🔪 — GAME ON

HELLO !! Welcome to a private roleplay blog for friends/mutuals only. Current blog features RYKER VOIGHT & RAUL LESTRANGE. Links below will feature all active characters info & are all penned by kyra ( she/her; twenty-six years old ). please don't interact unless we've privately talked & have a muse together !!!

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To say that it was a rare sight to see Theo in such a place as this, would not be far from the truth. They rarely ventured outside of the Vetrova Mansion for anything other than books sourced from Behck’s Pages, or when Raven implored them to go to some sort of trendy cafe. Otherwise, they could often be found in their own room or in their personal laboratory. Hence, one could easily identify that something was truly wrong to find Theo examining the glass of bourbon that sat between their fingers as they worried bitterly over one of their closest friends. Theo had never truly had friends before joining the Angels, and once they had begun to collect them, they had treasured the ones that they had made. And Alexei was no exception to the cause. Especially since he often cheered Theo up on days where experiments seemed to go wrong.

Jolting out of their thoughts the moment someone familiar landed in the stool next to them, Theo weakly managed a smile as they took another small sip of the bourbon, wincing at the slight burn before jiggling it in their fingers, wishing desperately that all was not as it was. Finally placing the glass down upon the table, and placing their attention towards Ryker, they raised an eyebrow at the comments as they nodded, before picking up the water, taking a gulp before sighing at the thought of where Alexei could possibly be. What his fate was. If he was okay. If he was hurt. Would he be found? “Thanks.” They mumbled as they took another gulp of the water, not exactly sure what to say back to the other.

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Another sigh is pulled from his lungs at their distant reply. Deeper. Heavier. His mournful smile falls away as he gently, barely, drums his fingertips against the bar. There is so much within himself he wants to express. Nothing comes out. Nothing ever does. What could he possibly say? I’m sorry. Well, he should be, but he can’t say as much. Alexei is going to be fine. He doesn’t know that. We’ll get him back. Would they? Would Ryker want that himself? Alexei has found himself caught on the webs of fate, and only they would decide the outcome. However grim, or hospitable, it may be. Though, Ryker still errs on the side of pessimism. Alexei will not return the same, if at all. 

Dragging his hands away from the table and up into a half-wave, he garners the bartender's attention. “Coffee. Black. Quickly,” he calls, dragging a hand through his slick black hair once again. Too in his head to be a great conversationalist; as much so as his current conversation partner. The silence persists as he waits for his coffee. A silence that is not awkward, but not comfortable. And when his coffee arrives, freshly made, he manages a thin smile towards the bartender as he sips at it generously. For long minutes. Until the burn at the back of his throat from the scalding coffee becomes mute and he braces himself to look back over at Theo, still downcast. His fault. He did this to them. “I’ve got my eye on the situation,” he says as gently as possible. More gentle then he thought he was capable of being. “You know that, right?” In other words: you believe in me, right? The underlying meaning. Not spoken, but there. There in the smidge of urgency to his too, too dulcet tone. He never wanted his Angels to doubt him, even if they should.

At first, it was only chance that brought her to the Deadly Seven three nights ago.  She had been there because she could, a joke meant to amuse only her as she walked the floors of a place that she was once friend to but now was an enemy.  And then she’d caught news of Alexei’s disappearance.  After swallowing the nervous lump that appeared in her throat, she turned her game of defiance into a game of observation. Ryker looked like shit.

She hadn’t told Isaac or even Tanya.  As far as Irina was concerned, this was information for her eyes.  She’d worn this particular face to the Deadly Seven enough to be seen as something of a regular, for the past few nights.  She was on her third glass of wine when she decided she’d had enough of seeing Ryker look so…pitiful.

“Out of curiosity, were you actually planning on drinking your whiskey on the rocks or was watching it melt your end goal?”

“Cold coffee and warm, watered down liquor are near perfect indicators of a world turning upside down.”

His eyes narrow a fraction at the intrusion. Or noise. Because that is what it was in his ears: noise. Nothing he wanted, or needed, to hear from a stranger. A nobody. But, Masha had raised him better. She raised him to be considerate and to smile; even if you're flashing your pearly whites towards the face of your greatest enemy. Ryker shifts. Rolls his shoulders again. Then casts his glance back at the table where the stranger is nursing a glass of wine, almost empty. He tries not to look as tired as he feels; sharpening his features into something mildly pleasant, sedated, as he cocks a half-grin, half-challenging look. “Why? Does the lady want the glass for herself?” He quirks a brow then. “Or was your end goal just to find a way to strike up a conversation with me?” He muses thoughtfully, though his arrogance is only for show right now. The gamemaker doesn’t crack, after all. Which is exactly why her next line of observations is more… uncomfortable. 

He stands then, brushing at invisible lint and straightening his already near-perfect button down shirt. Only one wrinkle towards his midsection is an indication of his disarray not in his outer state, but in his thoughts. “My world is what I make of it. And it is perfectly fine.” Not a lie. He helped create this current mess the Angels were in. “Can you say the same?” He asks, offhandedly, walking closer towards her table all the while still leaving his drink abandoned on the table not too far behind him.

Theo wasn’t quite sure how they had found their presence at Deadly Seven, but here they were. Gabriel had often harped in their ear something about the soothing presence of alcohol to dull one’s senses, and perhaps that was what they had needed. After several sleepless nights tossing and turning, imagining Alexei’s fate — Theo desperately needed to shut their brain down. They worried about what his disappearance meant for the Angels, but also they just missed his presence. Infinitely so. Perhaps Theo found it difficult to express themselves occasionally around those that were within their presence, but they knew that there was a gaping hole in their day to day activities without Alexei by their side. And Theo agonised internally about where he could possibly be. 

A glass of whiskey that had been offered by one of the bartenders to Theo rolling between their fingers, Theo found it difficult to enjoy the taste like they knew so many others did. But perhaps this was what they needed in order to calm down and frazzle their nerves. Taking a small sip of the liquid courage, Theo found the burn at the back of their throat rather not satisfying at all. What was it about alcohol that drew people? Their attention diverting towards those closest towards them, Theo’s eyes briefly caught the exhausted look upon Ryker’s features before they turned their attention back towards the glass. Another victim probably falling to sleepless nights with the disappearance of Lex. Man, Theo really missed him.

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With his head lolled back, minutes pass. Long, quiet minutes filled with anything but silence; just his thoughts, glasses clinking, and the movement of sequin dresses. So, the fact that his eyes don’t immediately catch Theo’s is no surprise. To see Theo in there at all is a day he never could have foresaw… and that was telling. It spoke louder than Theo ever would. They were down in the dumps. Extremely so. And he was the perpetrator who put them in such a state. He can’t help it then. The groan slips out. Loud, obnoxiously so, as he rakes his hand through his hair one more time and down the back of his neck. It takes another two minutes for him to physically push himself off the cushion he’d left a deep butt imprint in and, slowly, stride his way over to the available spot next to Theo at the bar. 

And while his entire body wants to just collapse onto the stool, he doesn’t. His movement is smooth, effortlessly as he claims the spot, straight backed and smiling; not a smile that quite reaches his eyes, but one that is more mournful. He knew how it felt to lose someone. It wasn’t a feeling he never wished to repeat. Which is part of the reason why he did what he did. But, it didn’t make this any easier. He snaps his fingers. “Just a water.” A command given in the direction of the bartender. He goes silent then. Chewing over his words. He’s never struggled with them so much. He can’t imagine even going near Gabriel at this rate. But then he doesn’t have to say anything. The bartender returns with the water and he pushes it closer to Theo with his knuckles. “Alcohol isn’t going to help.” Sure, it may dull anyone’s sense for a little while. But not forever.

He pulls a hand from his pocket and runs it through his hair — soft, fluffy, and getting a bit too long. And although he doesn’t show it, he is on edge. Disquieted. The news of Alexei’s disappearance had hit like a dull punch. But it was never really “ news ” to him. It was an expected headline. Words taken with a nod, a deep swallow, then the abrupt return to his work. And that’s all he’s been doing: working. He’d buried himself in his bedroom and accepted no company; aside from the quick chats with his sister under a canopy of stars and shadows. When he wasn’t in his bedroom, though, he was in his office at the Deadly Seven. Functioning on less than acceptable sleep and an ungodly amount of coffee; simply stewing over his next moves with two different women. 

He’s decided to take a quick break from that tonight, however. After a roll of his extremely hunched forward shoulders that led to several loud cracks, he’d abandoned his paperwork in the office and plopped himself down on the plush, velvety red sitting downstairs. Near the bar. Though, the glass of whiskey he’d acquired  thirty minutes ago has only created a ring of condensation on the table, simply abandoned, as he instead rolled his head back and stared upward towards the ceiling, not giving a lick of attention either to the heavenly bodies that roll and twist their hips on stage. He lips open in want to release a large groan, but he stifles the urge. It's been a long week.

"She’s my sister,” he says, without a scrap of hesitation. No pause. No time taken to think about his response. “I’d let Rosnovy burn and everyone with it, for her.” 

The footsteps outside her door were conspicuous against the silence of predawn. The early mornings were a typically sacred time; minutes stolen away from days that demanded every second, every fibre of her being. People, angels, do not often see her like this, dressed in soft cashmere and bare-faced. But there were only two with open access to the eastern wing, and she could never begrudge a visit from either one of them. So she did not react from where she was curled on a sofa as the door finally swung open, her eyes (flecked still with the dust of a restless sleep) continued to scan the words of the newspaper she held. “Good morning to you, too,” she said under her breath in response to a dramatic groan that told her all she needed to know. One, that the visitor was Ryker rather than Rozalie. Two, that it was Ryker, her son rather than her underboss. Three, that some things never changed.

Any thoughts of morning quiet are quickly ended by his words. Her eyes freeze on the page. She’s not exactly surprised - it would take quite something to achieve such an effect - but considering all that had happened yesterday, this wasn’t a revelation she’d expected to hear. Of course, she knows exactly what he refers to. “Yes,” is her precise response after a beat of silence, looking across at him with nothing more than a vaguely thoughtful expression. “He told you last night?” What, one bullet and her spymaster had gained loose lips? A sudden conscience? Part of her, the part that had observed the way the two sometimes looked at each other, had expected this to come to light at some point. But not after an already complicated day; there was a time and a place for developing a conscience. Russo really knew how to pick his moment.

The hurt in his voice cuts through the haze of the early hours. She quietly unfurls, makes her own way across to her bed where he’s flopped, staring up. It doesn’t creak as she sits, but a deep, tired sigh escapes from her own frame as she looks down at him. He looks younger than she’s seen him in years; she cannot resist reaching towards him as she gazes out the window. One gentle hand wipes the hair from his forehead, soft fingers begin to rhythmically comb through it as she thinks. She wants to say ‘yes, hush, you can trust him’, but she cannot. That the gamemaker - nor herself, years ago - had no inkling proves his danger. That she has her own Judas proves the futility of trust. She wants to say ‘no, trust nobody, nobody but me’ but she cannot. Such a mentality may well protect him from others, from himself, but Masha’s own life has been colder and lonelier than she could bear to watch him experience. So what can she say? “Trust is always a risk; you gain and you give. Possibly lose.” is the eventual answer, each word considered and delivered with the same gentleness as the light beginning to peak over the sea. Her fingers still on his scalp, she knows her next words may sting as well as enlighten. “But weigh up the risk. He told you voluntarily.  Went against my direct order and his own good sense, apparently.” A fact that was not lost on her, to be dealt with later.

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There is a one word revelation: yes. Yes, she knew. Yes, he lied. Yes, his stomach turns. Ryker should have known. He should have seen through the haze of friendship and seen it at its roots. Their very foundation was built upon a pretty lie and the knowledge of that shook him to the core. It paused his nonsensical tracing of the ceilings cross hatched patterns and let his eyes droop closed, leaving behind a quiet that’s heavier than his rampant heartbeat. He’s tired beyond his years, his under eyes bearing dark circles as if he hasn’t seen a wink of sleep in weeks. He certainly hadn’t gotten much last night as he tossed and turned, lost to his own mind and ill-gotten thoughts. And he doesn’t see himself getting much in the near future. Not with the invasion of his very home still occupying his mind as well as the retaliation that would be dealt out accordingly. He arm moves to cover his face, shielding his eyes from the beady ceiling light with the crook of his elbow. “Yes,” he echoes, his coming out in a sigh and filled to the brim with exhaustion. “Last night. Right after we got back.”

She doesn’t ask, but he feels the need to fill the gaps in. He has only ever spoken freely with Masha. “Francesco was coming down off his medication and Raven was sat with him. The two of them were having another one of their internal spats so…” He fights his instinct to roll his eyes. He keeps them screwed shut, hidden beneath his arm. Who knows what they could have been thinking towards one another. It wasn’t for him to know, apparently, and so he had nothing to offer there. Something he did not have to tell Masha. She would know simply by the words ‘ internal spat ’. Ergo, talk to Raven or Francesco.  “Raven vocally said he hadn’t made a mistake and to quit being dramatic. Then he said that.” He pauses, letting out another exaggerated groan. “Then Raven ran.” Of course. Words not spoken but implied. “Whether from the accumulation of their internal spat and the reveal or just Francesco’s double crossing, I do not know. She said to tell you she is unavailable.” A concept he knew that… it just wasn’t going to happen. Nobody was ‘ unavailable ’ to Masha. And try as she might, Raven belonged to this world now and he knew she couldn’t keep fleeing from it and ignoring his texts at the first second another lie sprouted itself among the pretty flowers. This world was full of deceit and it comes from every corner of the room; even the one your friends occupy. 

There is a soft dip in the bed next to him then. His arm drops from his face. He leans into her touch, waiting. Half-eager, half-starved for someone to give him advice. Her words only make him hate himself more as his shoulders tighten. He hates himself for having to question this. Question him. His whole world had revolved around playing games and keeping secrets. Everyone was entitled to there's. Hell, Ryker had made a game out of revealing their more lighthearted secrets to one another. He just never thought Francesco would keep something as big as this from him. He had a whole other life and name. Then the realization crept up on Ryker. He didn’t even know this man’s name. Who was he? Did he have other friends? Friends who he actually spilled his every last thought to? “I don’t like to lose.” He hated it. There was nothing worse to him than losing. Well, finding out your best friend was also your biggest deceiver might actually take the cake but that was something to mull over later. Not now. Now he soaks in her advice like a sponge. He weighs his options. Who would know better than her, honestly? A painful thought.

“He told me while drugged up,” he says hollowly. “If anything, that tells me my shadow needs to be kept away from drugs and alcohol.” He could have said this to anyone. He could have said this to Raven alone; those two already shared plenty of secrets in their thoughts he wasn’t privy to. “But, it did reveal more to me besides his dubious past.” He looks up at Masha above him then, his fingers scrunching up the bedsheets in his hand. “He has a conscience and a heart.” Despite the lie, the care Francesco had for them was evident. He couldn’t keep this bottled up like Ryker would, like Masha did. He’d spilled that and more. He let Ryker see that visceral need for his friends, and he heard Francesco’s heart when his lips briefly touched his skin. It said more than it needed to. The monitor was Francesco’s second, quieter reveal that kept Ryker tongue-tied. He didn’t have a response for that. He doubted he ever would. He didn’t have the privilege of having a conscience or a heart, he only had another war to fight. “You know what they call people who dare to have both: a dead man walking.” What was Ryker suppose to do with that knowledge? Guard his friend and that damnable heart, or be the one to crush it. 

“Fine. You’re right.” Theo finally acquised, knowing that arguments if they weren’t upon scientific grounds with Ryker were little less than fruitful. Especially when Theo desperately wanted to go back to their experiment, so hopefully this conversation wouldn’t take too long. That, and they still had other analysis to do on the beaker that was currently seated upon the Bunsen burner. Washing their hands clean free of any of the substances, they kept a quiet eye upon their seated experiments before half turning their attention upon Ryker who seemed intent on continuing their conversation on Theo being able to fully defend themselves from any enemy. Well if they never left the Mansion there was little need for that wasn’t there?

A loud sigh escaping Theo’s lips they shrugged as they nodded. “Well you know I attend all the sessions you and Masha mandated me to. And I try my best.” Well, best wasn’t exactly the correct word when Theo attempted to use firearms or any type of weapon. But they did try. Somewhat. “I know. But that’s what you’re around for, right?” Theo replied, a slight attempt to inject some sort of humour into the conversation before placing the rag in their hands down upon the table shaking their head in mirth at the thought. Ivan wasn’t bad company, especially when they combined their talents together to create explosions. Such a pity that Ryker didn’t seem to share the same views when it came to him. “If you say so.” Theo replied with a slight shrug before finally taking their attention towards Ryker’s plans. Raising an eyebrow at the thought of causing an explosion to take out a warehouse. “What type of warehouse? How big? One explosion or several small ones?” Rapid questions escaping Theo’s lips, they immediately began to calculate several possibilities for what they could create. Now he was talking Theo’s language.

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“I always am.” The response quickly followed by his infamous grin. He couldn’t help but be a little bit cocky in all situations. Even more so when he was around the renowned “genius”. Not to bruise their ego, but more as a lighthearted dig. This was the epitome of him going: ‘ ha ha. I’m right. You’re wrong ’. Without all the extra flare or exact words. Theo clearly didn’t like words anyways unless it was about their science experiments, so he kept his short. To the point. “Try harder.” He continues to reprimand, but without his admonishing tone this time. He attempts to be softer while still demanding of them to be better at other aspects of this life they’ve chosen. For their own sake. “It’s part of what I’m here for, yes. We are a family, all of us. Family protects one another.” Even members like Ivan, he begrudgingly thinks but does not say. “But if I’m not around…” Because one day he might not be around. “I would like to have the comfort of knowing you are capable of protecting yourself and others — like Raven.” Raven, who they both cared about and would never want to see hurt. A better motivator for Theo to care.

Ryker repositioned himself, taking his hand off his chin and pulling out the schematics he drew of one of Mikhailov’s motors’ warehouses. Not their biggest one. But, not their smallest one either. It was big enough, however, to put a dent in their funds and supplies if Theo was able to blow it up. Which shouldn’t even be a question. Theo could and would be blowing the warehouse to smithereens. “The warehouse closest to Cherry woods. The one they use as a storage unit for older cars, parts, and, most importantly, a good chunk of their weapon supply.” Leaned into the table, slightly bent over as he points out different parts and openings of the warehouse, he looks towards Theo. “Think you got something good enough for this? I want all those parts and weapons damaged beyond repair.”

His laugh automatically made her smile a little, as she watched how his face lit up, revealing a little bit of the boy she used to know. How long it had been since they had known each other and still, they didn’t quite become strangers again, maybe they would never. Maybe their lives had touched one another, had intertwined so much that they would always have something between them. “That is because I am very efficient at avoiding such things.” Indeed, she had become the one who always had things to hold over others, who knew things they would never want anybody else to know, who knew how to press buttons. What had once been arrogance build on nothing but her heritage had turned into self-assuredness and well deserved pride. Still, he had only known her when she was basically still a child, when she still had to run from others. He would soon learn that wasn’t who she was anymore.

The glint in his eye told her of his intrigue but it was a far shot of the youthful excitement she had known them for. Aside from that, he was hard to read, well trained at keeping all his thoughts and emotions to himself, all while his eyes never stopped scanning her and their surroundings. His claim to Rosnovy made the corners of her mouth wander up a little. Further confirmation that revealing her affiliations in this very moment would be an extraordinarily bad idea. “I don’t doubt that.” A brazen lie. The city had been through too much to ever be truly owned by anyone again. But she meant to appease him, to make him feel a little more at ease. His joking on her settling down was unexpected but not unwelcome, releasing some of the tension. “I know it’s hard to believe. I did come to love my nomad life. Still, we all need to find our home at some point, don’t we?” Her musings were accompanied by the shadow of a smile, almost nostalgic. It had taken her so long to find a home once more, but it had been worth it.

His question made her think a little, furrowing her brows. What had changed? It wasn’t an easy question to answer, as it wasn’t just one thing. “It’s not a guy. It’s this city, it just grew on me. I know why it’s so important to you.” This one wasn’t a lie, not fully at least. Rosnovy did grow on her, even though she still enjoyed cursing about the constant cold. She watched as he made himself comfortable on the seat across from her, taking up more space in this world than any ordinary person would. “I feel like I belong here. Everyone here grew up with crime, with death and dirty money. Maybe it’s that.” His gaze wandered, leaving her to feel a little less watched, if even just for a second. That was until he turned back, looking at her even more intensely now. As if he could read her thoughts if only he tried hard enough. And now he asked the questions she could never give him a truthful answer to, the ones that would make him truly hate her. “A little while.” It wasn’t a confession, nobody would consider five years to be a little while, but she had to keep it vague. Looking at her own hands in her lap, she thought back to her first days in the city. Why hadn’t she contacted him back then? “I didn’t think you would want to hear from me, not after I left you like that so many years ago.” That had been the truth initially, though quickly accompanied by her new found home with the Reapers. Looking up, she met his gaze, lifting her chin slightly in a stubborn movement. “I was quite certain that you must hate me.”

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A huff of a laugh. This one tinged with a tiny slice of bitterness. He couldn’t argue against her there. She was efficient at it. Better than most. Even Ryker had far too little to hold over her, and he wonders if what he does have would still work. He’s not sure stories of their twenties would cause her to break or go weak in the knees. She’d likely only display mild embarrassment. “I know you are.” His only response. Trivial. He was unwilling to allude just how deeply he understood her statement; how he was one of those things she became efficient, as she so delicately put it, at avoiding. She ripped him off like a band-aid. And it certainly appeared to him as if he hadn’t even left a scar on her. This might be the first time he was so easily forgettable. He wasn’t ever again. Not to anyone else. He would be remembered through any means: a scar, a touch, an emotional attachment that left a dark stain on someone’s life. And it would be a dark stain. Where he went, carnage followed. 

His eyes narrow slightly, lips downturning. Such a curt statement. A bold one. Filled with implications, and many he didn’t like. But he let it go. There was nothing he needed to defend to her. Not even his claim on this city. His city. “It isn’t.” Words spoken without a thought. Immediate. Almost a jerk reaction. It was rather impossible to not fall in love with Rosnovy. Once it latched its claw on you, there was no escape. You were doomed to become another one of its ice sculptures lost beneath the heavy weight of snow. Mount Snovier had claimed many victims. And they were victims. Everyone who stepped foot in this city knew the death this city wrote, and still they stepped both feet into it. Still they chose it. And that is why it wasn’t so hard to believe. Because despite all the crimson that stains a land bathed in white, people chose Rosnovy. They remain here in its icy, fatal grasps. Dazed and half in love with the frostbite. “No one leaves Rosnovy. It stays with you.” Rosnovy is where you come to die, likely as a casualty of war and not out old age. “The city is an adventure in itself.” 

His hand casually tighten along the hard wood of the chair as his arm leans across it. He didn’t like to admit it, but she did belong here. She was as cruel as the rest of them. Maybe not in a bloody sense, but in the way that counts. She was casually cruel; she latched onto you as Rosnovy does only to deliver a death blow when you get too comfortable. “So you just missed hurting people.” Wasn’t that all a life of crime was: the infliction of pain, on yourself and others. He certainly couldn’t blame her if the answer was yes. He himself derived great pleasure from it. He merely didn’t like the plain fact that he was one of the people she had hurt. He shouldn’t have let it happen. “A little while,” he echoes, eyes boring a hole into the crown of her head as she looks at her lap. “How would you know?” His voice is a mild whisper. He couldn’t quite quell the sensitivities that lurked within, eating away at him for years now. A persistent little nagging thought he couldn’t squash. How would she have even an inkling of how he felt? She hadn’t responded. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a dumb emoji. There, and then gone. Not a care as to how it might have affected him. Affected, not hurt. He refused to acknowledge that it hurt anymore. Or at all. “I wouldn’t say that I hate you. I wouldn’t say that I feel any particular way at all.” A lie. He just wasn’t ready to say how he felt towards her.