THE PROSPECT.

An anger, a seething kind, has come to dwell in his chest, ever since the cold shoulder of Sera slunk out through his door that day. It deepens then calms, now and then surging up as a molten steel curling his fist. Ismael has to breathe low and intently then, to not let it come through. Not in front of Vinny; someone yet to turn their back to him. He wears a blank expression, less cold and detached there; softened by the dimmed lights.

“So, you know their story?” He barely offers a moment to respond before carrying on. “I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore, y’know?” Ismael glances to a guest passing them by, then sells a look of sincere concern; brows fussing. “Sera deserved to know her sister was alive.” He acts as though he cares, as though the slight on the woman was an affront to him. “And Zephyr keepin’ that shit from her– how fuckin’ cold-blooded you gotta’ be for that?”

          Vinny’s mouth hung open, brows furrowed in a perplexed and concerned multi nature. He was waiting to hear that he wouldn’t see either of the women around for some time, that they’d run off for good or made an enemy they shouldn’t have. Of course this was Vinny’s dramatized inner monologue, one with his over active imagination that assumed the worst for months since the Navy Pier bombing. The glass in his hand felt a little heavier now, and his free palm was brought up to act as a flat surface below it.

Ismael was expecting the truth to have trickled down the ranks by now, seeping onto every branch as the cleft formed between the capos. He tempers the confusion but some bares itself to Vinny, he can’t stop it in time. Brow knots as he drags a knuckle across his mouth whilst thinking. Weighing the risks and rewards. “Not exactly– not yet, at least,” he says, lower tone now, humorless laugh trailing.

Eyes pierce the other man, more severe in his gaze than he wants to be. Only for a moment before he moves closer. Decision made; Ismael beginning to lay the groundwork and give himself the upperhand. Posture deceptively harmless now, shoulders hunched to create a space for them. “I figured you’d heard by now, man,” he starts, peers through soft eyes. “About Azra and Sera?” A coaxing question, testing the waters.

Well, it turned out that ‘masquerade party’ did not mean the same thing as ‘costume party,’ and that most people had dressed in something classier than a Pikachu onesie.  They all had masks, too– Emmett just had a pair of sunglasses he’d grabbed out of his truck once he realized everyone else had their faces obscured.  But what everyone didn’t have was a dog dressed as a pokeball, and nobody’s fancy costume or fancy mask could beat that.

Janey still wasn’t a big fan of crowds, though, or of strangers in general, so Emmett had sought out a corner with a little breathing room.  The mask the other man wore covered up his whole face, but nobody but Vinny’d wear something like that…and, Emmett guessed, he had reason to hide who he was.  His voice just confirmed it, and Emmett answered immediately.  “They let Janey drive the boat,” he said.  “She don’t have any thumbs.” 

At the mention of her name, Janey looked up at him, giving her tail a slight wag and knocking her costume askew.  Slipping her a cheese puff, he nudged Vinny with his shoulder.  “How ya been?”  It wasn’t something he’d normally ask– normally he tried to act like he’d rather have Vinny stay as far away as possible.  But after what’d happened at Taste of Chicago, well, Emmett figured he’d give the kid a pass just for one night.

          There rang a certain aura around the other man. Maybe it was his costume, so... elegantly put together, but Vinny wasn’t one for elegance. He was just surprised Emmett had gone so far to steal the show. Truly, he thought Sera’d had it in the bag until now, when the weapon’s electric yellow, head-to-toe costume altogether engrossed his own attention. He supposed he needed something to keep his mind off the possibility that the boat might sink with him trapped in a windowless bathroom below deck.

          “They let you bring your dog in here?” The incredibly intimidating bouncers at the dock could’ve fallen victim to the puppy dog eyes of both Emmett and Janey, he supposed. Still, Vinny reached a hand down to welcome the animal, a kind which he’d always wanted as a kid but could never have due to a family born allergen. Even today he could feel the effects if he didn’t take the time to pop an allergy pill beforehand. “Real reassuring, man.” The roll of his eyes was both naturally welcomed and exaggerated on his part.

There’d been nothing ideal about it, casting Vinny aside into the confines of a safe house until he could figure out how to keep him out of the line of fire that would surely find it’s way if none of them could track down the gun – or who’d put it within the younger man’s grasp in the first place. It’s not something he would have usually done, a testament that most of those who’d come to him for help might pay testament to. He didn’t like loose ends, and even less so, he didn’t like leaving a man alone in the wake of burning tragedy. Purely, because he knew how quickly it could threaten to unhinge. It’s certainly not something that’s ever bothered him, the first shots he fired that were intended to meet the mark of blood did exactly that, and he felt not an ounce of guilt for it, but as observation had served him well, he knew that couldn’t always be the case for anyone else. As hardened a figure as he could be, Zephyr only painted himself as heartless to those who needed to see him as such; and for those who sought a little more, he could manage enough to convince them that the world they lived in now, was purely greyscaled. Unfortunately for Vinny; his tragedy had come at a time where he’d simply not had the time to do as he should have. The cracks within the Kovali were present, and he deemed it far more important to find those, than piece Vinny back together as best he could.  Now, as he watched the prospect, he could almost feel the rising presence of such a mistake, though he sought no forgiveness for it. “You really wanna’ fuckin’ ask that?” He spoke lowly beneath the simplistic nature of his own mask, humor tacked to the edge of his tone like an afterthought. “Let’s not go divin’ into worst-case scenario here, you can’t fuckin’ afford to be thinkin’ like that.”

         Zephyr’s profile surfaced many memories. Not like it had when Vinny normally saw the underboss, but because he’d hardly seen him since what he could only describe as the incident, that was, without sending himself into a bout of spiraling existential crisis. He remembered the elder’s glare, his demand to know who’d put the gun in the prospect’s hands. Something Vinny couldn’t remember regardless of how hard he tried. Their counterpart at the time, Sera, was a buffer to the storm brewing within the both of them. They hadn’t been able to clash, to hurt each other while they were both distressed in drastically different ways. In all fairness, Zephyr sought answers to keep them, everyone associated with the Kovali, safe. The finality of the safe house made Vinny feel like a pariah; he was glad to be free of it some weeks later, but also felt a strange longing to be locked away again. To be hidden from the stares once more. It was pure luck that those who had witnessed the act were strangely absent from the prospect’s life for some time after. And there were new, very real threats circulating, threatening to oust him. But maybe that was just his paranoia.

jxsperlee‌:

azrakaran‌:

It was the last place she expected to be. In fairness, she had a tendency of using bathroom trips as an excuse to abandon her date, to the point she’d very definitely need to order cranberry juice when she headed upstairs. Yet, she hadn’t anticipated the scene she’d walked in on. Certainly didn’t imagine she’d linger to watch the effects take hold, but someone had to keep an eye out, and she needed an excuse to unmask for a while.

She ducked under Vinny’s arms, weaving between he and Nic to get to the sinks. Couldn’t testify to him being right, even after she sniffed her own hands as she reached for a towel. Carefully nudging Nic’s artistry out of the way so she didn’t spoil the attempt. “Does anyone need water?” At some point there was a cocktail glass settled on top of a cistern, leaving her to seek out something a little more sanitary- a silver flask now perched on the counter.

The room was much more appealing than might have been suspected, given most of the passengers were using the fancy facilities upstairs or in private rooms. It had suffered a bit with the groups presence, however. Still there were parts of it they hadn’t fully explored, too invested in the little corner they had carved out. She may not have been under the influence, but there was just something about sitting on top of a sink counter that made you feel a little whimsical. She reached out for a handful of petals from Jasper, before perching back up on it. “The music’s still playing. You’re safe.”

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

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

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

Naturally, it was far easier to be here, than upstairs. The demanding hues of the casanova no doubt tirelessly seeking her out in the crowd for yet another fickle attempt to get her to weave the crowd until she could entwine digits with Judd. All for the sick game he played. This – this she could fall into, and had, much much earlier on than she might have intended. Jasper’s sudden call for attention drew doe hues up to pin expectantly to the soap in his hand, at least, until she followed his line of sight to the tray of prawns. Eyes widened and hands met Jasper’s chest with a quick pitter-patter of fingertips, “Oh my god, the food.”

          Vinny dipped and swerved, barely missing Azra’s swinging legs as he came to face her. The prospect grabbed her shoulders, shook them violently, unknowingly, eyes wide. “She is,” he tossed his head back toward Monica to acknowledge her words. “Love her— you don’t know Azra? You gotta’ know Azra.” Just then his arm was slung over the woman’s shoulders as he pulled her off the counter with gusto. And then his supplier spoke; there was too much going on at once. After having disrupted Azra’s natural state and rounding her over to where his roommate stood, her heap of a masterpiece now on the bathroom floor, he found his way over to the last sink embedded in the white-ish, golden counter top. He felt physically on cloud nine. Mentally, well, that was a different story. Like cloud fifteen. A quarter of him felt like he could run a marathon, the next like he was ready to play the best set of his life at this damn party, the third like he could write confessions of undying passion to every companion of his in the bathroom, and lastly, like he was destined to consume an entire bar of seashell shaped soap.

Halloween had never been a real draw for the woman. As a young girl her mother had practically drilled into her that dressing up and pretending to be someone she was not would be like begging to stitch a mask onto her face in the future. Funny how that panned out. She pretended every day to be someone else. Someone with a little more sanity, a little more grandeur. Someone who didn’t care for the sight of gun while one was tucked neatly against her thigh. With the dress she wore, however, it was near impossible to conceal anything- hence the corset and it’s lovely little ability to hold things right between– well. She reached into her cleavage to lift out a small soft cloth. “Hold still for a moment, there’s a smudge on the-” she reached to polish one of the smaller gems on his mask near his jaw.

“Can’t have the disco ball not catching light, can we?” She tucked it back away, before following his indiciation to the orchestra. What an odd decision- to have an orchestra and then a DJ? “Well I’m sure you’ll be much more entertaining than that crew over there. Classical is nice, but really only appropriate for a true ballroom setting. A yacht isn’t really meant to hold them. Feel like we definitely should count the lifeboats. Is there an engine room?” The light did indeed catch his mask in such a way that if she were tipsy or even drunk she might be fascinated by it. Bright colors amidst all the dull. “How long have you been a DJ for?”

          The night was sure to drag on as long as possible; he felt it in his bones, in his soul. Dread was a powerful thing. It twisted him from the inside out, made him hate his life for the time being. Vinny supposed the music soon to play would breathe some life into him, bring him out of the drought he felt like was infesting his body. His limbs were slow, reaching to grasp his drink once more, as if that were the answer to all life’s problems. He was still, like a deer caught in the headlights of a mach truck. Supposedly it didn’t bother him, the smudge nor the hand that weaned near his face to make the mask he wore look new again. If he were to make a sudden move he’d knock both their drinks to the floor with an attention grabbing smash or two. He simply thought otherwise, just to avoid that scenario.

Under any other circumstance, another’s intrusion upon her personal space without provocation might have given way to admonishment, yet this was Vinny and his behavior allowed for certain exceptions to be made. His request forced the raising of brows in surprise, an amused grin spreading across painted features before she nodded in acceptance and allowed him to transport their figures to the dance floor. Enough bodies were swaying and moving gracefully throughout the space that no one would pay them any mind here. “What’s on your mind, Vinny?”

Her smile is encouraging, filled to the brim and nearly overflowing with an accompanied belief in the young man in front of her now. “I couldn’t do what you do,” she admitted as the duo found their rhythm amidst the crowd. “Take the compliment and run with it for a little while.” Sera catches a glimpse of someone just outside of the dance floor perimeter, believes she might recognize half the exposed face before he’s shrouded once more by another pairing as they twirl. “That’s the secret to success, isn’t it? Ignoring the ones who don’t matter and taking what you can from those who do.”

          They could blend in amongst the crowd, although their costumes were naturally pulling gazes. His mouth opened first, as if unsure of how to phrase what he wanted to say. And he stood there, hand on the small of his friend’s back as he awaited the right words to come into his ever jumbled mess of a mind. What’s on your mind, Vinny? So much more than he could articulate at the moment, that was certain. “Got a bad feelin’, Sera.” Which didn’t mean much. He could chalk it up to his nightmarish flashbacks of Navy Pier some months back, to which they were approaching on the Charon this evening. Or perhaps the Taste of Chicago and its dastardly ending; the reasonings behind his gut feeling were endless.

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

“Pat, huh?” A faint grimace at the name then a glinting smile, lewd, muscles loosening. Ismael folds his arms, a secure stance as he observes their surroundings. One eye on the myriad of faces, bared and shrouded, flitting past them. A sinking stone settles in his breast bone then, wary eyes darting back to Vinny then away. Finger taps on his chin, considering, wondering. Perhaps the growing wedge between the capos was not public knowledge yet, or else Vinny may have met him with a less than enthused expression. “How ‘bout you let me know, too, yeah?” The light in his gaze dulls some, a burning inside. “Ain’t jumpin’ at the chance to talk to the guy.”

Jasper loathed social gatherings. Ever since he was roped into doing the dreaded deed at the Boardwalk months ago, he hadn’t quite been able to find himself getting comfortable in public spaces. For someone who was already socially inept, being afraid that someone was going to recognize him as one of the culprits behind the tragedy that unfolded. Despite having somewhat of an edge in the hierarchy of the Zhang’s inner circle, Jasper still didn’t have a say in whether or not he wanted to show up at these events. The moment the Faction realized which certain group was going to be at the damn the ball, he was roped into buying a mask and getting back into an old suit.

Oh, well. At least having low lights and a mask eased his paranoia. Somewhat. He had a little something special meant to really calm his nerves later. Drink in hand, Jasper took a long, slow sip, only stopping when he heard a familiar voice. He glanced over and sized up the man, quickly putting two and two together. “Well, lookie here,” he said, breathing out an amused noise. Finally. Someone a bit more sensible. To him, at least. “Not sure about the worst, but I might have the best thing that could happen.” Jasper offered a smirk and punctuated his words with a gentle tap of his breast pocket, which held a small plastic bag between the lining of the blazer. “Something to bring the mood up.”

          Fuck this yacht. Vinny’s internal monologue was much angrier than usual. Fuck this crowd. The fear of being recognized as a murderer crippled him into a frozen state. He could hope the trauma of seeing a bullet travel through someone’s head would erase his face from those who witnessed it. His mind hardly processed the idea that his set of features were hidden from the world for one night. Maybe he’d have to start carrying a mask around in case of overwhelming bouts of paranoia. The drink in his hand calmed him down; that’s what alcohol did for him, lest he be in the company of a rowdy bunch. There was really only one thing that lifted his spirits, and he hadn’t seen much of that something lately.

There were a great many times that Valentine had been drunk. During those times, he had not intentionally gotten completely shitfaced- nor had he ever planned to. But the moment a Halloween party had been mentioned, he knew he had no choice but to attend. He couldn’t leave Vinny alone in a crowd of people who might recongize him and potentially attempt to harm him- and once he was well and certain that the chance of that happening was set to zero, he would be able to get so wasted he couldn’t feel his face. He had lied to himself the night he’d been in the car with Sera. Lied to himself and tried to make it out to be some slip of his resolve- like he hadn’t been thinking about what it would feel like to kiss her long before then and he;d continued that thought wave. Like he didn’t brace his knuckles against his lips to stop the tingling that simply wouldn’t fade away.

He should have been elated about it. But he wasn’t. It shattered him deeper than he thought he could be because he’d known before he’d done it what the outcome would be. There was no comprehensible world in which they could be anything other than a boss and her subordinate. It was work. At the end of the day that was all they could ever really be. Two adults who worked together. And it fucking wrecked every piece of him that had ever been exposed to her. Right down to the tips of his fingers. So, as he’d stepped onto the yacht with a disguise, albeit not a very good one, he’d searched the room for the one person he felt comfortable enough with to be around at the moment. He took a wild guess as he saw the flashy face. The path around him cleared pretty quickly, and he grabbed someone’s drink from their hand with a grin before stepping up beside Vincent.

“Really? What the hell are you wearing, Vinny?”

         The yacht’s grandeur came into view rather easily. Vinny caught himself staring longingly at the light fixtures, delicate chandeliers hanging by a thread from crown molded ceilings, with crystals that shone off every surface in the room. His mask harbored the rays of artificial light, making him a focal point of the large room. He thought it strange, the ambience which he stood in. High tea and fine dining were never his strong suits, as neither ballroom dancing and gentlemanly etiquette were. The prospect considered himself an everyday people’s person. He existed in the hustle and bustle of Chicago’s middle class, scraping by with money from a job that brought him joy over anything else. Transfer said job to the Charon and, well, it didn’t have the same charm. Party’s meant a crowd, and a crowd, these days, meant unwanted company. Another call for Martial law, another catastrophe.

He gleams in feigned modesty, gestures to himself. Fingers sink into the taut muscle of the shoulder, shakes out some of the tension. Some unwarranted show of his authority, rather than an act of care. “Surprised I found you.” Ismael lowers his own mask and motions to the kaleidoscope on the other. “Looks sick, man, you’re upstagin’ all of us.”

A step closer, angled towards the room; low lights obscuring the adorned guests even further. “Hard to say, no one’s wearin’ their real face tonight,” he hums, a quirked mouth. “You here alone? No hot date?”

“Should I be?” She smirked almost conspiratorially from behind her champagne glass, albeit not having actually dressed for anyone’s benefit beyond her own. The costume felt extravagant and yet totally elegant to the point that she became nervous to brush against anyone lest it ruin the perfection. “Is it too over the top? I thought that the grown man in a onesie might have outdone me, but your opinion is most crucial of course.”

Humming, Sera nodded in agreement. "I suppose I’m honored.” Though she would spend a considerable amount of time tonight avoiding said possibilities of anything blowing up aboard the yacht, either literally or metaphorically. Hadn’t they each been through enough already? And Irena still remained behind bars… What the Kovali wouldn’t give for a break, at least for a night. “You’re going to do wonderfully, you always do. I have complete faith in your talent.”

          A hand jutted forward to brush one of the many faux bird feathers between his fingers, despite the total lack of permission from their wearer. Sera carried the weight of an iconic film character easily, like she was made to do so. “How ‘bout I answer that with a dance? May I?” He asked suddenly, formally, his drink set down on the nearest platform so he could properly bow himself forward. He’d feel better speaking to her about his concerns if they were on the dance floor, constantly moving away from eavesdroppers, should there be any.

Being on the water could be very disorienting, she’d give him that. It just wasn’t affecting her all that much, even with the time that had passed since she’d last stood on a deck. Probably the reason why she barely noticed; when the journey from Turkey had been rough in more ways than one. “You need a seat more than a drink. Your legs are probably working too hard to stay in place. Give you sore muscles by the end of the night.” She hadn’t fathomed it was Vinny, even with the distinctive style of the mask or her times at Purgatory. Yet he knew who she was and offered Az as way to string her to conclusion. “Okay Toto, let me grab you a pedestal.”

She may have still harboured grief for what he had done.. no, what had happened, but she still held some for him as well. This was probably the worst place he could be, a reminder of the entire ordeal at the festival. There wasn’t much she could do to soothe it for him, if she wanted to, but she could at least be decent enough to help with physical comfort. A short conversation with some attendees about the vacant seat at their table, and she was very delicately traversing the outskirts of the crowd to bring it back to him. “If you’re going to drink, get something with ginger in it.”

Although that wouldn’t help all that much if he added the spins to his teetering. “Is it just this boat that’s unfriendly, or did you quarrel with them all?”

          Raised hands were a sign that he was positive he could hold his own. “I know how my body works.” Jest laced every word. Vinny had been out on plenty of benders. No sleep, no food, just drugs and alcohol. It was how he lived for so many years that the idea of properly taking care of himself seemed extreme and a huge amount of responsibility. But sore muscles were the least of his worries. No wonder there were so many prying eyes; they knew he was bound to fall back into such habits sooner or later. The cold glass felt good against his palm, sweating from the way he managed to work himself up in thirty seconds flat.

The prospect of attending a party after so many events had gone haywire over the past few months was not exactly Lennox’s idea of a good time. Quite frankly, the only reason she’d attended was because she knew she’d find a certain capo there, she couldn’t refuse an invitation. Thorn in her side or not, she still had to get close enough to Ismael to learn his routine better. She’d masked herself to blend in but it was with great unease and uncertainty. Masks were stifling, and obscured her vision just enough to irritate her. But, rules were rules, and when she had to she followed them. So far, it’d been uneventful to say the least but that was expected when one walked into the Philharmonic playing. All the violins did was remind her of a time she’d much rather forget.

With her second drink in hand, she’d stopped to pretend like she cared about the sounds penetrating the room, and as the disco ball beside her spoke, she turned her attention to them. “Hm?” Her fist initial response- she felt like she was ready to doze off standing up. “The worst? I don’t know. The boat could sink,” she shrugged, before realizing that she might not be in the company would appreciate that kind of joke, “which is what I’d prefer if I have to hear another waltz.” An attempted soft laugh followed to buffer the harshness of the words before she sipped her tonic. “That’s an interesting mask you’ve got. Quite a lot louder than everyone else’s. Bold choice.”

          Vinny saw surprisingly well out of his full faced, somewhat obnoxious mask. After a few minutes of self soothing words from his inner dialogue, he was able to convince himself that this was for his own well being— that, on this particular night, he wouldn’t have to worry about wearing his emotions on his face. It was tragic, the drop he’d taken, from being able to lie his way through a conversation to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders compromising his own social life. No more was the prospect a use in that department, which made the idea of playing setlist after setlist on the yacht plenty more appealing. No awkward encounters with those he barely knew, looking for information only having been given half of the details he actually needed.

Although she felt out of place in the surroundings, that was true of practically everywhere these days. Chicago had never felt like where she was supposed to be. So her discomfort didn’t seem particularly heightened, so long as she didn’t think of the why of it all. Why there was an event such as this, why they were there at Rafal’s behest. Of course, telling herself not to think of such things only made them overtake all other thought. So busy trying to drown them out that she barely noticed the proximity of the person beside her. Snapped back when he spoke. 

She wasn’t sure she could imagine an appropriate response to the question, given they’d all lived through the worst then found worse to come. The event surrounding them was a result of all that. Money for memorials, money for surviving family members, a pat on the back to those who thought they’d stemmed the spill of blood even temporarily. There’s even something about the voice that echoes of recent horrors. That doesn’t really narrow it down though. Attempts to smile in response, so she might not have to speak. It feels too unkind to decline.

“If you’re worried about the boat, try to imagine you’re on land, just the movement of a car.”

          Darling guests pranced in their multi thousand dollar outfits, to which Vinny just stared. He’d be itching to hang a ‘No Requests’ sign from his neck the second he took the stage. Azra had an aura unlike the rest, and a way with words that, even when meant to beat someone down, like he had deserved such a short time ago, lifted him up. They gave him a new perspective on his series of unfortunate situations, that the ordeals he ended up in felt like the beginning of something rather than the end. He hardly intended for his next words to be poetic, never one to scale up his speech pattern for a cultured event.