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@seethingblooms
Coincidence takes a whole lot of planning, knock me down, but soon I'll be standing
SEETHINGBLOOMS: INTRODUCING BEREN DURMAZ, A DEPENDENT CHARACTER AS WRITTEN BY FEYA. INTRO + CHATS + INSP + VIS + RESOURCES
So easy like it ain't demanding, but coincidence takes a whole lot of planning
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For: @seethingblooms Where: Turkish Delight
A wisp of sunlight catches on the dark lenses of his sunglasses as the boy successfully dodges being touched, angling himself away from what he presumes is security and their grabby hands with an incredulous expression on his face. "—Are you trying to die?" sheer, unfiltered disbelief catches on his throat as he pushes the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose slightly, skimming them from head to toe as a small crease forms the center of his forehead. "You want to touch me, you buy me drinks first... except I'm not interested, so—shoo." he waves them off with his hand, dismissively, as if shooing a stray dog, and promptly redirects his attention to where it matters.
A smile—and his features soften again, his eyes glint with playfulness as the hostility drains from him. "I've decided to forgive you," he declares, even though no apologies had been uttered; a dark gift box wrapped in a red bow is placed on her table unceremoniously. "Even though you didn't come see me while I was on my deathbed—" meaning an inchy face, at most, but Sebastian always had a flair for the dramatics. "I'm going to forgive you because I'm a very Zen person… and I'm also on a lot of pain medication right now," he gestures towards the box with a slight movement of his head, eagerness barely concealed in the way he waits there, eager, hands entwined behind his back, impatiently fidgeting. "Go on... it doesn't bite, you can open it... You throw me out if you don't like it. But—you do it, okay? I don't like Mr.Handsy over there; he's way too eager to get his hands on my tight little body."
Disbelief is the strongest emotion on Beren's face as her eyebrows raise, the audacity of men so boundless that sometimes it still takes her breath away. She's swallowed down anger and bitterness for years and now even at the top, she still has to fight tooth and claw for acceptance. But Sebastian van Buran is not her boss, not her hero no matter what the mayor says, and not someone she's going to take any shit from as she makes a point in leaning back in her chair, away from the gift in disinterest. "i was waiting for the funeral announcement to send flowers." She snarks, having no sympathy for the man. She knows what happened to the some of the people at the party and Sebastian's luck was too infuriatingly flawless for him to have suffered more than a few sneezes, if she had to guess.
"I can have someone chase you out with a whip so there isn't any physical contact if you like." Give him something to really cry - he's on pain medication, he'll be fine. She stares at him a moment longer before finally turning her head and reaching out a finger to catch the loop of the red bow. A cute touch, probably some shop employee or underpaid secretary if he ordered it online, but she wasn't going to let him know that. "How exclusive is this forgiveness gift club?" She doesn't care if he goes around giving gifts to everyone that was at the mayor's party, but she does want to know if he's targeting people. Sebastian doesn't seem like he has the brain cells for it, but she wasn't expecting to be attacked at her own club, either. Carefully sliding the ribbon off, a flicker of curiosity sparks inside of her because it had been a while since someone gave her a gift and coming from Sebastian, she expected it could be as expensive as diamonds or as careless as a keychain.
@txrtxrxdmuxsxdpt (Jordan), Turkish Delight
"Have you noticed anything strange about your clients? Anyone suddenly referring people or wanting to bring friends?" Beren asked in what many would consider an idle tone of voice as she sipped at her drink, looking Jordan up and down. She didn't like what had happened at Bacha Lacha and she didn't want to have a repeat performance of it on any level, especially not when people were already whispering about how someone older with more experience would be able to handle things better. She wasn't the only one with a bad streak of luck lately and her age and gender had nothing to do with it. "We can't be too careful if the mayor is to be believed and I'm sure you don't want to disappoint me."
Poised. That word left no room for misinterpretation. They had to appear a certain way and Elena was going to be the last person to dare ruin that. Her smile shifted, replaced instead by a look of serious certainty that she was going to try. “No matter what direction. You’ll hear no complaints from me.” A sip. “I take it that means we’ll be moving about as though nothing is wrong and celebrating the holiday with the rest of the people?”
A charade, nothing more than that. It wouldn’t be an actual celebration. In fact, none of this felt as though this was a celebration at all. A cover up; something that may have started with the same letter but that was as far as things went. “I trust your judgement.” The brunette always had and always would. And if there was something she could agree on it was the danger within the smile of a politician. ❧ @seethingblooms
Perhaps Elena felt pressured to perform considering the new and uncertain role she played in Tohum's growth, but Beren didn't feel much sympathy for her because wasn't that always a woman's role? A pressure to perform and deliver for others? They weren't allowed to complain, they weren't allowed to waver. What was it that Ginger Rogers said? She did everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels? It was the truest possible thing.
"That's exactly what it means. We're not going to be bothered or let on that anything is wrong. Everything is always perfect in our world because appearances are everything." It was tiring, but it was true, and Beren wasn't about to falter after coming this far. "Tell me who approaches you and if anyone says anything strange."
"Wake... Mayor speech," he says, his gloved hands weaving through the air with spindly fingers, as if theatrically stitching his point together. "Have you ever heard that fossil give a speech? Same difference, trust me." He drawls, a pained—nearly whiny—intonation clinging to his words, befitting a suffering soul who’s endured one too many of them.
She’s so grouchy. As if his very presence vexes her. Fascinating. He finds it all so endearing.
"I’ve sucked a lot of questionable things in my life, it’s true—but I don’t think luck’s one of them. Things just always end well for me. It's like I'm... God’s favorite or something." Or he’s just a white, rich man, who happens to be conventionally attractive, so things inexplicably fall into place—but the chirpy pride in his voice makes it clear: reflecting on social status isn’t something he does often, if ever.
"You look pretty… did you do something to your hair? It looks nice." Despite her sharp tongue, that dumb, adoring look on his face remains completely unaffected. "You know, if the ceiling falls again, you're welcome to use me as your shield."
Eyes catching on his gloves, Beren though fleetingly of a magician and resisted the urge to frown by telling herself it would only help leave wrinkles. Perhaps it was magic that led to him being so lucky and getting an award - white boy magic, rich boy magic, something like that. God, how annoying.
"This is a special event hosted by the mayor." Of course she did her hair, changes were that every single woman in attendance had put some kind of effort into her hair or went to the salon for someone else to put in the work. Men could get away without putting in work, but she assumed even most of the men had some sort of ritual they did for this kind of event.
Pointedly, Beren looked up at the sky above them and raised her hands as if to feel rain falling on them. "Hardly a risk here. I hope you're not implying I'm the sort of woman to have a house fall on them."
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closed starter for @seethingblooms
"Are you starting to miss the falling ceiling too?" Call him dramatic—but he'd take a rain of glass over standing around prettily out of obligation.
"Maybe the Mayor died," he says with an air of nonchalance that borders on excitement, tugging at his tie like it's choking him. He throws her a sideways glance, amused, and offers her a glass with his gloved hand—beneath it, a tactfully hidden bruise wrapped in bandages that will need tending after the party.
"You are kind of turning into a bad omen," he adds, a dash of playfulness to his tone, "no offense."
Giving him a disbelieving look, Beren lifted her chin slightly in an undeniably haughty and judgemental way. "If the mayor died, it would be all over the news and this would have been turned into a wake." Which would have been fine because she looked fabulous in black, but she didn't feel like humoring him, his blase attitude getting under her skin even if she knew it could be argued that she owed him.
Hero her ass.
"Or perhaps you suck all the luck out of a room." She responded, her voice deceptively light as she shrugged a shoulder. "No offense."
❧ @seethingblooms ❧ mayor's garden party
“How likely do we think this is going to go south?” After the last few days, who could blame anyone for having those thoughts? Elena wasn’t one to talk around the bush, rather forward in certain moments. And who would know better than Beren? If she trusted someone to have an eye on things, to know stuff before it happened, that was the person she’d go to. “Honestly, after the last few days this just seems scummy. Fake.” Of course, there wasn’t a single doubt about there being something more to it.
With a sigh she lifted the glass in her hand, sipping quietly before she scanned the crowd around them. Some people seemed so oblivious, while others seemed to hover with painted smiles. It was quite the patchwork blanket of emotions.
"There's a chance," Beren allowed, twisting a lock of hair around and around a finger to keep herself from crossing her arms. As much as she generally thrived at social events, Beren knew that parties had stopped being just parties for her as soon as she elevated in status to the leader of the Tohum. Part of her couldn't help but feel on edge and like she was walking into a trap because a raid on one of her businesses meant there was a vulnerability. There was a leak somewhere in her organization, there had to be, and what's worse was that if she came to that conclusion, so would the others. Who would want to do business with them if there was a threat of a raid?
"Never trust a politician, especially if they're smiling." She didn't want to be there, but she couldn't say that. "Appearances are everything, and we'll be poised no matter what direction things take."
@durmazseyda; Mayor's party
"I have to admit, I'm disappointed by this party. We could do something much better than this." Beren murmured quietly as she leaned into her sister, careful not to bump into her with her hat. As elegant of a food display as it was, topiaries carefully formed and strings of lights over their heads, it felt lacking in some way. Perhaps because she wasn't there with a child meant to hunt eggs, she was there as a woman smarting from a bruised ego and glass slices, but she had expectations that weren't being met. "Perhaps the mayor plans on keeping us waiting so long that we'll be too grateful to have this be over with to pay attention to what's being said. I hope their speech isn't supposed to be the highlight of the day."
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starter: open location: bacha-lacha
"Do you hear screaming?" That finally seems to get his attention; his ears perk up at the cacophony of shredded voices echoing below, and he slightly adjusts himself off the girls lap, buttoning up his shirt begrudgingly, different shapes and colors of lipsticks stamped all over its white collar.
"Not to sound like an expert... but it doesn't sound like the good kind of screaming." The scent of smoke invades his nostrils without permission, causing his pretty face to scrunch up in immediate distaste; clashing with the sugary smell of cherry liqueur and expensive cologne wafting off him and his table, "And this place is starting to smell a lot like Brooklyn—what the hell is going on here?" he asks to the first face he sees.
The moment the panicked message that they were being raided sounded over the phone, the call punctuated by gun shots, Beren's office had emptied out with barely an exchange of nods. Everyone understood that something had gone wrong and it went unsaid that they both wanted to keep breathing and no one had authorized this betrayal. Going their separate ways, Beren didn't pay attention to where her companion went, instead going to the walkway to look down at the panic below. She could see smoke, but she could also see flame, the crowd below a writhing mass of panic.
"Something that wasn't on the schedule." Beren told him, words short and voice testy. She didn't have time to mollycoddle rich boys. "Don't worry, security will -" Her words were cut off by the shattering of glass over their heads, large shards falling from the ceiling even as she jerked back. One of them cut her and she lost her balance in shock, falling back and landing hard on the floor. "Fuck."
Man, I wouldn’t want to get on their bad side. Who am I talking about? That’s BEREN DURMAZ, they’re the LEADER for TOHUM. Not what you’d expect from most THIRTY-SIX year olds, right? Word has it that they’re just as CONFIDENT as they are CUT-THROAT, but I can’t help thinking about THE GLIMMER OF FIRELIGHT AGAINST DIAMONDS when I see them.
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