back to bite her just as everything else did. She could taste blood, the bitter, metallic density not unfamiliar to her as she used Remington’s frame to solidify the single step it took to draw her in as she pressed in against his chest as the swarming feeling in her head became overwhelming.  Maybe she’d blacked out, somewhere between that.. room and his office. Her head felt like it was filled with cotton wool and no amount of picking it apart would free her the heavy feeling that swelled in her temples even when the couch beneath her threatened to swallow her whole. “I don’t..-- no.. I don’t know who.” A trembling hand rose to the swell of her lip, “He’s faction.. was faction. They’re..--” It pierced the organ in her chest to know that she shouldn’t be talking about this, but comfort was something she’d gone far too long without, even as she saw beyond the blistering pain and reached to curl digits into the fabric of his shirt just beyond his shoulder, the shame the bloomed in this being on her was... stifling . “I..-- they’re.. I owe them, but I don’t.-- I don’t know who he was.”