Samar Sehgal, London Advocate 37 years old
Investigative Journalist
Cambridge University Graduate Like all big cities, London has its fair share of secrets. The public at large has a right to know what's going on just under the surface, and to know exactly who they can trust. That's where I come in.
FOR: @samar-sehgal
EVENT: The Camp Out, 24'
WHERE: The Firepit, evening.
Amélie didn't want to spoil his fun, and even as she walked over, heart thumping in an off-beat rhythm, that familiar sheepish look in those doe eyes, and it was there, she stumbled...considered turning around. Maybe this could wait, she thought, because this was meant to be a party (something she'd never been good at.) and...the other part of herself, the one that lived in doubt and regret told her that...if she didn't? She never would. That anxiety had been embedded in her very being from the moment she'd screamed as a fresh babe taking her first breath.
But Amélie didn't want to live her life in fear. She couldn't.
"I'm, uh, sorry, I'm sorry for interrupting." a meal smile on her lips. "Is there any chance we could talk?"
Despite the way this charity event had been designed to try and make at least some of its guests as uncomfortable as possible with the less than posh surroundings they were accustomed to, Samar was actually having a good time. At least with the people willing to talk to him, and to be fair that number could fluctuate at any given time he was around.
Engrossed in discussion with someone, Samar out of the corner of his eye saw Amélie approaching from the side but with a small hesitation in her body language. It was a familiar aprehension he'd seen a few times before, his co-worker and friend had a habit of doubting herself from time to time and he felt like it was a duty to help her overcome that when at all possible. Her journalistic instincts were generally spot-on, and his respect for Amélie knew no end.
"Not a worry, Ames, and of course." Samar gave a nod to his conversation partner. "We'll finish this later, yeah?" Rising to his feet to match her stance, "Is this a 'need to find somewhere discreet' kind of talk?"
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LOCATION — The Rutherford Estate, Kingston Upon Thames.
DATE — October 26, 2024.
STARTER — closed for @samar-sehgal
Samar is still alive, which by all accounts, is lucky. Less an achievement he can take credit for, Gideon suspects, and more the good fortune of being related to a Sehgal that his sister doesn't want to divorce.
"Well, well, Samar... It seems the louder you protest, the more you tempt your fate to throw us all into bed together. Literally." The Rutherford remarks, zipping up some of his belongings, before straightening to study the man with an unfriendly tilt to his lips.
"Don't worry... If you send up a smoke signal, or better yet, scream loud enough, I'm sure someone back at the London Advocate might take pity and come rescue you."
"Death, taxes, and snide remarks from the good doctor. Nice to see some things can still be counted upon."
By now there was very little that could be said by either man to faze the other, in fact it brought the tiniest sneer to Samar's lips as Gideon addressed him with every bit of contempt oozing from his words as he'd expect.
"Oh, and Gideon Rutherford managing to still end up on the richer side of the equation. If this wasn't being organized by Diana I'd have believed the fix was in, rather than just the usual silver spoon."
FOR: @mobscene-starters
WHEN: 08th of May, 2024.
WHERE: Outside the London Advocate.
Amélie walked down the corridor of The London Advocate, her steps echoing off the polished floors. The hum of activity filled the air as journalists hurried about their tasks, phones ringing incessantly in the background, and loud clamors as new stories flew in faster than they could write them. Sources here, and there. It was manic, and for a woman such as herself, it was odd that she found such comfort here: amongst the noise and the chaos. Glancing at her old, antic watch which had once been Mathis, she sighed, a deadline looming, and her latest piece on the French Organization needed final touches before submission.
But not tonight, no, that was tomorrow's task.
Approaching her over-crowded desk, usually tidy at this time on a Wednesday, was a simple 'fuck you' to the clock that rang 7:00pm, telling everyone it was time to go home. Chucking things into her bag with careful handling, catching sight of Felicity Woodward, her editor, engrossed in conversation with another staff member. Animated, over the top, and wholly different from anything Amélie could've ever attempted. Even If she'd tried...that'd be a failure she wasn't sure she'd be able to live down. Felicity was a formidable woman, sharp eyes never missing a beat. And from the looks of it -- she wouldn't be leaving the office any time soon.
Lifting her hand in a simple goodbye was enough to have her leave...quickly. Before she was pulled in to meet with a source or stay longer than she needed. And just like that, she was up and out, exiting the doors until she came to an almost screeching halt...
What?
"I wasn't expecting to see you...here?" Amélie said, a look of confused bemusement taking over her porcelain features. "You, uh, wait, are you waiting for me?" -- gone was the smile only seconds later, head cocking to the side.
Never the type to really shy away from ducking into the office, even when he wasn't scheduled, Samar stopped short as he met Amélie at the front door of the Advocate.
"Really? I do work here, Ames. And you should know by now, there are no days off." Samar crossed his arms across his chest, "And no, I wasn't waiting for you per say, but it is always a pleasure to cross paths. How's the Old Lady doing in there?" Samar always got a kick out of calling Felicity an old lady when it was far from the truth.
"Done for the day? You look like you're in a bit of a rush to escape."
She was in a mood, which wasn't unheard of, but more so with the lack of sleep and helping her family try to find Gianna before shit hit the fan.
Her gaze left a slight warning to not test the grounds, placing her drink down, because heaven forbid she could have one sip and hear her own thoughts.
To anyone else, that warning would be enough of a reason to just shut up and enjoy their own drink, leaving the lady alone. Samar wasn't just anyone else, however. For better or worse.
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LOCATION — Some hole-in-the-wall restaurant, London.
DATE — May 3rd, 2024.
STARTER — Open to all @mobscene-starters
Why is it always awkward to eat out alone?...
One would think he'd be used to it, given the number of years he's been alone. In his defense, the prospect is made more uncomfortable tonight by the fact he and the person sitting at the table next to him are two in a grand total of about ten people occupying the restaurant... Including the staff.
Why on earth they have to seat their new guest right next to his table when there are so many empty ones around also begs a good question. Now they actually have to acknowledge each other. It's that, or stare at the far wall like a pair of dunces.
"They do a bloody good carbonara." He offers, by ways of an explanation.
"And sometimes you just need to step away from the personal chef, right?" Samar couldn't believe the unwitting luck, or lack-thereof, to wind up at the same tiny restaurant here as Gideon Rutherford tonight. That was the last time he let a potential source pick the time and place.
"Funny, I wouldn't have taken you for a carbonara man." The chance to needle him, deserved or not, proved to be too much to take. "How's tricks, Doctor?"
Well there was no way to avoid the obvious now, that despite the evening being mostly in jest the residents of London were without a doubt wrapped up in shady, illegal and utterly dangerous activities too numerous to count. The flash of video all too gruesome, yet familiar all the same, had severely dampened the vibe of it all now. People murmured, began to scatter and drift off to the night, and while Samar’s first instinct was to try and gather whatever bits of information he could about what everyone couldn’t help but have seen… he realized that it had been a while since he’d heard from Eleanor. As they were pretending to merely be acquaintances in public whenever other people were around, they couldn’t be attached at the hip like he’d have preferred on an evening like this. It was likely she preferred the distance, he kept telling himself, what sort of publicity bring to her career if people knew she was tumbling with the loudmouthed reporter everyone disdained? Still, he didn’t like that there had been no word from her at all, and even after sending her a text there was no reply forthcoming. Putting that investigative instinct to good use he began to seek her out, trying to determine where she might have gotten off to. “Eleanor…” he muttered to himself quietly. “Just be safe.”
Pounding. Thumping. The sounds roared through her mind. Was it her heart or her head that were the cause? Everything was a blur as green eyes tentatively peeled open from the fog. Eleanor attempted ever-so-slightly to lift her face from the floor-- the immediate ache of her temple indication that it was definitely the latter. She couldn't remember much, except that first she was hiding and then everything faded to black. The crystals on her cocktail dress had collected tiny shards from the glass that had shattered on the pantry floor. Her first thought was to check her phone and seek out help, but she had no idea where it was. Likely hidden among the rubble of the pantry debris. Eleanor felt weak; her vision was still blurry which only made her dizzy as she tried to muster some strength and bring herself to her knees. She ignored the little bits of glass that pierced her legs as she slowly crawled toward the pantry door. Eleanor listened carefully, it silent in the kitchen now, though she wasn't sure how far she could make it on her own. Feebly she nudged the door open enough for a slice of light to leak in, but then vertigo took over and she pressed her face into the palms of her hands, trying to garner another bout of energy.
The longer he went without hearing from Eleanor, the more anxious Samar was becoming. It wasn’t like her to just ghost him and not reply at all. He’d last seen her around the bar area where they’d exchanged a little banter, and soon was putting all his focus into trying to track her without coming across as stalker-ish. The best lead he’d gotten was from a member of the wait-staff who said they’d seen her heading in the direction of the kitchen area, and it was as good a place as any to search. If he needed to, Samar would be searching every room on every floor of this place until he found Eleanor. For some reason, the kitchen was quiet and empty when he ducked his head in, but at least it made the effort a lot easier. “Eleanor?” he inquired, at a level above a whisper but not by much? Eyes glanced around, searching in vain… until he saw the pantry door askew, and a splash of pink color at the bottom of it. Rushing over, his heart practically in his mouth given the circumstances of the night already, Samar pulled the door open slowly and cast his gaze down… to see Eleanor down on the floor, her face in her hands. “El!” He couldn’t hide the worry in his voice, but he’d found her.
Eleanor was trying to concentrate on her breathing-- slow and steady both in, and out. She'd had panic attacks before and didn't want to go down that road again. She wasn't sure she even had the energy to combat one. In. Out. in. Out. This distracted her from the footsteps that approached, she completely oblivious to the fact that anyone was near until she heard the softness of his voice. Her nickname on his lips with concern. Even as out of it she was in that moment, Eleanor felt reprieve. Safe. He had come looking for her. It melted her racing heart, and she peeked up at him; the warmth of Samar's eyes wrapping around her like a blanket. Tears pricked her own, but she managed a small smile and reached for his hand. "Sammy." It barely squeaked past her lips; the name he loathed but let her get away with anyhow. As he knelt down to her, Eleanor disregarded all thought of the media or anyone that might be around. Despite the way they trembled, her hands pressed to Samar's cheeks, bringing his lips to hers with a feather of a kiss. "I'm okay," she whispered, her nose nuzzling his affectionately. The scene around them and her weak, shaky body might seem otherwise, but she knew now that he was here, she would be.
The moment he saw her there and saw the reaction to his voice, Samar wasted no time at all in kneeling down beside Eleanor to offer her help and support of every kind. His racing pulse just as frenetic, his hand finding hers as she’d searched for it. And it was Eleanor who reached to his face and pulled him to a soft kiss, perhaps to remind herself as well she was alright. “You’re certain?” The words were enough to half-convince him, but it didn’t stop him from surveying her for himself, slowly wrapping an arm behind her shoulders, giving her the chance to slowly make it back to her feet herself. “I didn’t know where you’d gotten to, El, but I wasn’t going to leave without you.” Eyes glanced down to notice her legs, dotted with bits of glass and a few having left nicks on bare skin. Her dress had been a showstopper, but hadn’t offered much in the way of protection. “You’re hurt, do you feel like leaving?” In the moment it wasn’t registering with him that it might look odd to the general public if they were spotted leaving together, the only thing he was focused on was her safety and condition. With Eleanor upright now and partially leaning on him for support, Samar’s arm dropped to her waist, reeling her in tighter. “I’m just glad you’re safe, El.”
Although the kiss was almost like a pinch to make sure this was all real, Eleanor was overwhelmed with so much adoration for him that she let the moment overtake everything else. She nodded softly, melting against Samar as he scooped her onto wobbly legs. She clutched to him tightly to find balance, since her aching head still made everything a bit dizzying. "I'm sorry. I promise to explain it all later. I tried to write you back." His words made her pause, heart this time aflutter. After that horrifying video there was certainly a story to unravel. Eleanor knew how passionate Samar was at finding all of the juicy details and instead, he was looking for her. Green eyes grew soft, meeting warm ones again. "Thank you for not giving up on me." She held his stare, only diverting to her legs as his did. Small red cuts decorated ivory skin, but she didn't feel like any glass had actually sunk its way in. She did want to leave, and really just wanted to be with him somewhere safe. If anyone noticed them leave together, she didn't care at the moment. Perhaps he'd be dubbed a hero, or they would be called out. But then and there, seeing that he had sacrificed his findings for her was enough for Eleanor to ignore the consequences. She'd worry about them another day. "So long as you'll stay with me tonight." Judging from his expression, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Samar: El, where are you? I've been looking for you but haven't had any luck yet. Did you get to someplace safe with others?
*...10 minutes...*
Samar: Please let me know where you are? I'll come to you.
"Best Sense of Humor? I suppose you've managed to pry a chuckle or two out of me." Sidling up next to him at the bar, Eleanor nudged Samar's arm gently with hers. She didn't bother to suppress her smile as she beamed up at him, bright eyes twinkling with mischief. "But really. They hit the nail on the head. I've yet to meet someone that makes me laugh more than you. Even when you're being a sass king."
"Well of all the things I've managed to accomplish, I do think that might be my crowning achievement. Even if I didn't walk away with a literal crown tonight." Samar offered a cheeky grin. "So for making the Most Beautiful Woman in London laugh, I'll call that a win." He returned the slight nudge, careful not to tip their hand in public, even if the smile on her face made him want to kiss her right then and there. "Thank you for that, Miss Shipley, and all the congratulations to you as well for your victories tonight. I'd say this is a night to remember, and for once it's in a good way."
Indeed, Samar was hard-pressed to remember having seen the lovely brunette woman talking to him before, but offered her a smile as well as a handshake.
"I don't believe we have either. Samar; it's nice to meet you. Have you enjoyed the night's festivities so far?"
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"Perhaps, unless the goal is to create a memorable enough moment to last all the way to the 2025 awards. In which case, you'll never find a better audience for that."
"Oh, I am quite certain this year will be a year to remember." Not only because it's been a year since she had been found hanging somewhere by the water.
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Eleanor knew he already had it in the bag before his name was even announced. She tried not to make it obvious that she clapped a little louder and smiled a bit brighter at the results of this particular award. It was well earned.
So far no one had noticed just how perfectly his cufflinks matched her dress.
