𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 under the loose curtain of her hair, expression flat except for the tiny pull at the corner of her mouth. she reached for another candle, this one poured into an old teacup with tiny blue flowers around the rim. “i knew you were a hunk, objectively speaking. and that a lot of girls wanted to fuck you.” but at the time, they were just friends. “long con,” she added. “real dedicated.” the snark about rosa didn’t pass by unnoticed. it touched some small, tender bruise in her, but not hard enough for her to get upset over it. francis had his own feelings about rosa, and romy understood that. still, her eyes stayed on the table a second too long. “she had her moments,” romy said. “not always classy. but usually correct.” the flea market moved around them: bracelets clinking, a dog barking from under a rack of old denim, somebody nearby explaining their handmade ashtray. romy listened to all of it and none of it. “not candlelit dinners forever. oil lamps, mostly. flashlights when we had batteries. kerosene heater in winter if there was fuel. sometimes a generator, but only for things they decided mattered.” she said it plainly, no big tragic swell to it. “yeah, some burners had internet. mine did not have useful internet. i got my first actual phone when i came to new york. we’d throw away our phones when things got weird.” her gaze met his. “things got weird a lot. when did you get your first phone?” then he said he’d been bestowed upon her, and that little private smile returned. “mm. my media sherpa. sent down from the mountain to teach me about shrek and why everybody hates james corden.” she started walking again, slow enough for him to keep beside her, passing a table of rings laid out on black velvet. “the longer you wait, the longer i gotta keep it from her too, y’know.” there was no accusation in it, but she was being folded into his avoidance. “what if i forget to take off the ring when i see her?” it was a bad example. romy didn’t forget much. she remembered which floorboards creaked in houses she hadn’t seen in ten years.

with — @romymccready

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 aslan out in the open like this. not that it was open, exactly, the table had been chosen with care, tucked away from the bright, obvious sightlines of the street and far enough from the other customers. but she wasn’t one to know aslan to be fond of cafés. romy had ordered tea because she didn’t drink coffee and sat there, small and awkward and waiting to hear why he’d summoned her here. when aslan asked the question, she looked at him for a long second. not at his face but his hands. the cigarette case. the cappuccino sitting neat beside it. the bespoke jacket that looked like it cost more than the first car she and her sister had saved for months to buy. “no,” she said. she couldn’t tell if that was the answer he wanted. aslan didn’t usually give much away unless he meant to. she crossed her legs beneath the table, the hem of her prairie-girl floral skirt falling over her knee. one hand stayed wrapped around the paper cup of tea. “why? you wouldn’t be askin’ unless they were important.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 dresses to look at. they had time before the wedding, and romy had decided she wasn’t buying anything until he talked to his family, a condition she’d set for herself without mentioning it to him. “is it weird i have no idea what i want? i never pictured myself in a wedding dress before.” she doubted he’d spent much time picturing this either, but a suit was a suit. she was the one who had to find the white dress. “i’ve said nut up before. rosa used to say that.” she recalled her saying it many times, like the first day of their first real job together when romy stood in the back of a restaurant kitchen, overwhelmed. nut up, ro, this ain’t slow livin’ anymore. “listen, i didn’t grow up with electricity.” she moved on before the memory could settle, drifting toward a table with homemade candles poured into teacups and soup cans. “then i had one of those prepaid phones. y’know, burners? no internet. and we definitely never had a computer. i’m catchin’ up on all the shit i missed,” she said. “so when we hang out with your friends, i can keep up. like romeo. nan told me he used to stop by the house more. hope i didn’t scare him off when i moved in.” it was something she’d been ruminating over. “i love you. but i know what ‘soon’ means with you.”

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐬’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 to heat. yes, he was from the east coast, but it got hot in the summers. if anything, new york summers were worse. the whole city smelled like hot garbage. whatever he had to say about her upbringing, it didn’t do that in the summer. she stood there, sun’s waves rolling off her bare shoulders, still staring at the wedding dress and trying to see the vision. she didn’t answer him right away, not because she was mad, though he would probably assume she was, but because she wanted to finish her thought. specifically, whether gracie could take this dress apart and turn it into something romy would actually wear. “in your head,” she echoed finally, still looking at the dress. then she glanced at him, mouth twitching. “you should astral project in your dreams and tell ’em that way.” it came out a wry joke, though with romy there was always the slight possibility she meant it as practical advice. “i’m not gonna bother statin’ the obvious, which is that you’re gonna have to tell ’em eventually.” she reached out and touched the edge of one puffed sleeve with two fingers. “i guess it’s more like…you wanna put all of that on future francis? or just nut up and do it now?” her brow quirked, but there wasn’t any judgment in it. only curiosity, blunt and oddly soft. he did have to tell them. unless he planned on being ninety years old and still somehow not having mentioned to his family that he was married. which, knowing his avoidant ass, was not entirely impossible. “what would be the worst thing to happen?” she asked, turning toward him a little more now. “nan lectures you that you’re makin’ a mistake? movin’ too fast?”

with Romy McCready @romymccready

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 about weddings, truth be told. most of what she knew came from magazine pages she used to leaf through at convenience stores and whatever movies and tv had taught her. so, she’d done her research. she knew she wanted a maid of honor. it was a role her sister would’ve filled, except, well, rosa wasn’t here. but gracie was her sister now. “you don’t have to apologize. you know i’m not exactly busy.” a small smirk tugged at her mouth. gracie knew the kinds of things romy spent her days doing instead of working. she took a sip of the smoothie. “mm. what’s in it?” for a second, she thought about what she was about to say. romy considered doing it properly, building up to it. making it sweet, or dramatic like how people did when weddings were involved. but she’d never been good at performance. in the end, there didn’t seem to be any way to say it except plain. “i, uh, well i wanted to see you so i could tell you somethin’…or, i guess i could show you,” she lifted her left hand, then paused since every finger was crowded with rings; tarnished thrift store finds, things she’d found in a flea market bin and decided were lucky. still, the engagement ring stood out among them, expensive and unmistakably not something she’d dug out of a tray beside old belt buckles. romy let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. “francis fuckin’ proposed.” she didn’t bother saying ‘i said yes’ because, well, duh.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 it all — which was what she thought — romy didn’t forgive or forget what her family had put her through. but, for whatever reason, she’d never gone looking for her father or brothers. or anyone from that fucked up place. she wasn’t someone who lingered in the past longer than she had to. even with all the doors the cavalry opened for her, she’d never seriously thought about tracking any of them down. “no, probably not,” she agreed softly, though she didn’t say what she was really thinking. maybe one day she’d ask something of him. maybe not her father. but her brothers? maybe francis could put some of his particular skills to use. the thought passed through her quietly before dissolving again. she’d circle back to it another time.

Expression softened, her friend's confession only serving as a reminder of why she loved her so much. "That sounds like something I'd do, your secret's safe with me." She mimed locking her lips before grinning. "I was thinking about maybe volunteering at a shelter, would you wanna come too?" Hand squeezed hers at the mention of her having friends, knowing that she didn't intend on going anywhere. Not when she was so grateful to have Romy in her life. "I was really scared but we all got alive so I've been trying to keep it in perspective." As much as she could, her active mind as much of a hinderance as it was an asset with all the scenarios it could conjure. "Ronan. I can't wait for you to meet him, he's got the cutest accent." Excitement already bubbling over at the thought of two of her favourite people being in the same room. "A Gemini." Nose wrinkled slightly, knowing how some within the astrology community tended to view the sign. "But he's funny and quick-witted and just so sure of himself in a way that makes me want to be more certain of myself too." All of which she felt matter much more than how compatible their signs were supposed to be anyway. Word continued to tumble out, now seemingly unable to stop talking about him now that she'd started. "And he's always been so nice to me, even when we were friends, but it feels different now. He's really been looking after me and, I don't know, it's just nice to feel taken care of."

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝. “𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐢’𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 with ya to the shelter. maybe i can find a cat or dog to bring home. i never had a pet before.” there were reasons for that. ugly ones, mostly. animals had not been safe where she came from. they had been lessons, punishments, food sources, but never pets. even after she was free, romy had always thought of animals as wild things, better left that way. not trapped or tamed or made to belong to anybody. a little like herself. now, though, she had a home. a real one. and the idea of a pet had been weighing on her mind. “what kinda accent?” she asked, glancing over. “can’t be worse than mine.” she crouched near the path and picked up a smooth little stone from the grass. “hm. gemini,” she echoed, considering it with the seriousness of a medical diagnosis. “they get a bad rep, but they’re actually real gentle.” romy listened as gracie talked about him. there was something nice about hearing her friend describe a relationship that made her feel steadier. romy understood that in her own way. francis had done that for her, somehow. “you deserve to feel certain in yourself. you’re the smartest, kindest person i know, gracie.” she said it plainly, not as flattery, but as fact. “people always say sometimes friendship turns into somethin’ more. you’re always takin’ care of everybody else. i’m glad he’s takin’ care of you.” her fingers closed around the stone. “do you see yourself with him?” she asked, somewhat quieter. “like…forever?”

Miray’s gaze shifted toward the laptop screen at the mention of Excel, the faintest trace of surprise touching her face when that, of all things, was what Romy asked. “Yeah.” The answer came easily as she pushed herself away from the table and stepped closer, eyes already moving over the screen. At the mention of it being a while, her attention flicked briefly back toward Romy. “Fine.” A simple shrug followed. What else would it be? “Got married.” It was offered like an afterthought, her gaze already returning to the laptop as one brow lifted faintly. “What’re you trying to do?”

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐲’𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 romy. she liked animated people too; brighter people, people who filled a room. francis was proof enough of that. but miray’s quiet matched her own in a comfortable way. “to who?” she asked, head tilting with plain curiosity. it was not like she knew much about miray’s personal life. romy had a hard enough time keeping track of who was dating who in this city. she could tell you which stray cats belonged to which alley, which ones preferred tuna over chicken, but people’s romances had never interested her much, historically. “that’s nice, though,” she added, sincere in her muted way. “did ya wear the white dress and all?” romy had similar news of her own, technically, though she did not offer it up. not out of secrecy, exactly. she just had a habit of keeping information folded up inside herself until someone asked for it directly. “i’m gettin’ into heliciculture,” a pause. “snail farming. can you make this column average all these prices?”

@romymccready Location: wherever Rom Rom makes bombs

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 laptop, pressing each key one at a time as she typed. she had never been good with computers, hadn’t grown up playing pc games or making facebook profiles or learning what buttons did what in the school computer lab. eyebrows met in the middle as confusion mounted on her face. she glanced sideways when she noticed miray, clocking her without fully turning her head. “hello, miray,” romy greeted in that usual cadence of hers, flat and dreamy all at once. miray’s question was answered with one of her own. “do you know how to use microsoft excel?” she looked at miray. “it’s been a while since i’ve seen ya,” she added, fingers hovering uselessly over the keys. “how’re…things?” she asked.

Half the island wasn't an unexpected measurement, though it had a harrowing confirmation about the operation's intent. The ideal conclusion was something that presented itself as theatre rather than execution. A bomb that would eviscerate half the island meant they hadn't been making a statement but rather, a pile of bodies. Self-taught into formal training narrowed the field considerably from there - military, intelligence services, or an organization patient and resourced enough to develop someone inhouse. Those said options changed his working model of what the Pantheon actually was. Not a few clever people with a vendetta. A structure that was funded, layered, built for sustained operations rather than a single incident.

she takes the duffel bag full of cash and says "aight imma head out lmk if there's anything i can do in the future to be Useful" <3

Nan was glad that Romy wasn't an overly defensive girlfriend, because she wasn't sure how she'd be able to handle that. She appreciated that she also understood Nan's intentions. She gave a small grimace when Romy mentioned it not being her want to be here. "I mean, don't get me wrong I love a good sleepover, but no...it was not my idea." She appreciated that she had a brother who wanted her to stay with him. Nan gave a nod, definitely seeing how clubs could be potentially overwhelming for anyone though of course she loved them personally. "It was a really great vibe in there. I loved it, also The Nines." Her heart hurt in her chest for all of the staples that they'd lost in one go. It was sweet to hear that Francis had bought Romy headphones, finding that an extremely thoughtful and caring thing, which made her feel like Francis really was serious about the other woman. "Romeo is great, he's on my list of favorite people to exist. Yeah! I'm surprised that he hasn't been over here. He and I used to just be over here at the same time and Francis wasn't even here." She laughed softly as she gave a small shrug as she wondered if maybe Romeo just had been too busy to do that. "Don't tell Francis, but I send Romeo flowers every so often as this secret admirer bit I started."

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 people as being sacred. not all of them, as hers hadn’t been. two of her siblings might as well not exist. but the bond between francis and nan certainly was. she never wanted to overstep. “well, obviously you already know he just cares and protectin’ you is his way of showin’ it. and i’m sure you stayin’ here is helping your mom feel more at ease.” she hesitated, just a second too late. “is she worried?” she blinked once. what a stupid question. of course leah was worried. that’s what moms did, they worried about their children. until making friends, romy hadn’t worried about anyone. rosa, maybe, when they were small. “do you like going out and all? like to clubs?” she tried to picture it: nan somewhere loud and crowded, dancing, men probably circling her all night. she had that kind of face. “not sure why he hasn’t come over. i don’t know him too well, but i imagine he heard i moved in and felt like he should give us space.” he seemed emotionally intelligent like that. “he doesn’t need to feel that way, though. no one does. i love surprise visitors,” romy lied, which she very seldom did. it probably sounded stilted coming from her mouth. in all honesty, she’d lived through so many surprises she preferred predictability. but she never wanted nan to feel like she couldn’t just drop by. “that’s…sweet. do you, uh, y’know...like him?”

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 tell francis. but he didn’t push. he was patient with her, even after all these years. five years of friendship, and it was only seven months ago that she told him about her upbringing. “i know, i only tell you things ‘cause i want to. i don’t feel pushed,” she confirmed it with a nod. “i think it depends how you say it,” she murmured. “like…hypothetically versus, uh, actionable.” a slight tilt of her head. “plus i don’t even know where my dad is.” if she did, she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from showing up. a slight sigh escaped her; something of comfort, not frustration. “i know i can tell you anything. even if your face does do that little thing,” she pulled the face he always made when she shared a tidbit about her past, brows dropping, mouth going flat. “we can talk about it more, i promise.” she didn’t get the pinky out, but he knew what a promise meant to her. “just…not right now, okay? you’ve got enough goin’ on without me dumpin’ some fucked up story about my dad beatin’ the shit outta me twenty years ago.”

𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐟 hair from her eyes, romy subtly braced her narrow shoulders. she had so many memories from growing up. an abundance of them, really. the only thing to do with them was to pack them up in boxes. before francis, she hadn’t needed to unpack them. now, her lips pressed together as she stared at nothing in particular, like she was trying to find the right box. objectively she knew that, whether by nature or nurture, her brain handled things differently. emotions, especially. but like francis always told her, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “she was all i had. and then one day she was just gone,” she mustered up finally. if the memory resurfacing stung, her face didn’t register. “it felt like missin’ a part of me. i loved her. still do. she’s my sister, i could never be mad at her, but…i do wish she hadn’t left me there. with them.” it was the most she’d ever said about it to him or anyone. another pause, like she was deciding whether to keep going. “i don’t think i’ll ever mope and cry about the things that happened to me. that’s just not…how i work. but maybe you’re right. there’s somethin’ in there.” she furrowed her brows. “i wish i coulda killed my dad, and i don’t think i’d want that if i didn’t have feelings about all of it. i’m not sure what unpackin’ all of that...trauma...or whatever looks like. but i’ll try. with you.” then, after a second, a faint, almost awkward add-on, “and maybe…a licensed therapist.”

Aslan's full attention settled on Romy as she walked him through the bomb's composition, leaning in slightly when she did so. The details were committed to memory, though it sounded generic, the fact she could recognize a replica was enough. "What would the damage radius have been if it'd detonated?" He had a working theory that the device had been a ploy from the start, but the question remained worth asking either way. The whole island, or child's play - the intent of the maker was the distinction he was after. "And whoever built it, you think trained, or self taught?"

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭, 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 finger against her thigh, running through the components of the bomb in her mind. her recall was always sharp. “half the island,” she said finally, flat, point-blank. then, after a second, “give or take.” she liked to account for the margin. it could’ve been more, could’ve been less. but it was still enough to take out everyone at the party. “it was built well. whoever did it knew what they were doin’.” her tone stayed even and analytical. “if they’re self-taught, they got real training later. no amateur could put that together.” it reminded her of herself, a little. self-taught, once. backwoods stuff, improvised. her sister had gotten her in with the cavalry five years back, and they’d seen something in her worth training. she hadn’t been just an amateur with a knack for explosives since. “it was on a timer. so whoever put it there didn’t have to stay.”