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"I thought I might find you down here." Minerva was grateful to be farther from the crowd and closer to the water. She handed August a drink, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head before taking a seat next to her. "I'm so stoned it took me like an hour to find my way out of the fucking courtyard. But that's because this place is full of average-height blonde white girls, and they all look the same." She snorted at her own joke, dropping her head to rest on August's shoulder for a second. "You know we don't have to stay at this shit. I can feel the farm calling us. We can pick up the dogs, be there before the sun even rises. Especially if you hop on the back of my bike. Just putting that out there." @noxmourners

"That's why you have me, your favorite tall brunette, so these things don't happen to you," August replied with a half-hearted smile. For once she didn't even playfully recoil at her friend's affections, instead briefly resting her head atop Minnie's for the short moment she rested it on her shoulder. She accepted the drink and downed half of it in one go, then planted it into the sand next to the empty champagne flute she wedged there earlier. Despite her hopes, a solid buzz hadn't alleviated any of her disagreeable mood, and not even Minnie's suggestion to blow the event and leave didn't do much to lift her demeanor. "No, I think we should probably stay," August said after a quiet moment, then shifted her attention to the water and the sparse, far-off collection of people wading in the gentle surf. "Maybe fireworks won't make me want to crawl out of my skin this time."

Who: @noxmourners (August) Where: guess

By the time Amara found her--admittedly not long into the evening--August was double-fisting drinks, which currently consisted of a pair of champagne flutes she'd swiped from a passing server's tray. Her attendance was an attempt at playing nice, to show the mob and Nico in particular that she wasn't about to cause further issues and that the Contingency would remain neutral despite her actions prior to her joining and eventually leading the organization. That didn't mean she liked it, and that coupled with the prospect of experiencing fireworks after years spent avoiding them put her in the worst of moods. This showed plainly in a flash look of indignation at the readability of her mood and she quickly tried to quiet her expression following that jab.

The dry laugh that followed went entirely over his head. See, Nico still sat waiting for an explanation, his cigarette apparently the only active motion in the space between them as he took another drag. It wasn't until she turned, facing him fully that he exhaled. "You start by answering my fucking question - why'd you do it?" he figured she should have known he would want the exact reason - hence why he had asked in the first place. If she thought just telling him she was responsible for two mob deaths was enough for Nico to scoot along all hunky-dory then she was severely mistaken. It wasn't August carrying the weight of telling not one but two collective families the true reasons behind their loved ones deaths. That was him. It was the last thing he needed and so despite irritation threatening to surface, it didn't.

"Why's it fucking matter?" she countered, "they're still dead. Any explanation I give you won't change that. Whether it was a contract, a personal vendetta, or redirected anger, it doesn't matter." A pause, as August considered. Anger burned hot under her skin, but she checked it--no sense in turning this into a bigger mess than she'd already made. That the Pantheon made. The Contingency existed as a neutral entity, one who played for all teams and for none, and she reminded herself this was what mattered, what was at stake. None of them could afford a war with each other, not while fighting something else that lurked in the shadows. "I don't like people who use other people as pawns," she said finally. A lifetime of being on the wrong end of it came to a head when August had a gun in her hands and the skill to pull off something like this. "Enzo did it. Riccardo did it. That soldier did it," she continued, tone even. Outside of the military, the contracts she'd taken were people she deemed deserving of death, and while she didn't see herself as a person on some righteous path using a weapon to deliver a form of justice, she wasn't particularly torn up about her work either.

"Red. Always." That was the simplest of all the things she other had asked about. What was the answer to the first? From what she could tell, Stella was doing alright, and there hadn't been much to recover from apart perhaps, from the shock of the whole ordeal and the anger. "I'm alright. I've been alright." Few words, but somehow they seemed enough to her.

Without another word, August placed both glasses on the counter and grabbed a bottle of red from the small assortment kept in a rack in her kitchen, then set about opening it. "It's nice to be missed," she teased. Glasses poured, she offered one to her friend and brought the other to her lips. Tension in the city returned to an even simmer rather than the boil the fires put all of them at, which meant Stella probably got a little bit of a break from both the police force and the Cavalry alike. August wasn't quite so lucky, unfortunately, but that wasn't something she wanted to get into right now. The deal brokered between herself and the mob stayed need-to-know, and Stella remained squarely outside that circle for the time being.

Rachel loved how much August loved Walter. She did find the nickname hilarious, especially because her dog was a dignified young gentleman of a dog and Weeniemobile was very childish for him, however he allowed it for August's sake. Rachel had suggested yoga as a mode of self care and meditation. She was worried for August and her general wellbeing after the fires especially because she knew she'd lost a friend. And even though the other woman had complained she did seem to be in a better mind space. "It's okay Walter, you still do a much better downward dog than August." Rachel joked giving a small wink towards the co-leader of the Contingency. Walter seemed pleased with the attention and was relaxed into the scratches and love that August was giving him. Rachel smiled softly at her words and gave a small nod, "Good, I'm glad." She wouldn't say 'I told you so,' but it was also only a temporary feeling not permanent. August switching to business talk made her have to re-focus her mind. "I mean...yes and no. Also I'm getting info from Rio about things too. Perks of firefighter intel. Do you want some water?"

"Excuse you, that's a low bar. Walter is better than everyone at downward dog," she said with a quick grin. It was a break in her routine and while August knew she'd step outside and the feeling of weightlessness would fade, she was content to soak it up for the time being. A marathon, not a sprint--however the saying went. After a few more gentle pets to Walter's head, August untangled her legs and stood carefully, already able to feel the usual stiffness set in as her body cooled down. She stretched slowly with a long sigh, then nodded. "Yeah, water would be great," she said with a nod, then trailed after her friend. "Seems like everyone is at a stand-still right now. Harry helped me gather some private security guys that are hopefully unaffected by our favorite Gossip Girl wannabes and that seems to be paying off." A pause, and she tipped her head to the side as she leaned her hip against the kitchen counter as she studied Rachel. "Cesar's out of town, right? He's doing okay?"

"Of course I did. Any sane person would. Two different types in fact." Stella's answer came but August's rifling through the bag certainly had proven faster and more efficient. "There's another box at the bottom." She followed the brunette, not much more to be said regarding the food. Clearly she'd found what she'd been looking for.

"So you've recovered alright, then?" August said, eyebrows arching as she glanced at her friend while pulling a pair of wine glasses from a cupboard in her kitchen. "Red or white?" she said, holding up one of the glasses to clarify before she set it on the countertop. They were both exceedingly busy, Stella no doubt more so than others given her dual allegiance. It likely provided a solid, reliable intelligence stream to the Cavalry, one that August occasionally envied in times like these. The Contingency had some work to do creating their own web of information. Not her department or specialty, admittedly. "So did you have a plan after you came here with food for an army?" she asked as she leaned against the kitchen island, "or was it a show up and wing it sort of deal?"

"Gross, a cop?" August retorted with a wrinkle of her nose as she nudged him playfully, "My parents would have loved that." It would have come with the expectations of special favors or appearances, and little room to refuse given her family's very public ties within the political and philanthropic spheres. Even now they still occasionally tried to bait her into attending some event, citing her rank as a boon for them or even veterans as the beneficiaries of whatever charity. Her public job as a bartender at some biker bar they wouldn't dream of visiting did a lot to keep the distance, and she was forever grateful Amara didn't let her go the second she assumed a leadership role in the Contingency.

"She was totally drooling, wasn't she?" She looked at Millie before rolling over to wrap her arms around the dog and give her head a kiss. "Oh hours I've never even heard of. She's soooo cool," she teased, fully cuddled up with Millie in the bed while she watched August. "What isn't in my fridge? I live on a farm, babe. I'm fully stocked." And everything was fresh which is part of why Minnie loved cooking for her guests whenever they stayed over. "Did you get some sleep though?" One more kiss on Millie's head and a scratch behind the dogs ears before she slid out of the bed. She reached out to brush some hair from August's face before leaning forward to press a kiss on her forehead. Minnie was especially affectionate with her friends but with August it had a certain tenderness. She knew August would brush it off with annoyance but she still did it anyway, wanting her to know just how much she cared about her.

"I am cool," August grumbled as she half-heartedly swatted her friend away following the gentle kiss to her forehead. Minnie was affectionate in ways unfamiliar to August, but over time she'd grown used to it, the protests now due more to dedication to the bit than actual discomfort. As Minnie slid out of bed, the dog followed suit, apparently more interested now in seeing whatever might be for breakfast than cuddling with August. With a long, drawn sigh, August followed suit, stretching her arms over her head as she stiffly followed her friend into the kitchen.

There had been no concerns from Nico when it came to August, not even with her profession, see, the thoughts had already spun through his mind. She shot him, she died. If he got to her first? Well, there was a joke in there somewhere in regards to what use she'd be with no hands. It was an instinctual filter that ran seamlessly in the background, call it an Enzo Caravelli special. So as she, with all appreciation on Nico's behalf, got straight to the reason of why he was here, there was a sheer lack of any emotion even threatening to cascade into his expressions. The mention of the entity he deemed as the sole responsible party behind his brother's death, had him suppress a sigh, because of-fucking-course.

August wasn't impulsive, despite appearances, and it generally worked in her favor. The decision to track and kill a member of the mob unprompted might have seemed such a thing, but the incredible care taken to cover her trail and fabricate one so ironclad and utterly believable spoke of a wealth of patience few ever gleaned after spending a few minutes with her. It was why the flippant suggestion of boredom--however unseriously made--earned Nico a quick, dry laugh as August shook her head.

@noxmourners

A hotel was not really August's first choice for this sort of thing, but it at least ranked above a few other less classy options and this wasn't something she liked to take to her own home. Years spent without somewhere hers, somewhere that couldn't be taken at a moment's notice by parents or military orders, meant her home turned into something almost sacred and only for herself and those closest to her. She sat now across the room, draped haphazardly in the quilt from the bed, hand in her hair and elbow on the table as she focused on a text message that came in when she got up to grab the pair of them bottles of water. They both sat now forgotten just out of her line of sight, abandoned in favor of something more pressing.

@noxmourners / breslin

They met ages ago, probably before she made district attorney, and definitely before she got married. If their situations had allowed it, he'd probably have been invited to her wedding, but both of them knew that wasn't a possibility even back then. It was a difficult relationship to maintain considering his work with the mob, but even information aside, it had been worth it. The mayor hummed a greeting as she handed off one of the warm paper cups of coffee in her hand, then sat stiffly with a long, heavy sigh. "Ooh, it's my favorite shitty park bench. I'd never forget it," she said with an easy grin as she settled beside him comfortably. "Good to see you too. Glad you're still alive, actually, with all the bullshit," she said, echoing his sentiment. After a few minutes spent in comfortable silence, she tipped her head back slightly and half closed her eyes. "I'm worried about this 4th of July event. I don't think big gatherings like this are smart right now, but I don't know what to do about it."

Who: @noxmourners Where: the big ass mayor house

Oh, she heard them. Shit, she heard them on the first goddamned night in this God-forsaken house. Their move from their much-loved little place in another borough to Gracie Mansion was for both political and safety reasons, Amara insisting it was probably much easier to secure than anywhere else. For the most part, Breslin agreed, particularly now with a rogue terrorist organization trying to run their lives. Nights like this, however, had her doubting their decision.

"Of course, you're always welcome here." Breslin nodded and turned into the kitchen to fish out a pair of beer bottles--some craft nonsense she'd inadvertently become obsessed with--and then continued on her path towards the living room with Santi in tow. She handed him the bottle and motioned to the couch, then dropped heavily into an armchair. A cat almost immediately hopped onto her lap and she smiled absently as she scratched behind his ears. If anyone loved life at Gracie Mansion, it was definitely the trio of cats who treated it like their castle.

Breslin had a tendency to adopt strays--human and otherwise--and though she knew Francis's mother personally, she still couldn't help but behave like an over-involved aunt on more than one occasion. This was one such time, and she strained to keep herself in check with ever fiber of her being when it seemed he was really having a rough time with something. Pushing was certainly her nature, but she was gentle with him, letting him know whatever time he needed was absolutely fine, and that she was there if he needed him for anything at all, work-related or otherwise. Now they stood outside while he smoked and she housed an iced Americano with her phone close to her face, glasses forgotten in her office. When he finally spoke, she fumbled with her phone for a second and straightened, staring.

As Elena opened the baked dessert he had purchased for her, his mind drifted off for a minuscule second, it was into a place of brief annoyance for not buying himself more than the three sweet treats that were already waiting for him. It was stupid - a thought that had no real place in this conversation, and yet, it was a lesson learned. On both parts. Though with his attention focusing fully on Elena and the opinion he had sought for, he realised he wasn't bored enough to pry further. Instead, he allowed a simple nod, a response in understanding that too knew, Esra was good at her job. It was the reason why he had his own business-built relationship with her.

As the don explained, Elena went completely still, both intrigued and apprehensive in equal measure. It certainly wasn't an enormous ask and she'd done much the same for other people since the beginning of all of this--even now she played killer and clean up crew to every story even so much as breathing too close to the Caravelli name in order to give them some semblance of privacy and respect while they handled the grief of their loss in whatever way they saw fit. Doing the same for Esra to spare her reputation--or worse--shouldn't be too difficult.

"That's good, though," she said, smile earnest. Though counseling had been somewhat forced on her as a teenager, it would be a lie to say it didn't save her life. She could understand the difficulty in opening up too--as a terrified sixteen year old, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with a stranger trying to crack her brain open. Even now pushing too hard on the blank spots in her memory sent an electric jolt of anxiety throughout her entire body, as though prying open that door might unleash Pandora's box in the process. "It's hard, but... I think it's worth it when you find the right therapist. Admittedly that's also something of a trial." God, what an awful conversation for this venue. Elena scrubbed her eyes with her hands, squeezing them shut. What a mess she'd made of the pair of them.