END ALL BE ALL;

 A small ‘oop’ escaped past her lips as she felt someone touch her arm. Perhaps Safiye had lived in Montreal her whole life, knows what dangers linger within some  buildings yet she still found herself stepping out of her way to help. Her mother would warn people can bite the hand extended to them, while the idea of community and togetherness was drilled into her brain. She should thank Savannah for more or less being the brains of the two. The brunette watched the event unfold between the blonde and the man, of course he was some creep. It should make sense - her dark hues fully taking in him, he screamed rather creepy. Safi stood behind, filling the all to classic roll of side kick as she nodded at Savannahs words, laced with a warning.

  Bringing her attention back to her friend, she offered smile. “Oh come on, if I do that then our friendship would be so boring.” Safiye teased, nudging her side. “But duly noted, stay away from creepy men with overloaded bags.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this already,” the blond began, relentlessly trying to hide the humbled laughter in her voice despite how seemingly impossible it seemed a the idea of anything Safiye did as boring, “but the rest of my life is far from boring and though I wouldn’t mind a little slice of normalcy every now and then, I don’t think I’ll ever find it in you, dear Saf.” A breath of fresh air - much alike the brisk chill in the air now, the woman beside her had been nothing short of relief in every sense of the word for as long as she’d known her - an easy friendship that held no preconceived lines drawn. It was easy, and easy, she could use more of beyond her career. “I happen to like you a little less boring anyway. Keeps me occupied for far longer than I ever think it will.” The mock humor in her voice was innocent, she by no means sought to use the other for anything other than the friendship offered. “I am curious as to how you manage when I’m not around though.”

The University wasn’t a place that Isaac came to often. However, when he needed some time to reflect, it was the perfect place to go to. No one bothered him there. With the recent new leadership, Isaac felt like he was going to be thrown through the ringer all over again. He was tired. Was he really going to be able to do it again? 

Spotting a familiar face, he felt comfortable enough to sit down near her. “I think it’s the weather, it’s very nice out today,” He acknowledged, “Was it that bad?” He didn’t attend this university himself, but he could only figure that it was bad from how she was speaking. And he did attend university in general, so he knew where she was coming from. “At least it’s a chapter that’s over and done with, right?” Isaac tried to look on the bright side of things. If he didn’t, he probably would’ve lost his mind by now. “What’re you doing around here?” He was just curious, finding it amusing that they were both here at the same time. 

“I guess that certainly makes a difference. A day full of panic exams and endless papers would definitely seem a little more gloomy than this.” She laughed, quietly, reminiscent of a time far less complicated than the one she lived now. “No, not really. I wouldn’t give up my time here for anything. Absolutely nothing makes sense in a place like this when you’re here, but from what I know and remember, it’s kind of nice not knowing which way is up half the time.” It’s not to say, in the least, that she’d rather be occupied and ignorant as a result, no -- Savannah Delore took pride in the plethora of things that could inevitably be pulled at the thread by her very own hand, but knowledge often opened a gateway to wishing innocence was still a tolerable trait. “For the time being, I suppose you’re right.”  Light that shone through overhead tree branches cast an ominous shadow across the pair, azure hues soon finding her counterpart on the bench beside her. Isaac Harris - an interesting idea of company, to say the least. “I stopped by to see an old professor of mine, he talked me into sitting in on one of his lectures and I’ve always found it quite hard to say no to the man that taught me more than I know what to do with now.” Incidentally, not an entire falsity, although Savannah knew exactly what to do with the things he’d taught her. “It’s a nice break from the courthouse, but, my being here makes a little more sense than yours does. Don’t tell me you’re considering becoming a mature aged collegiate,” A taunt that settled lightheartedly, an easy standpoint - for now. 

The blur of being rushed from the vineyard in the wake of Lorenzo’s death had seemed to carry out into the several days following. Grief was not in Henri’s normal vernacular, and yet there he was, staring at his reflection in the windowpanes that belonged to the patio door of Savannah Delore’s home. It was late, enough so that he could slip away in the cover of darkness to come and see her. Grief was a funny thing, that even after ever venomous word shed between the two of them she was the only comfort he wanted. Because in the midst of pillow talk and subtle affection Savannah would come to learn far more about the depth of Henri’s relationship with Enzo that perhaps any other person living knew – Arend was dead now, one less person to carry the weight of Henri’s secrets.

He was weary, a feeling that was new to Henri as he approached middle age with every birthday that came to pass, but there it was. A weariness that clung to his bones, stowed itself in the marrow. It was one more Vittori casket set on the man’s shoulder than Henri had ever thought he’d live to carry. One more handful of dirt tossed on crafted mahogany than he thought would ever stain his fingertips. Because Henri thought he would have died a long time ago, and there he was, an entire kingdom at his feet. And all he wanted, truly, was to pretend in the still of the night that he was ordinary. 

Despite the power now explicitly at his fingertips, this was what he wanted. And so after typing away a message to @sdclxre​ to come and fetch him from the back door, Henri would, in his own reverie, pretend he’d simply locked himself out, and a scene of domestic bliss awaited him.

Perhaps some might have expected her to be more elated over the death of Lorenzo Vittori - but a death wasn’t enough. Another figurehead would step up and reign with as much a heavy, violent hand at the last. Death was never enough to stop the cycle and it was a fact that Savannah was far more aware of now - now, that the man stepping into Lorenzo’s place was one that held strings tied around her heart, pulled so tightly the echo of such an ache never really left her alone. A man that she knew held all the capability to become Lorenzo and more. Certainly not now, in the quiet of her home with little more than the crackle of the fire and the soft hum of the german shepherd snoring at the foot of her couch, did it dissipate. Less so, knowing the little boy sleeping in his room down the hall might never have existed in her life had it not been for the same man.  The illumination of her phone paired with Duke stirring, ears perked, was enough to draw her from the depths of client files, soon enough to see the notification before the screen faded to black again. It tore through her, a ripple affect that turned even the coldest thoughts warm, the kind of warmth that burnt and left an uncertainty prickling in the tips of her fingers, yet perhaps not enough to keep her from going to her backdoor. Crystalline hues settled on Henri through the window, a look that decidedly said she was neither happy or angry in seeing him - despite whatever impression left behind in their last conversation. Unlocking the door, she spoke quietly to Duke, that he didn’t start growling and wake Hugo or the neighbors, “It’s late, Henri. He’s asleep.” The door propped open, held still as she lent against it and hues relegated the man before her.  Something was missing. Perhaps even too much, and though she’d sought to draw a line between them when the phone call about Lorenzo being shot had sought to temporarily pull Henri from the comfort of what had become of them - it was no longer a temporary predicament they saw themselves caught in. It hitched something in her chest that she refused to let linger, refused to give power to as sought to make sense of the defeat she could see, heavy in his shoulders, “Come on, before someone sees you out here.” A hand that might have reached for his own, lifted, hovered.. shifted and pressed fingertips into the wooden door as she stepped back a little further to let him in.

Catching a quick coffee with an old professor in search of a small snippet off advice, had turned into far more than she’d bargained for. Frankly, she should have expected as much. Though it’d been some time since she’d stepped foot inside a classroom, it’s been almost second nature to her when he’d asked that she sit in on his next lecture - offer her own input. As difficult as her job was, the fact that she was yet so young and still standing was a feat in itself, without taking into consideration the city itself. Build on the foundations of violence, the city that stood around them held far more than the simplicity of natural history, when a war raged within it as they spoke.  Sat now, pondering old memories and hopes that she might have once held within the palms of her hands - now covered in ash and painted far differently than she might have ever pictured, Savannah felt the presence of another. Looming, perhaps barely on purpose beyond the bench she’d chosen. Light dispersed gently through the trees above and cast their shadow to her right. “It’s almost enough to make you want to go back.” The serene image painted before them. Though, she doubted she could teach, the crown prosecutor was not yet done with tearing apart the criminal underbelly of Montreal. “If, of course, you can manage to repress every memory of stress and anxiety this place ever handed out. Daily.” Lips pursed tightly, uncertain as to what the newcomer intended, though she certainly wasn’t paranoid - it never hurt to be curiously cautious. Azure hues cast across her shoulder to find them, “Decidedly, not a strong point of mine.” The ability of repression might have once been a godsend; to which she was only now thankful she was never granted.

Savannah;

Where:  Tengu Sushi | Savannah’s Table When: 6pm, Post Lorenzo Death

There was one blond in Montreal that Julian had set his crossfire on. One woman, who by will or miracle, continued to evade him wherever she went. What higher power wanted her to live so badly, to play the hero to this broken city? Ever since Savannah Delore had entered the scene, she’d been a force to be reckoned with. Countless numbers of their own men had lost their freedom because of her cases, warrants had been issued and stock seized. Hell, even he had come under her radar- if it hadn’t been for a favor he’d be rotting behind bars. Most recently, however, Julian had noticed a strange change in the way their world circled. While someone like Savannah made perfect sense to be a target, their underboss consistently undermined the Pistris efforts to pull the trigger. The city will erupt, she’s too big of a hit, excuses excuses. SPVM’s darling continued to breathe while they were all under a microscope…

“Savannah? Savannah Delore?” By now, he’d been watching her movements well enough to find out where she’d been and be. Eyes and ears weren’t hard to pay off, not when a grand could make a difference in rent. When he’d gotten word about her arrival with some client to Tengu, Julian had lazily made his way over to the restaurant. It was impossible to hide the biting paranoia that ate away at him every time he heard her name. What did she know about Milena’s death? Was Henri selling them all out? What were they hiding?  Feigned shock colored his tone as a smile pulled at his lips, Julian dragging a chair over to her full table. “I swear, we keep on missing each other-” He nodded, addressing the man sitting across from her. “Now Sav and I go way back, close friends, I guess you could call us- oh god, hold on, am I interrupting something? Don’t tell me you’re working right now.” 

@sdclxre​

It’d become clear to her that the man who’s case had fallen into her lap purely by chance, had sought to lawyer up with a man from interstate who didn’t trust in the woman sat across from him. The painstaking attempt to sit through having her own practice mansplained to her, as if she hadn’t left an unforgettable mark upon the city itself in taking down some of the most vile people that sought to find their way here, on her own, was painful in it’s own right, without the ache in her jaw that kept her biting at her tongue. No amount of trading deals would settle with her, a fact that apparently left her company in rattled and unsatisfied spirits. And yet, apparently the battle of two evils was yet to plague her as her name was called out across the restaurant. A criminal and a chauvinist walk into a bar - and funnily enough, Savannah might have even chosen the criminal over the latter. However, Julian Pistris was far more than simply that. He surpassed the title and delved somewhere further into dredges of society. A cockroach of sorts; there was always at least one. Azure hues pinned him, a relegated glare that had long since become signature pulled gently at the corners of her lips until the eerie settlement of irritation and calm tranquility washed over her. This was a city she belonged in almost as much as those like Julian might lay their own claim to - her comfort, rested in the underbelly, just as surely as his did. “Missing each other on purpose, Julian.” Her tongue clicked against the back of her teeth as she looked between the two, “But who could expect you to pick up on such obvious social cues, if you struggle enough to read the room.”  Little more than a meandering taunt, one that wouldn’t push amusement to her lips, knowing, purely on Julian’s display - this wasn’t a meeting of chance. “Believe it or not, some of us do more than cling to the coat tails of those that came before us, Julian. This certainly isn’t a meeting of pleasure,” The hardy look of insult her former company wore hardly shocked her - it was time she made her own sentiments about the previous conversation known. “One could almost be thankful to see you, if I weren’t far too intelligent to know you’ve likely just crawled your way out of the nearest sewer drain. -- What do you want?”

10:30 A.M. @ ROSEMONT COUNTRY CLUB

Mid-morning, pool-side. It’s still relatively quiet, because it’s not quite hot enough to need the pool this early in the day. The smell of morning dew was still fresh across the greens, and it pleased Rodrigo as he enjoyed a late breakfast. The man was smart enough to know he should be taking advantage of this peace. If Hugo had his way, and if they continued on down the same jagged path, he wouldn’t have a moment of peace for the foreseeable future. But the man knew what he was getting himself in to when he’d agreed to join along in his older cousin’s escapades. Rigo was along for the ride. The entire ride. “Finally.” He’d lay his fork to rest near the edge of his plate. “We pay you people enough. Mimosa’s aren’t rocket science.” Rigo turned to catch a glimpse of the approaching body, amber pools flickering over the tops of his dark sunglasses. “Oh,” dejection tinted his voice. “What do you want?" 

Despite the insistence from those around her, Savannah had seen little to no reason to refuse the request to meet with Hugo Vargas over a late breakfast. Perhaps once, she might have buckled slightly at the idea of coming face to face with any number of those associated with the organisations that plagued Montreal - she certainly wasn’t that woman anymore. It was something of routine. People wanted to see if she could be bought - persuaded against her otherwise promising, warring campaign against the criminal syndicates. A meeting that had surely been met with the same convoluted, yet calming demeanor of a man who’d found that she couldn’t be otherwise converted from her pillar of justice. A woman scorned, promised a devilish hell itself upon those that tried. And now,  she relegated the man she now knew to be Rodrigo - Hugo’s cousin, with a half-hearted look of amusement, “Perhaps you should reconsider those you’ve hired.” Deducting easily that he was clearly awaiting another mimosa. It was still a little early, though she supposed when responsibility fell short, expectation sky rocketed. “Just passing through.” A brow rose, “Hugo thought to suggest we meet, though,” crystalline hues considered the man, and the table before him, “I’m yet to see why.” 

Once upon a time Savannah’s presence had been a violent nuisance, the way they took digs at one another — a Vittori crime here, a member of the family arrested there, all in a game of cat and mouse neither one could seem to win. Tantalizing, and so, so intoxicating, Henri and Savannah had fallen into bed together, and he was often berated as to how it was a mistake, and the very last time, and yet, there she was again and again. When he’d finally emerged from the idea that love was an emotion beyond him, he was struck by the realization that it was beyond infatuation that he felt for Savannah Delore. He didn’t covet her, he adored her. And like Samson and Delilah, she could cut him to the quick better than anyone else. A scowl would project at the drunken woman who had made her way into the bathroom by mistake, her apologies falling upon deaf ears as she quickly sorted herself and exited.

It was only then that grey eyes would look back to the blonde, scoff of annoyance falling from pouted lips as she closed the distance between them. It wasn’t as easy as it once had been, when even when she’d claimed to despise him, he could still take her into his arms with ease, every kiss filled with enmity, but still a kiss. He could caress her body without the sound of retribution heavy on her tongue. He knew what was next before it happened. Slight of hand had always been his forté, it wasn’t going to pass by unchecked unless he let her snatch it from his jacket. But like a toddler who spilled their Cheerios on purpose, Henri would accept even negative attention from her at this juncture. 

“Pathetic?” He rolled his eyes lazily, lips forming a sneer as he pressed her back. His stomach curled just to be so near to her, and yet it was like the worst of withdrawals not to be with her. “You know what’s pathetic, Savannah?” He stepped past her to the mirror, preening himself, a palm smoothing back perfectly coifed hair, fingers meticulously straightening his shirt and suit jacket. “The only semblance of a family you ever yearned for was at your fingertips and you pissed it away because you realized you’re shit at it. Of course only someone who can’t be seen with you in the light of day might chance the livelihood of their progeny upon the likes of you. That is pathetic.”

It was perhaps a naivety that she hadn’t felt in years - a belief that the warmth that could couple within the pads of her fingertips and mottle the breath in her throat could come together enough to prove that love wouldn’t destroy her like it had before. Twice now. Yet the step Henri took towards her, her own mirroring as she sought to keep her footing easily enough, was a dire reminder that the piece of her existed, however small it was, that might have been capable of such a softened venture, was held just as surely between the fingers of one of the most powerful men in the city. A penchant for cruelty, she perhaps should have seen it coming. It was, after all, their brand. Only, a weakness that Savannah had given over to so few was easily wielded against her, the venom that settled on his tongue outmatching her own far too readily.  It turned her stomach, a pregnant pause held within a gut wrenching breath that never quite made a sound as azure hues relegated the man before her as if perhaps the gentle touch of his palms didn’t so often offset the pain the knowledge in his cutting retort caused her. “Except, it’s not the only semblance of it I’ve ever craved, it’s the sick and twisted version that I never asked for.” Given that, the opportunities she’s been given in the past, have been so cruelly taken from her. It’s perhaps a godsend that he’s moved passed her. That she doesn’t have to live in that moment with him watching as she pieces herself together for a fleeting moment. “Better that his livelihood rests in my hands, clearly.” It’s somewhere, within the folds of a promise she’s made, that Savannah knows what that feeling is within her chest - the overwhelming feeling that gives itself over to a maternal instinct she’s never had before. A promise to do whatever necessary to protect what she held now. It carves like ice, a steady glare that settles within the skeletal remains of a woman aching to be back, beyond the touch of Henri’s spitting venom, a place she once was. The callous nature she held tightly to, compromised over a year prior, when tangled sheets and the warmth of a body beside her became far more than simply that. She knows, what she’d never hoped to do, was the only option she held. Blond locks bristle beneath the pins that hold them in place, something skin to laughter, slight and brittle on her lips surfaces, void of humor as she settles hues against the reflection of his. “If you show up high, ever.” A warning that she wholeheartedly means, “I’ll rescind my decision to make sure he knows you, Henri. You want me to protect him - I promise, you’ll never see him again.” The small, clear bag within her fingertips is tossed to the sink before him. “At least you’ll live knowing he has at least one parent who keeps their promises.” 

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: Seaside Ports.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: Sunday morning, 9AM.

𝐖𝐇𝐎: Open starter.

  Vivian wasn’t much the type to cross territories unless it involved business. Not that she was banned from going into places that didn’t belong to the Syndicate, but with her status, it was definitely risky. But the brunette had woken up with a twisting feeling in her gut, one that she had long since attributed to a biological need to cause chaos. The feeling made her fingertips tingle and historically, it had gotten her into trouble, so on this particular day Vivian decided to take it easy. 

  Nowadays, taking up space in the wrong part of town was enough to cause heads to turn.

  And so, that’s what Vivian did. She had just come from The Luxure, checking in on how everything in the establishment had gone the night before and making sure that the women that were also employed at Ivory Films were in the best shape for the following work day. The sun was bright this time of morning and as the brunette walked along the dock of Seaside Ports, a Vittori owned property, she held her vastly overpriced bag close to her body. She stuck out like a sore thumb, dripping in expensive jewelry and one of her favourite white rompers. Everything about her screamed Ivory, not just the colour of the fabric covering her warm skin.

  From a distance, the woman could see a group of people crowded at the end of the dock, and when her presence alerted them like a dog with a bone, one of the locals came moving toward her. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her sunglasses down on the brim of her nose, looking over them at the familiar face.

  “If you’re here to tell me to vacate the premises, it’s perfectly legal for me to be standing here. Smart, maybe not, but legal nonetheless.” A grin grew on her lips, showing her pride with no reservations.

open. loc. Willow Lane bio+plots/wc.

  Her days slowly felt they were blending together, continuing the same routine - work, home, work - sure she loved the bakery but Safiye almost forgot what it was like to take a day to yourself. It was a slower week though, ultimately allowing her manager convince her that going out was better for everyone. Who needs to be convinced to take a break? Honestly, the idea causing a small smile. It was short lived when she remembered her mother on the phone, yapping away into her ear about neighborhood drama. 

    Avoiding Fatima was on her list of things to do, supposing it was really a day to yourself if you see the same person you usually do… Her gaze scanned the lane, it was busy as ever, people were so careless. Halting randomly to gaze into the window of a shop or wandering out of a shop not bothering to check if someone was walking the other way. One particular caught her eye, they crossed in her path, briefly annoyed she noticed their bag slowly sinking to the ground. “Bir saniye anne–” Taking the headset out and moved a bit faster to walk to their side. “–Excuse me, hey you’re bag is ripping.” She motioned downward.

It didn’t take much convincing, Savannah hadn’t seen the woman in what felt like weeks - which might have been entirely possible, considering that both she and Safiye knew far more about working overtime than either would clearly like to admit. Redirecting all her calls had been one thing, and far more difficult than convincing one of her brothers to spend a few hours watching over Hugo, yet the crown prosecutor wasn’t so ready to give up her every comfort, and the steady stream of emails still pinged directly to the phone in her hand. The same one that caused enough distraction for her to become almost entirely unaware of who it was the Saf was reaching for. “Whoa,” a gentle hand curled around her friends arm, pulling her back slightly, the icy scowl on her face directed at the man, seemingly a stranger to her friend. “Jerry, I told you what was going to happen if you were caught out here doing this shit again.” Despite the softened curl of her voice, the venom was unmistakable. He stuttered something, an apology - a promise that he wasn’t up to no good, (they never were), and he was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.  Turning to the brunette beside her - the person she’d sought to meet up with, Savannah dialed the number of a trusted cop - rattling off a series of direction that would be easily followed before she hung up. “You should be more careful, that guy has robbed and assaulted six people in the last six years with the same MO. A flat tyre, dead battery -- broken bag. I didn’t know he was out again.. His freedom never lasts long.”

There was nothing like watching the woman you love cradle your son in her arms as he slept peacefully. Nothing like the simplicity of rising on a Sunday morning in the arms of your lover, who still slept, chest rising and falling in peaceful slumber. Stirred from slumber by the muted giggles of the little boy who had captured your dual affections trying to crawl into the bed you shared. Henri had never understood the allure of domesticity before. And perhaps he didn’t — not really. Not when every stolen moment was just that, and the ache in his chest thudded, distracting him from what The Family needed. For the first time he was not precise, driven, lethal. Instead his mind wandered, quite constantly, to the safety of Hugo and Savannah at any given moment. Driven wild by love and reckless desire, Henri-Philippe Baudelaire understood what selfless love was. And just as quickly as he had taken a hold of it, Savannah had torn their hidden happiness from his grasp.

He had lashed out in ways that had made any hope of reconciliation futile, a month long trip to see his wife in the Maldives had made sure to bludgeon her heart the same way she had his. And yet, still, like a moth to a flame, one could not exist solely without the other. The bait had been taken as he heard the calling sound of her heels against the tiled flooring, the way she searched each and every stall until she happened upon him, small baggy in his hand. “Would you prefer I not look?” Henri asked carefully, expressionless as he stared Savannah down. “No one cares that I stare. I have every reason to stare, mon cœur.” Savannah had been Henri’s natural enemy for some time now, even beyond the Ivory Syndicate. He couldn’t do much behind bars, neither could any of the people who served the Vittori family. The verbal spats between Henri and Savannah at any public gathering were commonplace, at least for those who weren’t building conspiracy theories in their own heads. 

“You asked I stop when we were together. We aren’t any longer.” Henri reminded with a contrite smile and slight winch. Still, he shoved the packet back into his suit jacket, hands pressing into the pockets of his slacks. “You know this is a men’s restroom, don’t you? Pas de femmes permise.” And still knowing her rage and hurt were palpable in the air, all Henri wanted to do was reach out and touch her, to draw her in, one kiss enough to silence the woman whose words infuriated him to no end.

Mistakes she could swallow, though her pride was undoubtedly the strongest thing she held within her hands, she was never so entirely blinded that she couldn’t pinpoint the moments that she’d ever made choices that would undoubtedly lead to her own unraveling. However, even now, it was difficult to see the man standing before her as anything even close to a mistake. The dire need to claim as much providing an eternal war within her own mind for every threat and harsh word that ever surpassed between them - it should have been easy. But easy wasn’t something that came close to enveloping a single part of who they were - together or not. “I’d prefer if you didn’t draw so much attention to the fact.” Yet, even she knew it was somewhat difficult to look beyond Henri. Even now, as the door behind her slammed back on it’s hinges; a drunken woman giggling a slew of apologies in some attempt to explain that she’d been looking for her friend; azure hues never left his, fingers curling in on the fabric of her own dress. Perhaps it might have looked as though her own curiosity peaked, when truly, she simply didn’t want anyone to put a name to the face of the woman in the restroom with Henri-Philippe Baudelaire. The complication of once heated words in public morphing to trysts in private corners never quite settling in her mind, certainly not anymore.  Lips pursed tightly in wait, the sound of the door closing once more and the sound of all that happened beyond returning to a lowly murmur a welcome breath of relief. Or so she’d thought. Perhaps the questioning that might have followed would have been far easier to navigate than the truth that slipped from his lips. She didn’t flinch - lashes didn’t flicker with hurt nor did the thick of her throat constrict around the ache that rose. “I didn’t ask you to stop because we were together and you know it..” She stated quietly, piecing together what she knew and what she could garner a hazardous guess at. Heels clicked and every step she took towards him seemed almost hesitant despite the purpose behind them, until she could reach for the lapels of his jacket, fingertips gingerly pulling the fabric taught, and the pair, inevitably closer, “So kick me out, Henri.”

Few times in Henri’s life had he been truly wounded. Truly, even when he was injured the pain was just a dull annoyance. Lorenzo had long ago beaten much of the humanity out of Henri-Philippe, and in the wastes was a hollowed out man, whose genuine love was hard-pressed. And so, when that love manifested, it was first, and initially only, for his son. And somehow, despite all best efforts, he’d come to love the last person he ever should have. But that affection had been brutalized in the past year, shriveled up in the darkness where secrets laid under lock and key. He had seen Savannah from the very moment she’d arrived at the event, watching her like a bird to its prey, stalking her movements, waiting for the moment she would be without company, or the ever vigilant eyes of those who sought his downfall weren’t waiting for an excuse to accuse him of betraying the family.

But as the time past he grew bored of waiting, knowing the woman, as she always did, was giving him the cold shoulder for something he’d done but wasn’t aware of at that very moment. That, and he felt himself fraying at the edges, that ever familiar itch, the urge that he’d fought off in the past year having a ready and welcome reoccurrence back into his life, the white powder doing its best to fill the Savannah Delore shaped hole in the man’s life. So, concluding the woman wouldn’t be coming along, Henri made his way for the lavish restrooms, never one to show his habits in public.

@sdclxre​

Difficult had once been keeping up with her studies, passing the bar exam - remaining ontop of case loads. Difficult had once been rather easy to circumnavigate without the entanglement of that which beat within her chest. A dissociative endeavor that she knew was a direct relative of everything that swarmed within her mind. The feeling, however, that had yet to let up as it burned through skin and bone, trumped difficult and landed her at impossible. Impossible in that, she could feel every nerve ending alight with the mere acknowledgement that he was watching, one which only became all the more clear when the feeling dissipated. It curled tightly in the pit of her stomach - an ache and anger that pitched themselves against one another until she knew not which one would win out, but perhaps he knew that. Perhaps Henri-Philippe Baudelaire had always been privy to far more than she’d ever given him credit for. He had, after all, been the first to call her on her shit, on what this was - what they were; perhaps he too, would be the only one to know that she couldn’t stand idly by and allow such a feeling to consume her from the inside out.  

Shifting through the crowd, she’d almost been certain she’d find him - only the space which only moments ago seemed to call out to her was empty. Azure hues canvased those around her, hues relegating her place among them before heels carried her, dismissing, towards the hall. The door to the restroom gently falling back into place told her more than enough as to where he might have gone, and though brief seconds might have taken hold of her better judgement, the decadent pause she took before opening the door helped to untangle the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Of course, it had occurred to her that he simply could have been using the facilities - a careening judgement that halted her as fingertips pressed against the heavy wooded door. The idea of his use of such facilities a broadened spectrum to say the least. All empty. Instead, she found him before the expanse of vanities, “You’ve been staring all night.” An observation, not a question. “I know you’ve always lacked manners but people are starting to notice.” Hues narrowed, the door closing behind her as he moved further into the dimly lit washroom, her interest falling short of the man himself in that moment, and rather -- what he held in his hand.  “---- Seriously?

Make a good impression.

These were words Victoria had far too often heard from her father’s lips since she was nine. It seemed for the longest time her only goal in life - be pretty, make good impressions, get in with the right people. At first, she thought Girard just wanted the best for his daughter to make her happy, but now she knew better. She was meant to be his ears, and to know what she might be coming up against. 

Flashing a practiced smile at a passerby, Victoria plucked a glass from a passing tray, knowing that it was the only thing that would get her through without her sister by her side. Feeling a set of eyes on her, she turned and arched her brow, “Can I help you?”

The blonde that turned to her had looked somewhat familiar - no name sprang to mind, but Savannah had long since understood that there were far too many people of little consequence that would cross her radar. Forgotten beneath the heady weight of those it was necessary for her to remember - on sight and in mind. The glass that was previously held to her lips lowered and crystalline hues relegated the woman for a heartbeat longer, “Do I give off the impression that I might need help?” It wasn’t quite as icy as one might deduce, the minimalist curve of her lips enough that she could hope to offer a little less bite to said words. “You looked familiar, I was only trying to place how.”

She ate a lot but only had a juice and a soda. Sybelle wasn’t actually a fan of wine since she got a taste of it when she was about eighteen years old. Her mom told her that not all wines tasted like shit but she did not want to try any other ever again so the author was still confused as to why she had been invited to this place, but she wasn’t going to refuse if there was free food and what delicious food it was. “Now, to rest,” she said, walking outside to the gardens and sitting on the grass to look at the stars. Once she made a joke about turning off the lights of all Montreal so she could see the stars better. Sybelle groaned and moved to rest on her back with her eyes towards the sky and a silly smile on her face

It hadn’t been intentional, Savannah not usually one to lose focus and stare for too long. However, as she’d watched the woman cross the gardens and find a place within the lush grass beneath, the blonde saw fit to fix such a problem - regardless of whether the other saw issue with it at all. Heels sank into the ground beneath slightly. “You might want to reconsider that.” She started, well before she’d come to stop beside her, azure hues watching the terrace she’d just left behind. “You’re better off holding onto even the most mediocrum of sense in a place like this. The last thing you want is to be caught unaware.” As history might denote, nothing good ever came from a gathering of such.

It wasn’t really her style - the extravagant in your face welcome party. Luna thought it seemed to welcome chaos, which was something she did her best to avoid.  Though, she didn’t really have a choice in attending the event. Either way it was a party and there was nothing she loved more than a party.  Drinking all the wine she possibly could, plus anything else she could get her hands on was the only way she was going to make it through her brother’s profligate display of who he was. She had been in Montreal for a while now, sitting by as everything was being plotted. Luna couldn’t help but get use to the quiet, but this felt like a big step forward. It felt like Hugo was ready to jump in no matter what that meant. 

Downing the rest of the wine in her glass, she placed it on the bar before ordering something stronger. “I think I’ve had more wine tonight than I have the entire time I’ve been in Montreal. Time for something stronger.” She mused, leaning against the bar. “Got to love a party..” 

Perhaps there was some deep seated irony that lived beneath the hardened truth that Savannah felt more at peace surrounded by the threatening chaos brought on by the gathering of Monreal’s underbelly. There was no unrest within the pit of her stomach and neither hesitancy nor fear of what such a turning event could bring to light sought to diminish the conviction in each move she made among the crowd. One could believe so surely that she might have stuck out so readily with the target painted on her back, yet she wagered a guess that there were very few party goers that didn’t elicit much the same concern in one way or another. It’d taken her a little longer than she might have hoped to find Luna - a Vargas invitation only marginally enticing beyond the possible company of the woman she only met once or twice before. “Surprisingly enough, I think you’ll find that the majority of us are much the same. It’s been a while since this vineyard produced anything worth drinking.” Sidling up beside the woman, Savannah allowed a hint of warmth to settle against the smile she offered, “Extravagance never seems to fall short at these things, I guess your family saw fit to leave quite an impression.”