thimble full of sorrow

the truth is, he’s not big on drinking. even when he does, he rarely drinks to get drunk. it feels too close to being out of control and he’s been to enough meetings to know that it only takes one mistake to fall back to old habits. so he answers with a shrug, as though to say it’s not a big deal. sure - he supposes that everyone in a mob normally comes out to a club after a good ol’ shooting. 

tritin’s response is almost endearing, and just enough to make him imagine them in a hoodie. almost wants to see it, though he stops himself from letting that slip out, too. 

“sorry,” he says, feeling silly all of a sudden. “it doesn’t really matter what i think anyway. i’m nobody important.” and he’s usually so good with his words when he’s in meetings, feeling powerful in his clean armani suits. he’s not sure why he feels so powerless here. 

“can i be honest with you?” vincent asks after a moment, fully prepared for tristin to walk away from this, from him. but then again, what does he have to lose? “i don’t really know why i’m here. i thought it might help, being around people. i can’t sleep and it’s like, really quiet at my place. i don’t even like to drink. i don’t know why i ordered this,” he lets out a laugh, even if it doesn’t sound quite as happy as he’d like it to. 

“i’ve seen people die before. friends. you’d think i’d be used to it by now.” 

the apology is unwarranted, unbidden, and tristin’s brows raise in surprise. i’m nobody important. they could certainly push back against that, and there’s already an argument on their tongue. but the words remain stuck in the back of their throat; their interactions with vincent have been limited in their depth. this --- this is new territory, and what right does tristin have to speak about importance when they don’t truly know every detail about vincent?

they wish to know more. but that question never reaches their lips; it’s a thought tucked away until a better moment.

and yet, perhaps they don’t have to ask at all; vincent drops his confession willingly, and tristin swallows, swallows, swallows. 

how many times did they replay rafael’s comms before the sudden, deadly silence? how many times did his roar echo in their dreams? 

“it’s ---- it’s not easy, getting used to it.” their words are slow, quiet, and they’re not even sure vincent can hear them over the pulsating music. “i’m not used to it, and i’ve been --- intertwined with the environment for years now.” 

they glance at the drink again, licking their lips. there’s no longer a desire to finish it. it won’t settle the burn in the back of their throat; they’ve experienced this too many time before to convince themself otherwise.

“but it’s harder when you’re not familiar with the violence, when you haven’t seen it, and --- there have been plenty of times i couldn’t sleep either. that i hoped so many different things would work.”

they keep running the mayor’s speech over and over.

it’s half foolish to be conducting a search out in the open, tracking faces and names in the background as they rewind the footage from that day, but they figure if they make a mistake, it would only lead to the cafe. the computer and tablet are disposable; this will be its only use in its lifetime.

and they know zeus will wish for information as soon as possible.

if anyone were to look over their shoulder, they would only view the video, and their incessant replay. if they glance to the tablet, they may see only the google page of already public information. but hidden from view is the system running through the police database, collecting pictures and names and badge numbers. tristin’s already committing these details to memory, but they will be sorted out for easy digestion by olympus soon enough.

they suddenly glance up, a lingering sense that they are being watched. and they meet the gaze of another familiar face. the smile tristin shares is small, courteous. they slowly start clicking out of windows without breaking their stare.

“you look like you’re searching for company. there’s an open seat for the taking, if you so wish.”

Phoebe’s eyes stayed locked on Tristin. If it were not so soon after the ball, she might’ve simply told security to be sure they got nowhere near the back room. To keep them strictly in the public spaces of the club and keep an eye on them herself. But tonight she wasn’t willing to let any Olympian linger for too long. Especially when the way they froze when the pair’s eyes met. As if pulling up the past. 

The moment broke with a silent challenge being returned. As Tristin stepped back into the crowd, Phoebe resisted the urge to sigh and stepped after them. Whatever reason had brought him here tonight, however innocent or not, it ended now. 

“Tristin.” Her voice carried despite being quiet, her eyes not leaving the other’s. “What do you want?”

They kept the space between them, allowing one to two people to block her path to them. They understood how surrounded they were, that with one motion, Phoebe could remove them from the club. Or perhaps she would grab their arm and drag them before Hades. So they allowed the distance, and hoped it would remain for as long as they needed.

“I’m here for the music,” they responded, loud enough for Phoebe to hear. “This place always allowed my head to clear. Stop thinking for a while.” And there existed truth to the statement. Their presence wasn’t unknown when Olympus was whole, before it split into two. But it had been ages since then, and they knew it wasn’t an excuse Phoebe would believe. Still, she couldn’t yet accuse them of lying. “Believe it or not, I’m not here to do harm.”

nervousness is never something he tries to show. so he does have to admit it feels a little strange to be nervous around tristin, of all people, who isn’t a client, or someone above him, or someone who he should be careful of. so he vaguely knows what that means but chooses to ignore it, in fear that it might end up backfiring. again. 

still, he feels a rush of relief as tristin engages because he’d been prepared for a much less friendly response. “yeah, work,” he repeats himself, feeling the tension behind the word. work. sometimes he wondered if it was worth it all, but he couldn’t let himself go down that road, which was precisely the reason he was here. 

“i guess. i’m not really trying to get drunk but i think it could probably use a half a shot more. here - you can try it.” he says, offering them the glass and using that as an excuse to give the other a quick glance, head to toe. 

“you know, i always thought people who, um, did your kind of job wore big baggy hoodies and one of those huge glasses. but then again, i used to be pretty into mr. robot.” he smiles back, finally, “what i’m saying is that you look nice today, too.” 

the work the two of them delve into is different, but it might weigh the same by the way vincent repeats himself. The word is tight, sounding unforgiving, and tristin can only nod. though they doubt vincent’s work involved anything related to the murder, it didn’t indicate that working for Poseidon, who was so entwined in the mobs despite the claim of neutrality, wasn’t any less difficult.

so it’s with a modicum of surprise that vincent offers tristin his glass, for even without an extra half-shot, they would have thought he would want to indulge without delay. but they smile, something soft and small, and meets his gaze as it travels back to their face. “thank you. i appreciate it.”

they take a sip, and while the taste isn’t strong enough to calm their nerves, it’s sweet and delicious and just enough. it almost distracts him from vincent’s comment, and once it registers, they manage a chuckle despite the heat slowly crawling up their neck. “i definitely wear hoodies when by working by myself, don’t doubt that. but hoodies don’t exactly fit into this atmosphere as much. Plus, I want to look --- nice, every once in a while. not just for a ball.” 

Nothing slipped past Marquis, not when it was a busy night like this. Sure, he was the dancer, the escort. But he had eyes and ears better than anyone, and he was familiar with who was a newcomer and who wasn’t. So, when he saw a face that he couldn’t just ignore, the man strode up to the other with an aura that spoke of the place being his domain. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmured lowly against the other’s ear. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving already. I haven’t even gotten the chance to say hello, and you seem like you’re too pretty to just rush past me like that.”

Spinning a bit, Marquis moved so that he was planted comfortably in front of the other man, one brow raised at him with a small smile on his lips. “Mind if I get a name? It makes it that much better when I’m moaning it later tonight.”

Touch was something Tristin didn’t normally receive as the years passed. The last time they had ever engaged with something like a hug ---- they couldn’t remember. Was it with Rafael, something light-hearted, brotherly? Was it from their mother, before the worst, before the sudden moment that changed the course of their future?

How lonely was it, that they couldn’t pinpoint those memories?

But it wasn’t as if they wished to interact through physical means, even if the opportunity presented itself. As the man murmured near their ear, as the other stepped before him, Tristin automatically took a step back, shock rendering them speechless for a few agonizing moments.

“Uh --- not looking for you to moan my name later tonight.” Heat crawled up their neck, and they clear their throat. “Flattered, truly, but I’m just here for the music.”

when he spots tristin in the crowd, he’s not sure if he should try to slip out the back door without being seen or say hello like nothing’s happened. and he supposes nothing much has happened (other than the police commissioner being shot right in front of their eyes) mind the drink they’d briefly shared in the after-hours. so much for making up stories. 

eventually, he decides that it would probably look better to at least acknowledge the other’s presence. plus, he’d just ordered his tequila sunrise and he didn’t really want to let that go to complete waste. 

“funny seeing you here,” he begins once he moves through the crowd and slides into the empty space beside them, though he instantly feels like he shouldn’t have since it’s actually not very funny to see tristin here. he feels…awkward, almost. 

“so i - i did mean to give you a call, i’ve just been busy, with…work. anyway. hi.” 

it’s not exactly jarring to face vincent as he slides beside them, but it’s --- surprising all the same. too much and too little time had passed, the hours and days blurring together in ways they find uncomfortable. it alludes to sleepless nights and thoughts they’re better off not indulging, for the past cannot change, and they can only wield the present as best as they could.

and the present offers them vincent and his words that edge on awkward, and they don’t blame him for that. how one asks questions after a murder always involves an awkward dance, unless those discussing had grown up int he environment where such a thing was the norm. but neither they, and they suspect vincent as well, had experienced this violence over and over and over again.

it’s something they’re not sure they’ll ever become used to, and what a predicament that leaves them in. 

a small smile flickers. “hello, vincent,” they say, just loud enough to be heard over the booming music. “don’t fret over not calling; i could have done the same, but....work.” as if that could explain everything away. it shouldn’t, not in their case. but they take a breath, eye the drink in his hands. “that good by chance? if i’m to risk being recognized by the bartender, i want to ensure i’m risking it for a drink that’s worth it.”

Catalina immediately noticed the tense way they were walking. She didn’t give anything away with her expression, yet her mind wondered if it was possible that they were in on this? Would Olympus cause a scene like that to distract from something bigger, or was this completely unaffiliated? Stupidly enough, she wasn’t even sure who was in which gang. All she knew were the ones who’d assist her with some of her assignments. 

Still, she’s glad they’re okay. Or as okay as someone could be. “Oh, yeah, I wanted to leave early. Guess I got lucky.” She frowned to herself at how macabre it sounded out loud, yet she sighed and shrugged in response to their question. “Honestly, no. I just feel relieved. That was a lot harder to answer than I thought.” She laughed nervously, hoping she didn’t come across as completely heartless. 

“How crazy though, why would someone do this?” She shook her head, unable to believe the audacity. “At least no one else got hurt, I think.” She frowned at her phone screen before looking back up at Tristin. “Feel free to sit, I just wanted to get something greasy after all that champagne.” She blushed, realizing she was rambling. “How are you though?”

They offer another smile, hoping for something akin to comfort. “It’s a hard question. Not every day you get asked that for something like....this.” They themselves should be used to it; four years is a long time to become acquainted with the violence associated with mob life. But it still left them speechless, still left them feeling --- cold. As if they were the one left on the ground, sheet pulling over their body.

              ( and lately, the violence reminded them of rafael, of the nights they spent in the aftermath running the recording of his comms over and over and over, listening to the wild rage of the fight and how his breaths turned labored, desperate, grappling for life ---- )

They blinked, mind running to catch up to Catalina’s question. “Who knows why. It’s a bold move, murdering the commissioner.” But they have a sense of the reasons; even if it was the main one, disorder and suspicion focused on Olympus had to be one of them. That they held little doubt. 

At her offer, they sit with a lack of grace, the tension in their body leaving with a sigh as they lean back against the booth. The ache in their back from twisting and hunching over screens slowly fades into something more numbing and less distracting. “I’m --- as well as one can be,” they softly replied. “I consider myself lucky not have been near --- the worse of it. But it’s a lot to take in.”

Managing Asphodel gave Phoebe a semblance of ownership over the space. And responsibility to care for its well-being and reputation. Especially in the public area of the bar, away from where only gang members could go. She worked hard, wanting to give this place what Hades had given her.

So when she spotted them, Phoebe stopped still. It was busy, crowded tonight. Perhaps that was why they had thought they could slip in unnoticed, without being spotted. Phoebe could call security, have them thrown out. But she’d rather avoid a scene, especially after the ball. So she put down her pen and made her way through the crowd until her eyes met Tristin’s. A silent question, almost a challenge.

It wasn’t necessarily unexpected to have caught attention. Especially by someone from before, who recognized how the past and present tied so closely together. Phoebe found their eyes, pierced her gaze through them, and for a singular moment, time froze.

They think of Jason. They think of Rafael.

The moment broke as they tilted their head, swiped a tongue over their bottom lip. A challenge for a challenge, though they are the one at a disadvantage. But they take a step back, gaze remaining on Phoebe, as the crowd surrounds them. 

They slip through the crowd as if it’s a second life.

Perhaps it is; perhaps, in a different twist of fate, a different pull of the strings, this action wouldn’t quite feel treacherous. They would perhaps feel at home, lose themselves in the energy of the crowd and the music thrumming in their veins. 

But this life doesn’t belong to them any longer. This isn’t a place for someone marked as an Olympian.

It’s a foolish action, yes, but it’s one they’ve done before; the occasions were few, months and months stretching between each, yet they still happened all the same. Though each had been brief, a quick dip into the club when watchful eyes were distracted, scanning the area for any changes or physical updates to systems they remember from years prior. And then a faster escape, footsteps light and gaze downcast as they rush back to Olympus territory.

Bex rolled her eyes. She knew Tristin was technically right, but she wasn’t exactly soothed by that fact. Their friends, half her second family, had left. Either to directly oppose them, or to simply stand aside. Standing aside was forgiveable, she supposed. Opposition? Well… 

She finally smiled at that. “Yes. Yes, we do. So, have you spotted anything that will make your night more fun, Tristin?” she asked, attention turning to them more acutely. “I mean, we know dancing isn’t your thing. So, is there anything else here you want to do?”

Good. Seeing Bex’s smile, Tristin allowed the tension to ease from their shoulders. Dwelling on before, of how they still longed for those who left, didn’t matter anymore. They all could only move forward.

“Spotted anything? Well, not necessarily. But if we wait a few more moments....” Their smile transformed into something mischievous, and they tilted their head to the crowd. “I’m sure people will start noticing the reception isn’t quite what they thought it was. And I, for one, cannot wait to see if a meltdown will occur.”

“They had friends,” Bex muttered bitterly into her drink, downing the last of it. It was certainly a betrayal in her eyes, especially from those she’d been close with. She knew what Tristin had meant though, and it made an unfortunate amount of sense.

She hummed, looking out over the crowd as well. For now, all seemed normal if not calm. Then again, how could it be calm with so much charged energy in the room? Too many open wounds. “A mystery plan?” She sighed and nodded. “Well, good thing adapt and survive is what some of us do best, huh?” 

“They still do,” Tristin gently argued. “Not with us, particularly, but with a myriad of people from before.” 

And a part of them wished they could interact more with those who left. Tristin wasn’t truly friends with anybody in Elysian, not anymore, but the want to do so was an ache in their chest dressed as longing. But their were lines they wouldn’t cross; they dared in the smallest of ways, visiting Asphodel after long, long stretches of months, but they couldn’t ---- the wouldn’t ----

Licking their lips, they cracked a smile. “It is indeed. And I suppose you could say that we do so quite well.”

date: september 22nd location: a mcdonalds nearby status: open

Catalina got what she wanted out of the night, anyone else liked it or not. While the ball was surely her Cinderella moment, there was no Prince (or princess, for that matter) Charming to catch her attention long enough to stay. Maybe she stole his wallet and she could track him down more efficiently- but none the matter. She wanted some nuggets and a flurry, so here she was.

She got the alert on her phone in the otherwise quiet McDonalds. Flipping her phone over, Cat widened her eyes as she read the breaking news headline. The police commissioner was dead, and it seemed that Catalina had left just before it happened.  Fuck, she thought, yet her panic wasn’t as high as it would’ve been. If anything, she was relieved she got out of there. As the door opened, Cat looked up and noticed they were also at the ball. “Oh, hey!” She called out, a look of relief on her face as she gestured them over. “You were at the ball- I’m glad you’re okay.”

Somehow, they had managed to slip away.

Damage control was underway, and Tristin had already begun the process of dissecting the video feeds, scanning each flicker of captured moments to try and see what they had missed, what they weren’t able to identify in time. But this, on top of giving limited information to the police so they were satisfied, left them exhausted, drained, despondent. 

They weren’t sure that food would assist, but the Mcdonalds was close, an easy trip, with cheap food that would taste --- fine. And with an empty stomach, the food offered, along with the caffeine selection, would perhaps grant a boost in attention they would need until the sun rose once more.

What they didn’t expect, though, was another person calling out, to catch the sight of Catalina waving to them. They first glance down, and of course she would note that they had attended. The suit worn still appeared pristine despite the events of the last few hours. They were much  too fancy for a fast food facility. 

Yet they would have walked into Taco Bell with Vincent anyways. What an example of how cruel time could be, of how it could shift opinions without care.

They are slow in reaching Catalina, and they try for a small smile. And the corners of their lips lift upward, but the motion feels like a crack against concrete --- unnatural. “It’s good to see you on one piece as well,” they respond. “I hope ---- I hope you aren’t too frazzled?”

Bex nodded at that. She got it, even if she didn’t normally allow herself to appear vulnerable. Especially not tonight. Not with so many potential enemies. Who knew where this could go wrong?

“The atmosphere,” she replied, echoing them. She wasn’t making fun of them, however much it might sound like it. It was just the best way of explaining it. Though, the people around probably also covered it. “Well, if they were Elysian, they’re always gonna complain, aren’t they? Given who’s hosting.” She rolled her eyes. “Dunno why they bother showing up.”

“Because they have a reputation to bolster. Make more friends.” It’s how this world worked; connections funded Olympus’ activities, and the split, while not devastating, led to a decrease of support. It was the natural course.

A betrayal, in a sense. A choice that could have been avoided, even more so.

“And they have a plan. It’s unfortunate Zeus couldn’t learn more than that.” Their eyes scanned the crowd again, lips now a thin line. The anticipation of what could occur, of how they all needed to halt it from happening, thrummed in the air. No, not an atmosphere for dancing anymore.

“Hopefully, the plan is just being a pain. And if not ---- then we just have to adapt, I suppose.”

“no offense, tristin, but improving defenses does not sound any less basic than stealing g-mail accounts. if you hacked my account, i’d be in big, big trouble.” he replies, “so don’t do it.” he’s only joking, of course, but he does wonder.

“we could use a bit of an upgrade in our system, too. you know, at scheria. it’s not bad right now but it wouldn’t be all that bad of an idea to add an extra measure just to be sure, don’t you think?” plus, they were at a stable enough income to afford something newer, something fancier, and he supposed that tyler – 

“oof.” he stops himself before his thought can run any faster, “look at me, staring at your pretty face and talking about work.” vincent finishes his cranberry juice, wondering what his life has become, and waiting for tristin to continue. (and is that a blush he sees at their cheeks? and here he thought they were always as cool as a cucumber.) 

the story tristin tells is, in a sense, rather lovely. the honest-to-god truth is that most times, he’s not sure if he’s doing enough. he owes tyler so much, he’s built up this image of himself, someone important, someone everyone else runs to for help. and he’s been working towards it for the last five years but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get there, really. it’s bittersweet, how right tristin is, but he tries his best not to let it show.

there’s a small smile playing at his lips as tristin finishes, and it’s his time to go a little red at he meets their eyes, an almost-nervous laughter leaving him. 

“well, i didn’t come here looking for freedom. or even an adventure, really.” he admits, “but it’s your lucky day - my phone’s at 14% and i forgot my charger. just for tonight, i may just be the man in your story.” 

and he probably shouldn’t - he definitely shouldn’t, because he’d been planning on going back to the office after this and he hasn’t actually forgotten his charge, but he does it anyway. blame it on the cranberry juice.

“what do you say - after this, you and me could go get stuffed on taco bell and run around spraying paint on buildings?” he asks, grinning. “or, we could just go and get a drink somewhere else when this finishes. i kind of hate this hotel.” 

“i guess it depends on perspective, of what’s basic and what’s not.” and then they laugh, a soft sound amidst the music of the ball, shaking their head as they add, “oh, i wouldn’t dare touch your email. i’m not here to stir more trouble than necessary.”

And it’s a half-truth; their net is cast wide in the invisible realm of networks and connection, eyes on as many places as possible as it pertains to olympus. they are always ready, finger over that figurative red button, to conduct what luli so commands, and other times, what victoria deems necessary.

still, there has yet to be word on infiltrating anything vincent touches --- and by proxy, what is within tyler’s own realm. so, yes, they’re not part of olympus to stir more trouble than ordered. but they certainly could. and that knowledge, that thread of power, is enough for tristin.

but their smile grows at the offer vincent proposes, as he stops himself talking about work. and it’s not as if tristin didn’t debate parting ways and following tyler --- following samael, too. that the work with the other two would be the same and yet completely different with what challenges could arise. yet tristin had looked to luli, thought of their mother, acknowledged everything they had sacrificed and what they still had to accomplish ----

no matter. the lines had been drawn, choices made. tristin gently presses back, “an extra measure wouldn’t be the worst idea. and i’m sure tyler has the funds to hire a third party to undertake that task.”

and they hope, so desperately hope, that the mood has not dampened with their words. that the reminder of what loyalties exist doesn’t ruin the rapport the two of them have found tonight. so when vincent smiles at the end of their story, when his cheeks color with laughter on his lips, they try to take it as a good sign; they try not to worry that they’ve once again said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

so they declare, “and i may just be the person in yours,” as if it’s that simple. as if just voicing it to the air will make it true. but maybe that is all it ever takes. maybe it is just that simple. 

and this time, it’s their turn to chuckle. the thought of entering taco bell while in their best suit --- perhaps a usual sight for the employees there, but it would be an unusual act for tristin. but that is not what captures their entire attention, and they lick their lips. “is that to be considered a date, vincent? i’ll admit, spray painting buildings does sound like something wild in my books,” they tease. a pause, and then with a softened tone, “i don’t have much love for this sight of the hotel either. the extravagance of it, rather. so whether it be taco bell or drinks --- i wouldn’t mind partaking in either when it’s shared with those who have a similar sentiment.”

“I see. So tonight is unlikely then, huh?” Bex considered the question before shrugging. It wasn’t that she wasn’t per se. But she didn’t exactly go to a lot of parties. Certainly not ones like this. And while she knew how to dance in Asphodel, or at a party in her neighbourhood, this seemed too different. From the dress to the expected behaviour. There was some rulebook she wasn’t privy to. “Sometimes.”

“Yeah, unlikely for the night. Something about the atmosphere.” They all couldn’t afford to be distracted for that long. Not only was this event too fancy for the moves he preferred, but they couldn’t keep their eyes on Asphodel members if they wandered onto the floor.

So they shrugged, then tilted their head at Bex’s answer. “Sometimes, huh? What’s it dependent on? The other people around? Alcohol perhaps?” And he chuckled then, licking their lips before adding, “Someone earlier was complaining about the drinks served tonight. Pretty sure they were with Elysian though, so I’m not sure if they biased or not.”

there’s something oddly charming about the way tristin downplays it, essentially popping the bubble he’s wrapped this grandiose story around. and sure, it’s fun to make up a story every once in awhile but he doesn’t mind this, either - looking at the paler truths, something more raw and real. at times, he misses it, even. in his line of work, he doesn’t seem to be around too many people who want to tell him the truth.

“maybe not as exciting, but i like that story all the same. too much excitement is bad for your health, anyway.” he shrugs, ignores his phone buzzing in his pocket. “then again, i dunno how exciting hacking into things is. what do you even do when you’re not stealing other people’s gmail passwords?” 

he laughs again at tristin’s offer, and gives a little wink. “ooh, i’d love for you to do me.” now if only all of his other conversations with his business partners were this interesting. “so,” he raises an eyebrow, curious, “how do you think i got here? 

his own story isn’t much more interesting, he thinks. still, he finds himself leaning against the nearest surface, his body now fully facing tristin as he waits for them. silently, he does hope that they don’t think he’s too boring. 

“it was exciting to start off with.” and even more terrifying, to cross the line into what was illegal. the weight of what their mother would think, if she was to ever realize what he did, and the disappointment their father would have, even in death, was a heavy weight to bear. their heart had slammed so hard against their chest, they wondered if they would die.

but then the next moment had passed, and the world did not end. they merely became committed to actions that proved beneficial months later. and now, they are here, partaking in games, and attempting not to appear as boring, and as worthless, as they sometimes felt.

“but stealing gmail passwords can be a bit --- basic. the challenge nowadays has been improving defenses. always trying to anticipate what someone like me --- someone better than me --- will do.” 

and there could have been more to say, and maybe they would have continued despite the fact that vincent works for another who had left, but then vincent laughs and winks and repeats their words in a way that they realize their misstep. Tristin senses the flush staining their neck; perhaps it’s pooling into their cheeks, much too obvious, and they are too old to react in such a way. they are no longer a child, despite how they feel it among the other olympus members. 

so instead they try for a smile, before tapping a finger to their lips. “let’s see,” they say, and the possibilities dance before them, threads of stories and interactions to fit someone who walked into events like these with wireless earphones.

“i think ---- you are someone always connected, itching to the be the best. always there for your clients and your co-workers, especially if it means cleaning their messes. but tonight --- ” and here, their smile grows, a mischievous edge preceding what will be unlikely for vincent, but entertaining to imagine anyways, “ --- tonight, you are seeking some freedom. still there for your clients should they call, putting up the pretense that you are as dedicated as ever, but you are searching for fun, and excitement, and if it drops into your lap, you will turn off your phone. finally disconnect, even if it is only for one night.”

they allow a long beat of silence to follow their words, a tilt to their head as they keep their gaze on vincent. “does sound fitting? or did i miss the mark?”

date: september 22nd location: founder’s ball status: open

Samael knew that it was bait from the moment they held the invitation in their hands. For months, they had made people go places for them and report back. They watched things happen from the office on the balcony. Now, Luli was reminding Samael that they had always been third place in the chain of command and wanted to see how much of themselves they were willing to put on the line.

The air shifted as they walked by people. Samael Kaldwin didn’t like parties. From the decor to the dancing to the corpus amount of alcohol and illusions of intimacy with small talk, made even the celebration of a dead man entertaining. Samael was rarely entertained: they never danced, barely drank, and had one sided conversations where they talked endlessly and Samael revealed nothing. When Harvey was alive they were clearly there out of a sense of obligation. No matter how successfully someone forgot in the moment. “the King of the Underworld,” didn’t answer to anyone, but themselves; at the height of tension they had disappeared into underbelly, dragging as many people as they  can with them. Now, they had suddenly decided to rise to the surface once again. 

Harvey had always emphasized that no one should see them unless they wanted to be seen, the art of magnetism. They rarely had to approach anyone first, people were addicted to curiosity and occasionally fear. If they could earn whatever look or smile or conversation that had drawn all of Samael’s members of Elysians to them; to get another piece of the puzzle the members could only hope brought them closer to the big picture. Strangely, they hoped one of their members would come to talk to them: encouraging a sense the line between acquaintance and boss were intentionally vague, but mostly because the biggest alternative was their former colleagues, friends. They would not hold a gun to their head, but in the end this person had said: I don’t choose you. Samael hadn’t yet decided how to live with someone like that.

Samael sat at the bar and slowly drank from a glass that had already been watered down by ice and seemed to exist just to form a small pool of condensation onto bartop. They could sense the bartender wanted to ask why they were just sitting there, oblivious to his power in being able to see everyone around him. How could see the person walking in their direction, locking them in eye contact with a person who’s face revealed nothing. Even the word, “hello,” contained multitudes.

This wasn’t to be about Luli. 

Approaching Hades --- Samael --- wasn’t to involve extracting information. If it fell in Tristin’s lap, that was another matter. They understood what Luli silently asked, for loyalty struck deep in exchanged moments, but Tristin wasn’t about to fool themselves. Samael led Elysian in ways Luli couldn’t with Olympus; there would be no information gained tonight, not from them. All Tristin could hope was that someone else would sense what exactly Elysian’s plan was, and bring it to a halt before the worst could occur.

That was the question, though --- what was the worst? In some ways, it had already happened. Rafael’s death. The split. And for the ones before Tristin, Harvey’s passing. How often did they all wonder how their lives would be different if he had still lived? What was the man to the legacies they carried on their shoulders?

Perhaps that didn’t matter, in the end. All they had were right and wrong choices; all they suffered were the consequences.

How strange, then, that the consequence Tristin suffered in the moment their gaze locked with Samael was the ache of longing. So difficult it was to swallow past the lump in their throat, to try for a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“You’re looking well, Samael.” A stupid greeting for a stupid approach, but what else were they to do? “I’m glad that you joined us from the Underworld. How are you faring the surface?”