NOAH

noah-etkin·:

etkins  cares  about  everything,  that  next  to  a  woman  who  struggles  to  care  at  all—  she’s  still  not  always  sure  how  to  handle  how  much  everything  can  matter  to  one  person.  the  way  he  carries  the  world  on  his  shoulders—  a  burden  no  one  can  truly  carry,  but  still  ;  he  lets  it  burry  him.  maybe  the  sand  room  wasn’t  his  firm  time  suffocating  under  a  weight  he  cannot  escape.  

the  back  of  her  head  is  resting  agains  the  headboard  as  he  takes  the  bottle.  arms  wrapped  lazily  around  her  center  as  he’s  tipping  the  bottle  back.  head  rolling  against  the  backboard  as  she’s  looking  at  him  now.  of  course,  it  wouldn’t  exactly  be  a  night  with  noah  if  he  wasn’t  apologizing  for  something  he  didn’t  do.  she’s  grown  used  to  his  incessant  need  to  apologize  for  everything,  even  when  it’s  not  needed.  she  doesn’t  agree  with  it,  likely  never  will,  but  she  gets  it  now,  it’s  him.  

her  mouth  opens  to  say  something  and  falls  short  as  the  apology  starts  pouring  out.  he’s  pushing  his  phone  and  she’s  obliging.  eyes  scanning  the  screen  as  she’s  taking  it  from  his  hands.  she  knows  he’s  saying  something  because  she  can  hear  his  voice,  registering  every  couple  of  words.  she’s  not  sure  how  many  times  she’s  read  the  message  now,  three,  four  times  ?    she’s  only  looking  back  at  him  as  the  bottle  is  meeting  his  lips  again,  a  heavy  sigh  parting  way  with  her  lips.  “  noah.  .  .  ’  head  shaking  softly  as  she  sets  the  phone  down  between  them.  her  mind  is  raking  with  what  the  fuck  she’s  supposed  to  say.  she’s  anything  but  sure  herself.  

brows  are  twisting  together  even  though  a  smile  nearly  breaks  way.  “  you’re  apologizing  for  not  hurting  me  ?  ’  no,  that  doesn’t  seem  right.  seems  like  exactly  something  noah  would  do.  she  can’t  imagine  ever  wanting  to  hurt  another.  her  eyes  seem  to  be  mindlessly  scanning  the  hands  she’s  dropped  into  her  lap  because  it  doesn’t  make  sense.  even  with—  of  course.  suddenly  it’s  like  all  her  thoughts  connected  and  she  thought  maybe  she  understood  why  he  was  so  adamant  on  apologizing.  “  you  think  this  is  all  your  fault.  .  .  ’  it’s  nearly  said  under  her  breath  as  she’s  looking  back  up  at  him  now.  she’s  pulling  the  bottle  from  his  grasp  before  she  even  realizes  it  really,  tipping  it  back  and  letting  the  liquor  burn  its  way  down  her  throat.  a  sensation  she’s  most  used  to  now.  

she’s  releasing  a  breath  that  feels  like  tons  lifting  off  her  chest.  “  it’s  not.  ’  there  was  no  question  about.  “  you  didn’t  choose  to  hurt  all  those  people  in  that  room.  you  simply  chose  to  not  hurt  me,  and  i’m  sorry  but  if  you  think  that’s  something  i  need  to  forgive  you  for?  your  wrong.  ’  her  head  shaking  softly  as  their  eyes  meet.  “  this  is  selfish—  ‘  she  almost  stops  herself,  a  soft  laugh  slipping  from  her  lips.  “  i  wouldn’t  of  wanted  you  to  hurt  me.  ’  

-

Sometimes – in these moments, he questions what he’s doing; where he is now; how he got her; why he let it become this. A kind of saddening thought that he isn’t where he really wants to be – a bottle grasped between his hands on a Faust’s bed, in their home; near enough headquarters to a third of Chicago’s most organised crime. A once do-gooder cop who wanted to make the world a better place as if it could possibly be as easy as just that. Noah can barely look a Blair, unaware for if it’s fear, concern or a mix of the both. The cop’s handed the phone over, allowed the Faust to read it for herself. An overwhelming sense of dread consumes him and he’s choking it down with liquor like if he doesn’t stop for long enough, it might drown him.

Isn’t that a dark thought, Noah? It burns with a kind of agony that the officer’s believing he deserves, hears his name – so soft, escape her from beside him and it’s another second before the bottles pulled away from his lips, back of his other hand to his mouth like it’s the only thing preventing him from vomiting it back up.

Anywhere else; any other situation that’s away from Faust shit, he can be a better man – he can try do his job right. Blurring lines has never been his forte, he’s trying to do it, so hard. Etkin’s futily since becoming a pawn in the Italian’s mafia tried to play both sides to the best of his ability. But then things like halloween happen.

And it splits him in two – right, wrong, lines colliding that sandwich him in an iron vice and if he buries himself enough in such other vices; maybe he won’t feel the pain when it inevitably crushes him.

He expects it will, imagines the expression when he’s ready to look at the woman next to him with the same sorry gaze he wears a lot lately. A changing thing inside him that’s beyond its ordinary apologies; more personal; more involved with this. And the way she words it, almost makes him laugh, almost.

Like he’s still a good person in all this. Because he didn’t hurt Blair.

But I thought about it B, for a second, I considered it.

“It is my fault,” right? Firm, like he has to hear it from her; makes it all real then. Not just for considering it, but he finds that there’s some evidence in the way it had all played out; planned; selected like some puzzle piece in a twisted game and pitted him against Blair, Stefano and the other that had been trapped beneath the weight of dirt with them.

Because Noah didn’t want to hurt even a criminal; as he’s just the same.

The bottles left his fingers and made it back into Blair’s.

“It’s – it’s more than that, it was you, Stefano, that kid, they were – ” I don’t even know what I’m saying. “I didn’t want to hurt you either,” he admits, quiet; shakes himself out of the fumbling – words a little slurred as alcohol finds crevasses around his body to nestle. “I couldn’t trace then Blair – that’s my job,” beyond this. He’s finding anything to say now, feeding into the stresses of how they got here; the number the text unknown; the officer; intelligence, and nothing. “I – fuck,” fists tighten and he lets out what he’s thinking; as catastrophic as it might be to himself – to her. “I almost did Blair, nearly – ” but I couldn’t. It’s not Noah; he can’t do the cold blood like them (not like that.).

An image of himself standing over a grave is so fleeting he forces it back down, leans over the woman to steal that bottle back, emptying between them – might need more, hand knocking against her with some shake he can’t prevent.

He’s not innocent – neither is she, he’s worse.

Because Etkin knows he’s trying his best to pretend he fucking is; wears a badge like it still means anything.

And, the drink keeps going down.

noah-etkin​:

“Coupl’a dozens,” Jacques answers then, all too honestly. Not that his tone gives any of it away — it’s not necessarily playful, but leaves enough room for a stranger to assume as such. He shakes his head, “Ain’t sure yet. Market research, if ya will.”

But what he is sure of, is that the boy stands out against the crowd, odd and bright as the sorest thumb. Jacques observes him from above, every little movement or sideways glance taken into account. 

“You’re not from ‘round here,” he notes, voice low. “I can tell.” It’s not threatening; not yet. “What d’ya do?” 

-

Unsurprisingly, it’s met with another: “Uh—” like, the idea of a couple dozen shots might have him bent lurching over the toilet for the opening hours of the new year.Not even if the walls of the lavatory matched the extravagant design of the fancy ass party place and provided those using them with gold lined details and a butler in every cubicle ready to wipe an ass for you would it sound any better. In Etkin’s case, it’d be a butler wiping his mouth of vomit for ever thinking he could keep down that quantity without consequence. Jacques, evidently, has a stomach made of iron.

You’d asked Noah. He had – encouraged it in fact over the stresses of trying to act like he belongs in a place like this. Indulging in the otherwise boisterous activities. 

Noah tries to fix a smile in place, though it comes across a little too nervous to be anything but forced.

And the man in front of him very well knows it.

It’s a strange set of words, one that the officer innocently attempts to answer with something straightforward: “I’m from Chicago, if… that’s what you mean?” he’s starting to think it’s not what he’s implying at all, but swallows that down with a harsh gulp of liquid. And then straightens like he’s going to have to come up with something on the fly.

Well, not like, he does have to come up with something. Because there’s a noticeable falter in the cop’s gaze when JJ’s friendly, conversation making questions comes to light. I’m not a big drinker, doesn’t work – why the hell is here there if he’s not? A friend dragged me here, Ok, who are you going to name that isn’t suspect as shit? Won’t let thoughts roll and increase the pause for any longer than is normal. Hasn’t even said anything yet to feel like he’s guilty.

Oh, irony, always.

“I’m playing catch up I think,” he settles on, raises his glass like he’s really trying to sell it to the man. “Oh, what do I do?” he repeats it, tries to make it sound like he’s not thrown off – anything, just say anything at this point Noah. “Sit at a computer all day and act like I’m doing something worthwhile,” OK. Not bad. Change subject. “But right now, I guess I’m chasing those midnight shots,” a chuckle – nervous, takes him a second longer to try focus his mindset on the balance of cop brain and civilian brain where a more confident Noah Etkin sits.

Though, might already be too late for that.

“You’ve got an accent,” Noah remarks, because that’s not dumb, he’s not an idiot who doesn’t know who Jacques is as a mogul of developments. “European?” The officer, again, already knows, but he’s fumbling for something to carry the discussion. “Where abouts?”

@crimsonstarters​     /     around eleven at night; anywhere in neutral territory. 

WITH HIS BACK PRESSED UP against the nearest wall, a cigarette dangled from between stefano’s lips in a rather precarious manner. producing a lighter from the confines of his inside jacket pocket, he flicked the pad of his thumb against the spark wheel—a flame igniting only to flicker against the breeze. once its end had been lit, he took a long drag from the stick, welcoming the inhalation of the nicotine into his lungs. plucking it from his mouth then, the solider reclined his head whilst releasing a cloud of smoke into the vast air above him; his green-tinged eyes observing the coiled vapour as it melted into the sky much like a snowflake to the damp ground. the sight of a shadowy figure in his peripheral ghosted alongside him, rousing his attention with the reality that he wasn’t as secluded as he’d first believed. “ word to wise, ” stef started in a seemingly indifferent tone whilst flicking the end of his cigarette—ashen flecks drifting south and scattering at his feet. “ if you’re gonna sneak up on me, don’t expect a favourable reaction. ” finally, after a beat, his inky pupils floated toward the source of the interruption. “ or … if you’re here to ask for a light, get on with it. ” with the twinkling of the stars illuminating his face, his mild amusement was made prominent—a lazy smirk sliding across his lips.

-

He could tell himself a thousand times: you know what happens when you drink excessively, but like anyone with a reason to, it’s increasingly hard listening to that voice in one’s head. 

A hand is pressed flat against the bricked wall ahead of him, near doubled over, head tipped downwards towards the floor and a nauseating sensation that disorientates him beyond the usual. The officer’s not exactly addressing his potential alcohol issue – that means he has to find the root of why it’s there, and he knows exactly why; a cop with a foot on the wrong side of the law, and a complicated relationship on either side of right and wrong. That’s a harsher truth he’s already spent two years – maybe three, he’s not certain, trying to swallow and the pill gets lodged in his throw every time.

And like now, nauseous and paling outside the bar, it makes him sick.

If only his fellow officers could see him now, the Fausts even.

Then the real wave of vomit threatens to come over him and he’s lifting his head from the wall, intending to at least edge a bit further into the shadowy alley to shield from bystanders. Just go home, Noah. He should, really, stop finding a too comfortable habit in the base of a glass – he’d never been like that, always found the enjoyment of after work drinks, right after finishing a closed and successful case –

– Oh, right… not many of those anymore…

Etkin hopes in the back of his mind, the new chief might change that, prays for it where he can’t be the force he wants to be himself. He’s caught up in the haze he doesn’t even catch that he’s near enough on route to barrelling into someone, their voice halts him and he looks up – swallows down the gathering saliva to see, Stefano.

Guilt erupts like a volcano into the pit of sickness and it near enough also spills out his mouth, but he chokes it down. Doesn’t know what to say: I’m sorry – Halloween, fuck. That hand lands on the brick wall across from the Faust and he slumps nearly into it, tips his head sideways just to see shadows half obscure him. “I wasn’t sneaking,” he replies, like a defence is required – as habit with Fausts, really. Justify everything the cop does to them. “Sorry,” he adds, for… a lot more than tonight, I hope you know. And Noah doesn’t smoke, never has – just like he doesn’t drink in excess… The officer’s head notions to the cigarette between Stef’s lips and he doesn’t know why he asks, maybe because he expects a no?

“You got an extra one?”

“I -- but she’s my best friend, we’re not in the school playground so it’s kind of stupid... but I can tell you, it’s not true,”

“Yeah, I miss hanging out with her I guess... and being texted for four am McDonalds rides. We’re both so busy lately. But y’know, I’m just glad they’re not hospital rides anymore, I don’t -- I don’t miss that,”

Open to: All @crimsonstarters​ Setting: JJ’s New Years Eve party (reference post here)

All around, a depraved sort of chaos had taken place. Nevermind Gentille Fille — this is worse and better all at the same time. Faces right off the tabloids or criminal files, or both, sinning away in one way or another. But like a haven, it’s all safe and sound; one tomorrow hits, only memory will hold it all to account. 

“At midnight,” Jacques starts, in an altered enough state himself, “are ya more of the kissin’, jumping into the pool, or takin’ shots type?” He shrugs, staring ahead into the crowd, and beyond all those bodies, the pool still undisturbed. “Imma say, I gotta couple demons that could use some drownin’.” Read: 2020 can suck my dick. A rare feat, Jacques’s attention is all theirs. “You?”

-

“Uh,” Noah’s dragging that syllable out like he can’t answer the question. He can. The officer’s just aware that his presence in the walls of the hotel is entirely off the clock; has to be, because he’s not supposed to be there. He’s been dragged into the party, against his ideals that place him in the centre of every illegality that puts him in the compromising position that he should be arresting most of the room right now. But he can’t, Noah’s simply got to watch. 

Be an accessory to participation and he’s struggling with that. 

“Probably a shot,” he offers halfheartedly, tries to smile like he’s not weakly convinced of his own answer. But Etkin manages to find the will to laugh at the implication given. I can... get behind that phrase actually. But he can’t say it. “Just a couple?” he murmurs, jokes quietly when he awkwardly takes a sip of the drink in his hand; isn’t drunk, not yet, is trying not to be in fact. So he flips it back at the man: “What about you? Y’know, what’s your midnight... activity?”

sinfxl​:

closed to @crimsonfaux​, @noah-etkin​.

there was at least one thing to mark off of noah’s never ending guilt train. he didn’t seem to enjoy the ride, and yet, every day he got right back on. odd. 

by now blair knew it was who he was, and she’d take that over nothing. she wasn’t exactly positive noah’s confessional to her dad would help, but— she hoped. her reassurances surely weren’t enough, hopefully oliver’s would be. 

blair gave noah a reassuring smile as her knuckles tapped against the propped open door. at least, she hoped it was reassuring. the door pushed open more at her taps and she pushed it the rest of the way as she stepped inside. “ do you have a minute? it’s noah and i. ’

He could never articulate the frustration of not being able to see. Oliver felt a different way about it, and he could only imagine what it would have been like to be like this forever. After getting a taste of the privilege of sight, and having it ripped away from him. One leg crossed over the other as he tapped a pencil against the desk thoughtfully. 

“Come in.” The baritone voice called to the guests that would come into his meeting room. There’s a general discomfort as he moved around in the office chair, and he motions his hands to the chairs in front of the desk. He doubted he would need the revolver in his front drawer. “I have several minutes. What’s going on?”

@noah-etkin​

-

He’s not sure why he’s stood there – no, not quite… he’s not sure why he’s still standing after everything. Ten foot away the boss with a practiced confession set and ready on his tongue; doesn’t matter how much thought he might put into it, it’s never without its hitches, nerves a curse that he can’t shake no matter how much he wills himself to; builds himself up to be this rock that isn’t easily cracked with the right kind of force applied – right pressure on a weak spot. Usually around the Fausts; it shatters, he’s not a cop when he’s with them – not really. There’s no merit for bravery in the line of duty, morals on opposite sides of the compass and all he can think about in that moment is how horrible the punishment, the death impending that might be that Blair’s got incorrect, that Oliver isn’t exactly forgiving to anyone, let alone an officer.

The guilt above even that fear eats through his stomach, gnaws cavernous holes in his gut and lets syrupy liquid spill – pool into eat crevasse to drown his organs in its own blood; chokes him in a slow, decaying manner where every vital organ starts to fail on him and eventually, those same masses of flesh liquify to leave him in some oozing puddle of raw skin at the base of Oliver Faust’s desk, a stark reminder that people like Noah Etkin don’t last on the other side of the law.

Blair’s already doing the talking  for them and the cop’s torn from the ideations of how this conversation might end and none one of them finish with much of a pleasant result.

He’s desperately trying not to think about that, trusts that Blair, as his friend would be right and that an explanation – the truth would be better met in the open than hiding it like dirty secrets; acting like the actions of the past – or lack thereof, in Noah’s case, never existed.

There’s a new jolt in his muscles when Oliver’s voice cuts through the room and they’re stepping inside, looks up with a respectful gaze; tenses in some faux sense of control over the situation where it’s really to bury the shake in his fingers at presenting the harshness of: I was told to take Blair out, Mister Faust…

Whether he did or didn’t, seems entirely redundant. And he can’t even figure the right words to say to begin that whole spiel – he knows when he starts he’s never going to stop and everything will roll off his tongue like a Sunday confessional. So he settles on the respectful greeting of: “Mr. Faust,” an awkward, worried nod of his head that ends up looking to the woman next to him for something that didn’t leave them in front of a man with every right to never let Noah leave that room again.

blair & noah.

there’s a smile lingering on her lips as he hangs there in the doorway— like he’s unsure of what to do next. she realized in that moment she may have given him a little too much credit. he was still good, old, awkward noah. exactly as she remembered him.

he’s better this way— bottle in hand, still, impossible to read. lets her mind ease away from the last time she remembers seeing him. though, her body isn’t quite ready to let her forget it yet. 

“ not in the way your thinking, ’ she offered, a soft laugh slipping out with her words. “ but, you do tend to get a little awkward every now and then. ’ she was poking lightly, bumping him softly as she did. “ but that is what the alcohol is for. ’ she was pushing it back into his hands now. “ you should start us off. ’

she knew he would need it more than she would. he may not even manage to get out what he so desperately needed to tell her without a little liquid courage. 

there’s something there that she’s not quite used to. a feeling, not to say she’s immune to caring for others, it’s just not an occurrence that comes up often for her. teddy was always the one exception, and she’s not sure when exactly it happened. during their trainings, or few times drinking— he always seemed a bit looser then, less worried, it was a wonder he didn’t do it more often. it wasn’t even until they started swallowing sand that she realized it was more then just stefano she wanted to make it out of there. 

she can’t help but wonder what had him so shaken up that they had to talk. it didn’t sound great, then again, it was in noah fashion to be overly nervous. so, maybe this was in fact nothing.

“ so, are you gonna come out with it? ’ her head rolling against the headboard to look at him.

-

He’s reminding himself why he’s there. That there’s a reason he felt like he needed to do a little more than just check on Blair’s condition – the Fausts are tough, he knows it, learned that fast in his ever growing time with them. But he’s there because of how harshly he’d been reminded of their mortality, the sand, the potential to be buried alive under him – how he could have stopped it. At the cost of Blair becoming more hurt than she already did, that it would have saved the other two in the room with them. It’s a guilt he wants to alleviate, whether it would do that for him, he doesn’t even know but he’s certain it has to feel better than it currently does.

Etkin, at her side, tries to shrug off her comment – even after she elaborates. I guess I am a little weird; awkward. At that moment, he’s definitely along the lines of something of the sort. Blair’s method to drown him in alcohol, another thing he tries not to take personally.

Consider he very much wants that too, just so he can get the words he needs to out.

And the bottles urged back into his grip, doesn’t forget who’s encouraging him; a Faust; someone in control of his life if they deem it. “Uh, alright,” concession is easy. A lot more than he remembers, misses the nightly after-work visits to the bars when he finishes a shift, hides away in alcoholism and only recalls why he stopped that. Alleyway, mistakes, trouble. The irony that he’s using the same method to gather the familiar sensation of bravery; to loosen the barbed wired cutting into his muscles just a tad in an entirely opposite situation.

The caps off, the bottle between his grip thankfully hides the shake in his hands, nerves that show a little too evidently. Not like Blair doesn’t already know that via everything else. He’s greeted with the stark whiskey aroma, only for a moment before he tips it back, screws up his face and shakes his head off the burn that tears down his throat with a vengeance.

It’s a little late to try hide the expression from the woman, can’t exactly play down the shock of the drink hitting a very sober Noah, but he’s convinced it’ll kick-in soon – faster than having to answer her question posed. But he has to come out with it.

She’s just told him to.

“I – the, Halloween,” he begins, shifts uncomfortably on the bed – only finds himself reaching for his phone, cheats his way into not having to say it when he’s using the same shaky fingers (one free hand) to find the single block of a text that he’s refused to delete. “I’m… sorry,”

So fucking much. And it’s like when he stares at the words himself again, tips the device towards her so she can see – he manages to find the words, and they tumble so damn fast it’s not even an understandable sentence in the panic: “Swear I didn’t wanna do it Blair, I swear, I didn’t, I’m so sorry, I could have saved Stefano from – being hurt, from, god, I couldn’t tell you then, they said – whoever this is, I tried to trace them, I looked into it, I did everything, I… they’re good – ” he’s shaking his head, ashamed to have hinted that it crossed his mind to act on it for a second in that room, but ultimately, it isn’t him; he’s never had the balls to do anything of the sort. Wouldn’t go against the Fausts when his entire life is theirs.

ftnoah.

maisie chuckled at his, a smile pulling at her lips as she shrugged. “ i’m not sure i would say that is my sole reason for existing, but it is a fun hobby i’ve seemed to pick up along the way. ’ her light as they reached him. it was only ever lovingly that she would poke at him. he just made it so easy. 

she offered him a smile as he waved her off, shrugging before hooking her thumbs into her back pockets. “ i’m a wind up? ’ she said it in disbelief but a quick reassessment and she knew she couldn’t argue it. “ maybe a little. ’

“ honestly, no. looks like we both missed them. ’ her eyes searched his for some kind of answer of sorts. “ anything exciting? or just another day in chicago? ’

-

“Clearly,” he muses, feeds into the play at hand when there’s a warm air between them; something relaxed to sink into and feel comfortable in. MK’s never made him feel unwelcome, a kind of understanding that he doesn’t quite know where it came from, but that she’s just easy to talk to. Thinks on the idea that it makes him feel normal amongst everything he’s in that isn’t. Believes she’s got the same path of the law he does, in a way.

The grin only amplifies when she continues, like a child who knows that they’re being messed with and doesn’t all that mind. Smiling just feels good right now. 

“More than a little,” he corrects, can’t keep the humour out of his tone, flashlight beam swaying through the bathroom with some awareness to expect it not to be empty. Though, by this point, he’s convinced it is – besides MK, of course. 

His thumb snaps the button on the torch, the strobe turns off and he pivots back to the woman with the same smile that doesn’t reflect his words; the kind that hides the truth; the underbelly of Chicago. “I think they’re often the same thing.. but, I guess a call on a lead is one of the more exciting of ones,” Noah pauses, redirects the conversation: “What about you? Anything... exciting your end?” 

ftnoah.

blair  managed  a  smile,  muffling  a  sound  that  dared  to  break  through  as  she  adjusted  herself  into  a  more  upright  position.  “  just  sounds  like  more  dirty  dishes  to  me.  ’  she  said  with  a  chuckle.  

she  was  sore,  tired,  and  wildly  uncomfortable—  but  here  they  were.  a  necessary  conversation.  one  she’d  been  dreading  if  she  were  honest.  aside  from  her  little  brother  and  sister—  noah  was  the  only  person  in  blair’s  life  that  instilled  a  hope  of  good  into  the  world.  he  had  so  much  hope  and  it  was…  not  even  something  that  her  mind  could  manage  to  really  comprehend.  so  it  made  sense  that  the  only  thought  her  mind  could  muster  was  ;  please  don’t  let  me  down,  noah.

blair  scooted  herself  towards  the  opposite  edge  of  her  bed,  her  hand  patting  the  newly  emptied  half  of  her  bed  as  the  door  closed  behind  him.  

“  we’re  drinking  before  you  spill  all  your  secrets.  ’  it  wan’t  a  question.  she  was  insisting—  they  both  needed  it.  she  didn’t  need  to  know  much  to  ensure  that.

“  and  please  don’t  get  weird.  just  sit  and  drink,  okay?  ’

-

When there’s no immediate sound of gunfire, no visible weapon unsheathed from it’s hidden position to be thrown at him. He hasn’t even got the energy left to feel relieved – it just makes him think Blair’s saving it to throw punches like they’re training in the den again. She doesn’t even know yet. Noah’s standing there, in the threshold of the doorway, a faux drawn smile on his lips to mimic the light-heartedness of her words. “I – yeah, I guess,” That’s all he’s got, she’s right and he’s not really thinking about glasses, or about the impending burn of his throat when he lets Blair coax him a little closer to intoxication. He’s not thinking about any of that.

Because all he sees is sand, a kind that has him frozen and flicking his eyes up as though the ceiling might cave in and crush them both. Stop it Noah. Drawing them back to her, he tries to see if there’s any lasting damages; any slow healing injury that he feel ultimately responsible for causing. An irony not lost on him about how he only ever wants to help to do the opposite at every opportunity given to prove himself.

We’re drinking before you spill all your secrets.

It hits him like he’s harbouring dirty confidences, it’s taken like an order; Faust to affiliate, that’s all he manages to process. He never figured to make friends of them, any of the Italian’s given his career choice. And he’s lying to himself to say he doesn’t now want to have them, just… he hadn’t imagined it be like it is.

That meant he would have had to picture ahead when he never gave himself the luxury to get there. The good cops don’t exactly last. 

He doesn’t know quite what to reply with, only clutches the bottle in his hand and finds himself listening, crossing the room, eyes trying to find a chair to sit on despite how Blair’s shuffling on her bed to make room. Do you really want to get comfortable? It’s the voice that then can’t win when she’s patting the spot, doesn’t allow him the option to ignore or deny it past that.

Noah takes up the spot next to her, nervous noise that’s supposed to be a laugh at her don’t get weird comment when it’s evident that he knows he doesn’t know how to just switch off.

noah-etkin​:

“Is that what they’re paying you to do, now?” There’s a shred of disappointment in Abel’s voice. Recognizable, and ready to be heard. Far be it from a man a lawful as himself to remain in an officer’s way, but he can’t deny the foul taste in his mouth— at no fault of this man. So, he stands, phone pocketed along with his hands. “Not to be obtuse, officer, but aren’t there bigger fish to fry in this city? A lot of criminals out there, weaseling their way out of charges. Consistently.”

-

Oh it hits hard. That phrase so many want to abuse; is that what they’re paying you to do? It evokes an awkward side smile from Etkin, he hears that on every peculiar call; the ones they have to take seriously, because if someone called them in the first place, it’s usually because someone if affected by it. Noah’s not going to question – never has, the stranger of call ins. But he also figures somewhere in the pay grade, he has to be paid to follow them up, isn’t sure how to respond each time someone asks him.

He’s just abundantly thankful the other man’s standing up, abiding by Noah’s polite request to begin with. At this point, it’s the least he can ask for. Noah hasn’t got a return to give regarding the follow up question. You’re right, there probably is. But that’s not where I’ve been called to. “I’m just doing my job, sir.” Is the scripted answer, withheld is the actual real thoughts that Noah wants to blurt out; opinionated about how he wants to stop those criminals weaselling their way out of charges.

It’s just that a third of the ones getting away with it, he’s helping happen.

“I go where I’m sent, the station got a call and the fire brigade is a little swamped, so as the nearest patrol car in the area, I got the call and a very distraught woman – so I’m told, on the other end of their line, every call is taken seriously,”

“Hey Noah. I had one of the sitters drop off an envelope for you. It’s just a picture that the kids drew, and I’m told it’s a space turkey?? He’s really excited to talk about it on Thanksgiving. So if you’re available and off work Thursday you should swing by between 3pm and 5pm. Hope to talk then.”

TEXT: Hey Mr. Faust, thank you for the invitation. I’ve just seen it delivered. I’ll do my best to be there, of course. It’s really kind of you to offer, I don’t think they’re letting me see my mom again this year... TEXT: Not that... you needed to know that.  TEXT: I’ll be sure to investigate the space turkey and get the details from the kids, sounds like a real interesting story... looking forward to it.

Five minutes later.

closed for @noah-etkin​.

something was up, and it didn’t take a whole lot of insight to notice. noah had a way of wearing his emotions. she wasn’t even sure if he meant to, but one look and— she couldn’t explain it, she just knew. he always seemed a little frazzled to her. putting it nicely, and she wanted too— because noah was the nicest person she knew. she could swear she’d never understand how he ended up with them. just like how she could swear he wouldn’t ever be capable of hurting someone. then again, people did have a way of surprising you. 

blair knew enough to know this was something else. enough to know that there was a difference between the noah that had found a ritual of training with her at her home— to the noah that was locked in the sand room with her. something that didn’t have anything to do with the sand that surrounded them, because his energy was off even before the sand rained down. maybe it was odd that was the thing blair couldn’t shake. not the sand she chocked down, not the collapsed lung, not even her rib. those pains paling in comparison to pain she’d experience before.

she’d been sat up in bed for most of the day. not that she would be likely to admit that she’s actually prefer the rest. she was too hard headed for such honesty. that was the truth though— her room proving to be a sort of sanctuary.

noah’s quest for honesty was less than a surprise for blair and she’d welcome it, with a bottle in hand. one that noah himself would provide.

she’d wanted to know what was going on with him since before his offer. so it was nothing less then welcome. what the hell had consumed him that night? whatever it was had him worried— yet still blair believed there wasn’t a single thing noah could say to her that would make him appear as anything less than a good man.

the knock on her door pushed her to slowly shift herself into a more upright position. hissing under her breath as she did. “ come in. ’ a steady voice called out. thank god she could still pull that off. the bourbon he carried in brought an easy smile across her lips as she looked up at him. “ did you bring glasses or are we bottle drinking? ’

-

His palms are sweaty against the wheel of his car, a leg only controlled by the constant use of the clutch and the lucidity of Noah coming to terms with how he has to come clean to a Faust; one who, he thought by some twist of fate, he’d befriended during their impromptu training sessions. Distracting himself with work had worked, the constant dashing around in the precinct, the guilt of not being able to do anything, again, when he looks at the sustained injuries of his colleagues; the confusion on every one of their faces when Noah cannot tap enough codes into the computer to get them even a shred closer to figuring out what sentient being has Chicago as it’s prey.

Driving to the Faust Manor can only feel like a loss; a way to alleviate the guilt he’s carrying over what happened during Halloween. And he’s said it to himself a thousand times, every formation of words that he can think of that sounds better than:

Blair, I was told I had to take you out to save everyone, and I couldn’t do it and everyone got hurt, Stefano, you, everyone got hurt because –

You don’t have the balls. Noah’s fingers tighten on the wheel, nails near scratching the leather as he attempts to keep control of the car, refuses to let himself fall apart. He’s a cop, he knows his own work colleagues dragged them all out on time. But what if they hadn’t?

Etkin sits on the what if they all died because of me?

Two sides of Chicago; the lawless; the law abiding, and the officer’s got a foot in all of it, affiliated with the Italian Mafia because he had to go solo on a venture and attempt to take down the people he’s now working for beneath the prying eyes of his own friends on the force. Lies for the ones that he swore to take down – never intended to befriend those same individuals like he has, didn’t consider them people worth saving because they chose to hurt and maim on Chicago’s street for a cause he doesn’t think is just.

But justice is a wavering line as Noah’s learned, it’s not black and white; right and wrong that isn’t just bad people behind bars, good people on the street. People like Blair who have every ability to be good but chooses to do a few bad things. It brings him to the idea of redemption; whether it’s actually a thing. He begins to tell himself it has to be, because if it’s not, then he has to justify to himself why he didn’t do his duty and remove one of the big players in Chicago when she was open.

The car veers down a lane, Noah’s arms spin the wheel back in control, park up in a manner that tells he momentarily forgot he was driving and lost entirely in his own head. Heart thumps vigorously against an ivory ribcage, a silence of the outside world as he pants; realises he’s lost, in every way. Cannot tell what he stands for, whether he has friends of criminals.

You’re already a criminal Noah, you stood over that grave like the rest of them did. Noah’s phone goes off again, jolts him back to reality when he knows it’ll be Blair on a follow up to where he is. He still doesn’t have words, Etkin just stares absently at the text on his screen:

BLAIR: okay. you can tell me whatever you need to tell me. just stop beating yourself up.

He forces his shaking fingers to form a reply that’s legible; resists the laugh that tells of oncoming delirium. He’s worked himself up about it for days that he’s the bad guy – always has been, for a while now. That his badge is just a hunk of metal he doesn’t deserve to wear.

NOAH: Say that again after I tell you.

He retrieves his keys from the ignition, remembers her request for whiskey and gets out of the car. The Manor looks like a monster in the dark; a castle of horrors if he were being extraordinarily dramatic. The only way he can work himself into going through with it is if he looks at it from a cop’s perspective. But even then, he only thinks of the sand and how he’d swallowed it that it felt like glass after so long – thinks to how Blair must have felt; how hurt she’d been, all of them in fact. Self blame has always been a Noah speciality.

And this time, it really is him at fault.

Through the late hours, he finds himself brave enough to open the Manor door, a single fingered knock in case someone wanted to open fire at the intruder walking in through the front. He’s prepared for it, somehow wishes it so he doesn’t have to see the expression on Blair’s face and every horrible thing she’d have planned for him when he admits that she had been the target of Noah’s wish for the greater good. He doesn’t know the place all that well, not really, but, like anywhere – the cellar seems like a good enough gamble for Blair’s whiskey order. It doesn’t take him all that long – but he does delay it in some growing cowardice that begins to eat away at his bones; but he doesn’t want to admit that to himself either.

Knocking on Blair’s door is like waiting to hear a death sentence. Just wait til she tells Oliver.  He tries to smile when he pushes it open, hears her voice; calm, not like when she’s egging him on in the gym. He thinks that’s worse. Doesn’t know what to expect when he lifts the new bottle up as though a greeting that might lessen the nerves evident in the form of the shaking of fingers, the trickle of sweat on his hairline and slight breathlessness. He doesn’t want to be sober either, finally, he understands why people drown in it. 

“I… didn’t bring glasses,” he admits, quickly adds with some unnecessary urgency: “But I can go grab some real fast, if you want?”

OPEN TO: Everyone @crimsonstarters​ LOCATION: The Pint

How high are you? The question was garbled between the music and the bass that swelled within the bar. He stammers, “Uh, twenty—” There’s a pause then as he considers the next number with care. No one likes you when you’re twenty-three. It’s an irrational thought that even the alcohol can trigger. “Four. Twenty four,” He finished with a slur catching the end of his words.

“Hold up. That wasn’t the question, was it?”

-

Noah’s off duty – well, of course you are, it’s his head telling him that. The club thriving and he’s not sure how he got there, was it Tia that dragged you here? Blair? Fuck, he’s convincing himself he’s still sober. Etkin refuses to drink at even the best of times, without a good reason, he prefers sobriety. Harsh memories of a certain encounter in a back alley haunt him about excess consumption. But a lot’s happened since then, a lot of near betrayals and hurt that have impacted the officer’s visions of the future. Screw sobriety. He’s sure he heard someone shout that in his face earlier that evening – maybe, might have been himself in the mirror, he can’t quite remember.

“Twenty what?” it’s automated, he doesn’t know what the question is, but he’s certain there’s a redness about the other man’s whites that isn’t normal; a veiny discolouration that causes Noah to squint a little, you’re staring into this guys eyes, you know that? He stumbles forward, beer in his hand – so you’re not drinking huh? It sloshes forward, near misses the man, he’s familiar, where do I know him?

Noah’s mind is wracking over the faces – can’t pinpoint it exactly, but is convinced he knows the man. 

“You name isn’t twenty-four, right? Gosh, I’m so sorry,”

hourglass room.

ft. @noah-etkin​, @strcngerwrcld​, @sinfvlsovls​.

this probably wasn’t what noah had in mind for his birthday. if guilt was a familiar feeling for blair she might even be feeling that now. to be fair, she was damn near certain that he wouldn’t have regretted caving to her suggestions. though, she was also convinced that this wouldn’t have happened. yet, here they were. stuck in a room with family, a cop that tip toed between the line of good and bad, and, a stranger. an adventure this would prove to be.

the thought remained— an adventure of escape set before them. only, that was before the grains os sand trickled from above. looking up seemed ill advise, it was clear what this was. an adventure still, only, a little more dire perhaps?

tension in the room seemed to tighten as reality began to settle in around them. the noise of everyone in the room ran through her eardrums as just that— noise. when chaos broke out her mind had a way of silencing everything around her. a practice to zone in, to try and decipher a way out. 

narrowed eyes spinning round the room. the keypad and hourglass standing out alongside everything else. numbers would be there way out, and the sand trickling within that hourglass was their timer. tick tock. 

“ noah. ’ his eyes glued to a phone that— a quick glance at her own. no service. “ noah! ’ what in the hell was he looking at? when he did finally look up to meet her face her brows were twisted in confusion. “ we can’t afford to have your mind anywhere but here, okay? ’

-

It’s Blair’s fault he’s there; it’ll be fun Etkins; it’s your birthday, everyone’s going. An irony that’s slowly worming its way through his arteries and pressing the walls of his circulation; his muscles feel like they lack oxygen, twitch without the necessary circulation beneath the green Riddler outfit he wears. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach that surfaced mere moments after he entered the room. Noah doesn’t mind puzzles – really, it’s ironic considering his choice of attire. But the door that’s locked behind them unsettles him long before the first trickles of sand ever brush through his fingers.

There’s a multitude of thoughts flashing through his mind long before that comes to light. Because barely a minute after he’s walked inside and the gut-wrenching feeling has already buried its home in his stomach, it spreads viciously to his chest when a vibration indicates a message received on his phone.

Your calling for the greater good of Chicago is now. You have three choices before you. The first choice is to eliminate your target - Blair Faust. This will give you and the others the opening to escape this room. The second choice is you can trigger the trap within this room and eliminate all of them including yourself. This will count as failure. The third option is, you sabotage the trap for the others and you save yourself. Tick tock, Noah Etkin. We’re watching you.

Suddenly, he can’t breathe. The snake of fear tangles in a war with the viper of dread; above the body of the rattler of fear that’s no longer in the running. Noah swallows, can’t stop his eyes from scanning the words and feeding those reptiles that wage battle inside him like he’s the conduit for natural selection. It’s not even the words that cause the nauseating pit, it’s how he knows he’d never hurt Blair, Stefano, not even a stranger he doesn’t know – wouldn’t you? The self-questioning makes him shake; that tremor he’s forever had triggers in his fingers and the voice that tears him from his thoughts and makes him shove the phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, uh, what?” oblivious to anything other that whoever sits at the other end of the screen and the impending death that hangs over them with the grains that threaten to bury them. That doesn’t even scare him like the way he’s terrified himself of how hard it is to decode the text. Etkin’s never considered himself to do anything that isn’t by the law – lie. It’s not the truth anymore, the grave he stood over, Noah’s kidding himself, lost in his thoughts to justify why he’s not immediately shutting down any idea of listening to the message.

It’s you listening to it in the first place that put you here. But there’s lives at stake, not just his own, not just Blairs, there’s all four of them that need to get out. That’s where he forces his mind to go – cop hat on Noah. He forces the breath he’s been holding, doesn’t realise until then how oxygen deprived his body is when he inhales heavily.

“I’m here,” he confirms, offers an awful reassurance to the rest of them that he is in fact, wholly and entirely there.

And with a hit to carry out hanging over his head – but he’s at least thankful there’s other options. Even if they’re not great. He’s not going to hurt the ones who he’s sworn an oath to. Fuck your loyalty Noah. The devil in the rear seat of the navigation of his brain, ignored.

What if there’s ever a time she pulls something; something not so easily covered out in the eyes of the public, you have to arrest her for that and what if she chooses to open fire on you – would you defend yourself? Shakes his head, refuses to let the text get into his head. She wouldn’t do that.

So he convinces himself.

“Blair, junkpile, it’s the only think in the room, right? I’ll help,” he surveys it quickly, pretends to have any of the semblance of the officer he used to once be. “Stefano, you think you can see anything around the walls, a clue, shit I don’t – I don’t know, anything?” god has anyone else got idea, please, help. He turns his attention to the stranger, notions to the keypad that’d been pointed out and wonders what would happen if: “You think if you just type things in it’ll… it’ll eventually… ? Anything we find, we’ll shout, you type? Yeah?”

Oh god. His feet won’t move to follow his own fake persona. Etkin stands there for a moment too long, doesn’t know why anyone would even listen to him to begin with. But his eyes find Blair again and he tries to act like the sand isn’t coming down on them quickly and that the hourglass perfectly placed in the room isn’t there to laugh at their misery.

The place was crawling with people and if she were honest with herself Katerina was in her element, loving watching what people had managed to come up with. She’d slipped out of the house early to avoid any of her family talking her out of the slightly over the top costume, the red dress hugging her figure perfectly and the red wig tying everything together. Jessica Rabbit, definitely one of her favourite movie characters. She moved to take a step, stopping when she felt the tug of the material behind her and she turned, “Excuse me? You look incredible, love the costume. But I think you’re standing on my dress.”

@crimsonstarters​

“uh –sorry?”

ft. noah-etkin·

EIGHT YEARS learning sociopathy from the italian masters should teach you plenty about how the human mind works, but every so often, teddy finds someone with morals twisted enough to contend with his own. he can’t quite figure noah out—the guy pledges himself to the people then takes his paycheck from the bloodied hands that massacre them given the chance. at the very least, teddy can credit his sins to a bad draw of the cards, but noah is a mystery to him, just as willing to cross the thickly drawn lines of the law while looking like a deer in the headlights. he looks like that now with those pinched brows and sloppy interjections. teddy doesn’t repress the grin. “ i asked the question, but you didn’t answer it right. we were looking for something more along the lines of … hang on, ” he supplies, dramatically clearing his throat and picking up where he left off with a cadence not entirely his. it’s higher, mocking. “ well, mr. cohen, if that were the case, it’s my duty as a really bad cop to protect you by destroying any evidence connecting you to the scene of the alleged hit-and-run. not because i’m good at pretending to like you, but because you probably know where i live. ” he leans back in his seat, satisfied. “ seriously, though, i’m gonna need you to unclench; you’re making me nervous. can i get you something ? coffee ? a donut ? a ride to your house ? ”

-

Teddy’s smile is probably one of the more terrifying things to greet Noah mid conversation; often always leads to one of two things: mockery or the oncoming comment that’s invented to make the cop uncomfortable whilst being also mocked. The underboss doesn’t generally make the man feel comfortable – he likes to think it’s not intentional; that Noah’s just attempting to keep his distance given the background. But it’s certainly intimidation that rings strong. Etkin even doubts his own career route when in conversation with the other man, wonders why he worked so hard to become an intelligence officer when all that training does is assist Chicago’s darkness that he’s consistently tried to prevent. And the worst part of it all, Noah knows it; is entirely aware how pathetic and unworthy he has become of his role since his complications with the Italian mafia; that since the day he stood over a grave, it’s never been his continued route to be the good cop.

And fuck does he ever want to come to terms with it. Even if the people involved sometimes do their best to remind him, comfort him and put him in a position that’s not so daunting that he feels like looking over his shoulder is the only normal. “Wait I’m – ” but Theodore’s already on the route of insult; figured, already so expected that the young cop’s braced for it so often it’s not all that unfamiliar. “Alright,” he nods, purses his lips like he’s simply accepting the impersonation as truth. It’s never worth an argument. Exactly why he does it to you Noah, he probably knows you won’t put up a fight against it. Denial otherwise. “I’m not clenching,” that comes as a defence, the part of the thoughts that should have stayed quiet if anything. “I’m fine, Mr. Cohen,” it follows; useless and hardly effective in the circumstance now. “… Should I be expecting a silver Toyota to report something? Is that – I can sort that, I can.” Affirmation that’s hardly believable now that he’s already revealed how weak his hand it to Cohen. But still, weak. Yet, never wants to give reason to issue him useless. “Should I also brief you on any other laws you might hypothetically be... grey area-ing?”