lost boy.

“Sorry I’m not some famous bastard who’s made a run for money they don’t deserve.” Sunisa grins at Samir before turning the mask over in their hands. They aren’t sure what its purpose is, especially in such close quarters. Had the truce said anything about snipping the buckle? About letting it clatter to the floor? Probably not, and there were other members, like Emil, who provided those around them with honesty. Or, at least, as much honesty that was allowed, given the circumstance. 

Sunisa raises a brow and nods, a soft chuckle leaving her before she peels herself away from the wall. “Yeah, never been to one, but I guess it could be a bit like that. ‘S fuckin hot is what it is, though.” Sunisa wipes at their cheeks, their neck, and sets the mask to the side, forgotten. At least for the moment. 

“In your experience? You’re not very shy, are you?” Sunisa tilts her head to the side and watches her company for a moment before inhaling sharply. “Oh, my name?” It was only fair, was it not? To tell her name, especially when she knew the pieces of Samir that were written on paper. Then again, not everyone was what was written about them. “Sunisa.” They smile at him, this time more polite than the last. “And yours?” For good measure, at least, they think. “How’re you liking this mini fucking vacation these assholes got us into?”

-

“If it makes you feel any better, I probably wouldn’t know who you are if you were famous.” Possibly if it was infamy for a crime of some sort. As long as it was committed in Britain. He didn’t spend a lot of time studying foreign crime, that was MI6’s job. It was, however, nice to know another face behind the mask. Though, it seemed more and more of Death were ditching their masks making them identifiable for future atonement. Even if he was able to be civil with some of them, they weren’t ones he would want to get close to. Not when he saw first hand the pain and grief the Wardens were still feeling over the loss of a family member. War would go for blood, even if it took time, he didn’t doubt for a second that they would wipe out the entirety of Death and then some. 

The Power nodded in agreement. She wasn’t wrong about the heat. Somehow, he was still excited for the moments he would get to escape outdoors and let the sun soak into his skin. Find a place where he could be alone. It was a far-fetched dream with all the people around and how demanding some of them were. “Certainly it is warm, they could have chosen a place with air conditioning or better ventilation.” 

An unintended laugh fell from Samir at her comment. Boy did he have her fooled. “I suppose I am just a very good listener. Pick up on tips and tricks along the way.” He shrugged. Not many would likely describe Samir as unshy, it actually seemed to bother some of his superiors that he didn’t have all the boldness and ambition as his counterparts. If only they knew just how ambitious he really was or the constant war he battled to keep his identity and thoughts concealed, even with those who’d grown to call him a friend. The resistance to go rogue and continue his journey with War versus going back to MI5. “Samir.” He returned her smile. “I’d say nice to meet you, but I don’t think we’re supposed to.” They were enemies on many levels, after all. “Not much of a vacation. Can’t get much sleep and I think the tension is so thick it can be cut with a knife.” He shook his head. “It’s exhausting.”

Wren fingers their half-damaged pack of smokes as they exit the manor, anxiety-riddled and frustrated at the situation at hand. They’re avoidant, quiet, attempting to blend in with the strange choice of wallpaper. Right now, there is nothing to do but go up to their assigned room and slip under the sheets, but they’d prefer to arrive a bit too late in an attempt to catch their roommate already asleep. They wonder, absentmindedly, what Fazal Khan might look like asleep. Whether he snores, or sleep-talks, or sleep-fights.

So, they procrastinate. He walks, fitting a cigarette between their lips and flicking a plastic lighter. And then, a very familiar scene is painted in strokes of bold déjà vu, as their eyes fall on Samir Kotecha. “Hi.” They exhale a breath of smoke, watch the War Power with wary eyes. “Oh, yes. Sure.” Wren looks up at the sky demonstratively, and finds themself distantly enamoured by the bright twinkling stars. He’s quiet for a moment, then taps the ash off their cigarette. “Kind of magical. Can’t see them for shit in London.” They want out of that fucking city, in all truth. “I wish I had a garden.”

-

Samir nodded in agreement, eyes still cast toward the sky. “Whenever I get a chance outside the city, I always have to check out the stars.” Which only seemed to be on night transports those days. If he even got the opportunity to stop. It’s one of the things he didn’t like about being undercover in War, it never seemed like these organized criminals never took a day off to themselves. At least not the lower ranks. He’d seen the higher ranks go on vacations and take days off, though he had no clue how frequent they happened. 

“A garden? What kind? Flowers, vegetable, herb, or variety?” A garden would be nice, Samir would enjoy an herb or vegetable plot. Maybe have a little cove with a koi pond and some trees and an herb garden. That seemed like it would be relaxing. If there was anything they all needed a bit more of, it was relaxation. Samir wasn’t sure he even remembered how to. “Kind of tense in there, huh?” He motioned back to the manor and shoved his hand back in the pocket of his shorts. “Don’t know how they expect us to get any sleep. It took me forever to warm up to my current roommate and I’ve lived with them for years.” Sam couldn’t sleep around someone he didn’t at least know and have some level of trust with.

SAMIR: Hello Mr. Warden, it's Samir. There's been a situation.

[ Samir took a breath and glanced around the cafe ]

SAMIR: Solomon and I had a meeting with Gabrielle this morning and we were drugged, we came to about ten minutes ago.

SAMIR: The staff is all unconscious still and Gabrielle is missing.

His day wasn't necessarily over, but still he was at home until someone told him otherwise. Samir kept himself busy, chopping vegetables to go in a salad. Something to go along with the chicken and sweet potatoes tray bake in the oven. Domenico would be home soon enough and if he already ate then they’d have more leftovers for the rest of the week. Plus it fulfilled the need to keep busy while also feeling like he was being useful. Do something nice for his roommate, and friend to give him some relief after a long day. It also gave Sam a good meal before his early morning meeting with Gabrielle and Solomon.

There was still a solid hour before the food would be done. Samir set the salad in the fridge and pulled out some carrot sticks, celery, and hummus from the fridge. He had just sat down on the sofa to eat them when he heard the knock on the door. The Power checked his watch and frowned. Did Domenico forget his key? He hadn’t been expecting anyone at their apartment. Samir pushed himself up off the couch and went to the door. “Oh, good afternoon Cemile. I wasn’t expecting you.” He stepped aside so she could come inside. “Dom isn’t home yet. I think he will be soon.” Sam moved into the kitchen to check the food in the oven since he was up. “Can I get you something to drink?” He didn’t think she’d be there to see him. Unless there was work she needed done, but he assumed she would have called if she needed something from him. No reason to show up in person, so he had to assume she’d come to talk to Dom. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, unless you and Dom have date plans or something.”

Samir wasn’t in a hurry to retire to his room quite yet. He wasn’t sure who his roommate was yet, but from what he’d heard it wasn’t going to be someone in War and that whole idea made him uncomfortable. Besides, he was still filled with an electric kind of energy he couldn't seem to shake. It wasn't paranoia though it flirted the line with it. Just hyper aware mixed with more caffeine than he'd likely had in his entire life over the past two weeks. There was too much going on and he hadn't even thought about MI5 until they were ordered to go to the manor. It was unusual but honestly not strange as he grew more and more attached to what he'd built for himself in War. At the moment all he wanted to do was find his Horseman, he still felt partially responsible for her going missing in the first place.

In an attempt to escape the stuffy air caused by the lack of proper air flow, too many people, and the summer heat- he escaped onto the grounds. It wasn't long until he ran into a familiar face. Samir hadn't seen Wren in a while. Both because of the nonexistent truce and the last time they'd had a real conversation it was outside Rafael Femenias Snr's estate. "Hey, come to check out the stars, too?" He asked them in greeting. A hand pointed upwards, as if they didn't already know where the stars were. "You can really see all of them out here. Not like in the city." He shrugged not knowing how they'd respond to his presence around them. Everyone was understandably wound up.

He'd put it off long enough. It was time to go to his assigned room for the night. He wished that he could just share a room with Domenico. Like he shared a tent with him during past away assignments. They'd been roommates for years, they knew how to co-exist around each other. Samir could endure it, of course, he just didn't want to. There was enough stress going around, they didn't need any extra. He had no room to say anything, however and quite frankly, no one was asking what he thought about it all. Worse comes to worst, he'd find somewhere else to catch a few hours of rest and recharge.

A deep inhale and the Power pushed open the door to his room. The worn nylon duffle bag sat on, what he had to assume, was his bed. Samir couldn't place the person who occupied the room besides him. He paused to study their face and came up with nothing. Which likely meant they were Pestilence or Death. There were only one or two he knew from those gangs, not a particular fan of either of them. "Uh, hey." He greeted with a raised hand to offer an awkward wave. "I'm, um, I'm Samir. Your roommate for the next couple nights, I guess." He moved toward the bed with his bag on it and started the process of grabbing out the things he would need for the night. A small bathroom bag, lightweight plain grey pajama pants, and a faded Cowboy Bebop T-shirt. A man of few words normally, he waited to see what his temporary roommate had to say before opening his mouth again.

with. – @samirkotecha​ where.– the manor when. – july 18th, evening 

Sunisa plays with the ends of their hair, dark strands laying flat against the white tank top they wear. The mask, though necessary as explained by Laura– she thinks it had been Laura, clings to her face in places that are a cause of discomfort. Even if others had learned her truths, what would it do for them? She was a nobody, both with her mask and without. A fledgling, she thought of herself– chasing after the coat tails of those who barked the orders. What hurt could they cause that she hadn’t already experienced? It wasn’t like she had anything to lose. 

So they pull, and they tug at the clasp at the back, and the mask slips off their face. It’s in a corner where the cameras do not hit. They swallow the heat of summer as beads of sweat dot their upper lip. Reaching up to rub them away, they turn just in time to catch a face they’ve only come to recognize by way of photo and a small bout of information attached. 

“Well,” Sunisa sighs, “whatever.” They hold the mask against their chest. She watches him for a moment before realizing that past the information fed to her by Death, she’d seen him cleaning the night before, long after the meals had been eaten. “This feels a bit like before a wedding day, huh?” Sunisa leans against the wall – her safety corner. Just in case. “It gets sweaty under there. It’s unbelievable. You’d think the’d figure out how to make them a little more comfortable.” 

-

The Power was wandering. Ever since they'd arrived at the Manor, no before that, since the café where Gabrielle had first disappeared. The spark that started the exodus from London to the country. Samir was restless. More hyper aware of every single thing going on around him than ever before. The speech given by his Seraphims only validated the feeling. Trust no one but each other. Band together. Be ready to fight. He anticipated more interrogation from the Wardens, Dominions, and Virtues. There was no way to tell when it would come, so he busied himself with other tasks. 

Cleaning as the Powers were assigned to do, wasn’t the worst job because it kept him occupied. However, in the grand scheme of things he thought that it should be an Angel duty and Powers should have been more trusted to carry luggage. Who was he to argue, however? Once that was done he found himself checking out the new security cameras from Saint Warden's new CCTV venture. Watching anyone and everyone, to see just what information he could gather. On top of struggling with an internal crisis as to just how much he should be helping War in this situation. Should he gather the intel for the Wardens or to deliver on to MI5? 

There is a part of her that wonders how Samir is on the job, if he’s this fidgety in the face of illegal activity and bloody violence, too. But he’s not her Power, and she has enough on her mind to also meddle with Rita’s ( et al ) crew, so she lets it go. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll hear something interesting.” That it should be reported back goes unsaid; Samir is smart enough to know that’s what’s expected. She gives him another smile, one of reassurance. 

Her gaze falls on his hands and she wonders, truly, where all this anxiety comes from. Maybe she’s too used to this, these kind of events with bigwigs and backroom meetings, having been part of this world since she was old enough to step a proper foot in it. “An arsenal.” She pushes the button that’ll take them to the basement, then checks her reflection, pulls out a bobby-pin and puts it between her lips. “Our very best. You should have been shown it already, I think, but you don’t step by often enough.” It’s hardly a secret, after all, among the ranks; but maybe it’s good that it’s not spread around too widely. Not that Samir can access it so easily, anyway. “I oversee it.”

-

“That is a very valid point and I have had success in that area in the past. Learned a lot, actually, over the years.” He partially admitted while agreeing with her. Ninety percent of all intel Samir gathered came from observation and listening. Making himself transparent enough so people didn’t think twice about talking about anything and everything around him. Or suspect him as he wanders around a warehouse, an office, or an armory. On the War side of things, he’d learned a lot from the people he was either tasked to work with, or took an interest in him. Like with Solomon on their hikes, Domenico during gaming sessions, or security detail for Rita. 

He perked up at the mention of the arsenal. Of course he’d heard of it, though he feigned ignorance nonetheless. "I believe I maybe heard something about it, not sure. I definitely haven’t seen it yet though. Most of the armories I spend time with are out of town." Hence the transportation and security. "I didn't know you oversaw it either, though. That's cool." What better place to get offed than in an arsenal. Samir pushed the thought away with a shake of his head. She doesn't know, no one knows. Ms. Singh is just going to show him the fancy arsenal beneath the Ritz.

it echoes. it buzzes, like a hornet trapped in delicate honey, the remnants of yesterday’s phone conversation with emil becker and the thought that he’s somewhere close. they are friends. they were friends. the changing of the tense is what makes it painful. sometimes the best thing you can be for someone that you love is a stranger. “oh —  thank you, sam, but i can’t drink it. this crystal mesh over my face is connected to my sleeves. so i can’t take it off.” apologetically she hands him back the glass of the burgundy wine, showcasing only gratitude for the company that he provides. “is the wine at least good?”

the question is posed as a distraction, something to help waste time as she attempts to silence the myriad of thoughts that ring inside of her head. she can’t know for sure, can’t place a bet, but emil surely has other things to ruminate about, unlike her. evren thinks, as she looks at samir, that it must be strange, must be agonizing for them, to live a double life and lie. “i don’t know what to tell you. it’s certainly an astonishing twist,” the angel muses, feeling as though she’s having two separate conversations, one with the war power and one with herself, inside of her head. what she wants is to remain three steps ahead. what she desires is to never be outsmarted like that again. but don’t we, even in our most brilliant moments, always reach for our own ruin?

“fun? ha, i wouldn’t exactly say that, but it’s an excuse to wear haute couture.” bringing a hand close to his face, she adjusts his mask and slightly pulls one of his wayward curls, somewhat amused by the current state of his hair. “i think we did a good job with your outfit. i’m glad you got to keep parts of your usual style while mixing it with the formal attire. but the prince charming curls really do make you recognizable,”  the comment is offered with a laugh, but there’s truth to it, a truth that arrives hand in hand with danger. “it’s a part of their brand.”

-

“Oh, right.” Duh, that should have occurred to him that her mask would get in the way. Samir gave her an apologetic smile and looked down at the now two drinks he was left over with. He’d set one down if he wasn’t in a room with about a hundred other people that might slip something into it. Maybe he could hand it off to someone, or drink the first drink faster and hope it didn’t all go to his head. Prompted by the thought, he raised the glass to his lips to take a drink. “Mmm, it’s not as good as the wine Rita gave me but it’s still fairly good.” He reached forward to pluck a small hair from her mesh covered shoulder. “Doesn’t taste like poison was added, so that is a promising addition.” Samir joked and took another quick sip. 

Samir’s brow wrinkled the closer attention he paid to his friend. She seemed like there was something more on her mind. Honestly, who didn’t have more on their mind? He couldn’t blame her. His mind was quite often wandering in several different directions. Sometimes he felt like he lived primarily in his head, the only place he was allowed to be himself. Still, he couldn’t help being a tiny bit concerned. “You are quite right about that. I cannot imagine it will last long.” Another sip and a scan of the room before he set his focus back on her. “You alright, Ev?” He had to ask the question at least once, to check in. 

A soft laugh escaped him. “If you say so.” His normal response for anytime fashion was brought into question. The only reason he knew anything about the topic was because of time spent with Evren and Jess. His cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “You mean you did a good job with my outfit. I just picked out the shoes.” Samir laughed and waved off the comment. “The mask is a little warm though. Why do we have to wear masks? Don’t most people know each other already?” It was an ironic thing for him to mention, considering the constant mask he wore but still valid all the same. To him at least. The Power brushed a curl away at their mention and raised the glass for another sip.

where. – a café, westminster.

when. – 8th of july, 2021.

@samirkotecha​

he was the last one to sit down, as always. solomon gave the distant tables a final look, his most serious face at the staff coming their way, and finally unbuttoned his blazer to sit down. there wasn’t a drop of tiredness in him, sharp despite the hour, alert despite the secure location. only once gabrielle warden started talking, did he let his shoulders drop just a smidge, aware that he’s been in this café a million times for meetings with her - most staff faces are recognizable now, and where a warden places her trust, so does he. solomon is preparing a list of safety concerns in his head, which include data on the armory and some suggestions, but the moment he opens his mouth, pain pings on his neck and a burning hot flash brings him crumbling down. 

solomon wishes he could say that he saw shadowy figures. someone dressed in black to the left, a hand on the right, but realistically, he knows it was just the corners of his eyes fading to black as something hit him. on the edge of consciousness, he wonders what is injuring him. it was too localized to be a knock to the head, as it doesn’t throb. it felt different than a taser and other electrical devices. it was certainly not a bullet and he’s certainly not dead. and the feeling on his veins, and sticky on every layer of his skin, is eerily chemical. he wakes up with his arm flat across the table, reaching out to gabrielle, a movement he doesn’t even remember making, but it’s muscle memorised by now - his first instinct, even incapacitated. and yet as he blinks to see his arm, it points to an empty chair. he blinks some more, the heavy feeling fighting the emerging panic, but it’s so damn hard to move. the nausea threatens to come out when he twists his head to find samir still on his seat, head slumped onto the table. “sam-”, his voice drags. i’ve been drugged. this smells like pestilence, is the first conclusion he’s got, but sol’s too busy for conclusions as he moves the hand onto samir’s hair, shaking the other’s head. he takes the few context clues he can as his body unlocks, a little slower than his mind. there’s sweat on him, but it’s dried and elastic; the coffee cups aren’t steaming; one of the waitresses seems to be waking up on the corner of his eye. they weren’t out just a few seconds, not at all. “samir. she’s gone - samir.” his free hand is moving to his hidden gun, not phone, and as more muscles power up, he prepares to run around in search for her. maybe she did this, some sort of test. maybe she’s awake already, washing her face or something. maybe she’s got a gun to the host’s head already. he prefers those to the more unthinkable options.

-

It was only supposed to be business as usual. Samir had arrived at the café several minutes early, because on time was late. Sat down opposite of Gabrielle and watched Solomon scope the place out rather than attempt small talk with his Horseman. His rigid posture is normal, in both of his roles, a way for him to keep focused. He took the coffee offered, if only to have something to hold while they went over reports. There was no reason to suspect what was coming. Solomon was there, so keen on security on levels Samir aspired to despite his years of training. Then there was the Warden Matriarch herself, their fearless leader, with more experience than both of them combined. If she didn’t suspect anything, what reason did they have to? Still, with the sharp observation possessed between six pairs of eyes, one of them should have seen something coming.

There was no warning, just a quick sting in his neck and darkness. A Power of War may not be expected to have been able to identify all the information offered in the short period given between that sting to his head falling forward to rest on the table. But, an MI5 officer should. As Samir was shaken conscious again, he arose mid thought as if time had simply halted and picked up again. “A needle.” He murmured, eyes only partially open as he sat up, blinking to adjust to the light. One of his hands held the pointed ache on his forehead, the part he assumed made contact with the table. Samir, she’s gone. Solomon came into focus and his words registered immediately after. Immediately his heart rate picked up and he looked to the chair Gabrielle Warden had previously occupied. The mask of a persona he’d spent years perfecting for his role in War had not awoken with him. His first thought was not to appear frightened or feign naive conclusions. Instead, he rose from his chair and swayed ever so slightly from the head rush caused by the movement. “It was a needle or a pin. Where’s the staff?” He asked while he waited for his blood pressure to equalize so he could move without hindrance. Samir had no idea how long Solomon had been awake, if he’d already started looking around for evidence of their Horseman’s presence, or if he’d even gone under to begin with. In the moment, he had to assume they’d both been affected by the same substance. “Did you see Gabrielle go under?” Samir hadn’t. Was she testing them? “We need to look around.” He said aloud, already in motion and taking initiative. Still forgetting Samir the Power should be waiting to follow the Dominion’s lead instead.

–

“Maybe it’s more of an American thing.” Apollo said with a shrug. Maybe it was more of a ‘watched too many old movies growing up’ thing. He liked the way it sounded though, he liked how it made everything feel unnecessarily buttoned-up and correct.

“It wasn’t exactly a linear progression.” He admitted. God his parents would faint if they could see him now. Whenever they called, Apollo just said he worked for a theater. It wasn’t a lie, strictly speaking. “There were a few… stops, along the way. Career-wise. Can’t quite shake the English bug though.”

–

-

“Perhaps. I’m not as familiar with the culture there.” He’d never traveled outside of Europe, in fact he’d barely left the island. Eventually he’d like to visit France, or some of the Asian countries. He’d never had a desire to jump across the pond, though. For any reason. Perhaps the other man felt similar and that’s why he had come to the United Kingdom. 

“I see.” He retorted with a quick nod, knocking a curl to hang over one of the eye holes in his mask. Samir blew upward in an attempt to put it back in place, but it wasn’t much use. His hair had a mind of its own. “It sounds like you’ve lived an adventurous life so far. I’m kind of jealous.” He wasn’t, not really. Being undercover in War was plenty of an adventure for a lifetime or two. “So where do you belong in this whole scheme of things?” Samir motioned to the room.

samir has always made playing nice an easy task, never prodded or poked too far, in fact, he never even approached the line to begin with, let alone come anywhere near close to crossing it. only with his alliegance and war breaking out between the gangs did that line become somewhat complicated. but samir never laid hands on him or someone he loves, and so it’s easy to put samir back to where he was before as ravi’s unassuming friend. marcus wonders where samir’s hesitance now stems from, if it’s extended to ravi to some degree, or if it’s just marcus getting this treatment. “don’t be silly, man, come in.” in reality, he’d quite like that, not out of any dislike towards samir but a desire to be undisturbed, but it would clash with the charming shell he’s spent so long building.

marcus eyes the water bottle, eyes flick back up to samir as he realises he’s dead serious. “you sure? you don’t want like, a coffee, tea?” and as they reach the kitchen, marcus weaves around the island counter to the kettle to flick it on. marcus knows what samir is asking about, he doesn’t have to look over and see where the other is motioning to, but he does. “ah, yeah. one of those pricks in death threw a grenade at me,” he shrugs like such a thing is a common occurrence. “it’s all good though, almost back to normal.” he lies through a smile, leaning on palms braced against the countertop after placing his coffee down nex to him, to give his knee a moment of relief. “haven’t heard anything about you in a while, which is a good thing, might i add, considering everything. you been alright? healthy?” not in a fucking hospital bed? it would be a relief to know ravi won’t be met with a near death experience of a friend older than his involvement with famine.

-

“Oh, okay. I didn’t want to-” Samir paused trying to think of the right word. Intrude? Sure, but he sort of wanted to intrude, he had come over to visit a friend after all. He pressed his lips together and hummed. Ultimately he shrugged. “I guess I’m just being cautious after everything. You know, not piss anyone off by assuming I’m welcome. A lot of stuff went down.” Too much for any one person to make amends for and knowing the pride of each of the factions, he didn’t think many of them would be rushing at the opportunity to do so. Except, perhaps, Death. They didn’t seem like the apologetic type, even if they were pretending to be. Everyone stood and watched the destruction they caused through the city. 

A light chuckle fell out of the Power and he gave in quite easily. “I suppose a spot o’ tea wouldn’t hurt.” He moved further into the kitchen to stand on the opposite side of the island. “Oh, bloody hell. I hadn’t heard. Is it going to be okay?” Samir’s brow raised with surprise and a touch of concern. Yet another thing to add to the list of reasons to hate death. He didn’t harbour hate for much or many, but there was a strong dislike for anyone who knowingly put people at risk by selling them addictive substances. Hence, his hate for Pestilence. Then even more for a group of people who just wanted to watch the world burn. While he hadn’t been close to Juno Warden, he’d always found her to be a strong and fair leader. Someone he could easily look up to and respect.  She did not deserve the sentence they gave to her. “I cannot complain. I’ve been well, mostly just working and doing what I’m asked.” Unfortunately he couldn’t divulge more into it with Marcus, rules and all that. “Saw Jess not long ago, it was nice to hang out again. I think she might be upset that I beat her in Street Fighter so many times, but she always challenges me to my best game.” He chuckled. “She destroys me in DDR, though, so I guess it’s an even trade.”