B O R E A S

And yet, when he opens the door to find her boots and coat in the entryway, he’s happy about it. And when he sees Yelena herself, sitting on his couch like she belongs there, his heart surges, and he automatically returns her grin. There’s so much he has to think about these days, to analyze and calculate and do everything he possibly can to make the best choice for his family.

But with Yelena, it’s easy. At least for now.

“Good morning,” he answers, leaving his own boots and coat next to hers and stretching out next to her. He’s moving a little stiffly—he’d had an uncooperative target the night before and come away with a slash down his ribs, which Sabahat had stitched up before sending him home in Emir’s borrowed clothes while she tried to salvage his bloodstained ones. But once he’s next to Yelena, his head resting on her thigh and her warmth easing the tension from his neck and shoulders, he’s suddenly comfortable. Holding a hand out for a piece of baklava—and cutting a brief look up at her as he realizes how little is left—he says, “Guess how long my mother complained about my tattoo today.”

But the grin from a moment before hasn’t really left his face, and he can’t be annoyed right now—not with Yelena here, so close he can pull her down to kiss him. “Where’d you come from?” he murmurs, still smiling against her lips. "Have you been here long?"

"Hmm-" Yelena reclined back on the sofa, lifting her legs to rest her feet on his coffee table. Her other hand reaches down to ghost along the bicep she knows bares all the ink. "-knowing Sabahat, and knowing how much she hates it-" Yelena grinned at him, giving the bicep in question an affectionate squeeze "-Ohh....I'm going to say an hour straight." Her grin is unflinching as she stares down at him "-No breaks."

She crosses her ankles but is careful not to jostle him. Bora looks tierd, but comfortable, so she does all this slowly. When she looks at him again, it is with a smile so sweet it could crack a tooth. He kisses her then, and even after all this time, Yelena still can not help the giddy surge that makes her heart thunder in her chest.

She kisses him back, and its all sweet edges and the lingering taste of honey from the food they shared. There is the electric lick of smoke too, from the cigarettes he likes, and when he pulls away, Yelena is almost laughing aloud with the delight of it all. She is so happy with all this domesticity, she could burst.

She lets herself into his apartment with the key his mother gave her. It's early morning, she hasn't looked at the clock but the sun is cresting just so over the adjoining buildings and it makes Yelena think it is 6, maybe 7am. He's left the curtains open over night and sunlight spills onto the wooden floor of his living room. It's warm. Yelena smiles to herself and shuts the door.

She kicks of her boots and shrugs out of her coat, a heavy brown Barbour with a hundred pockets. Her gun is in there somewhere, and so it a healthy array of switchblades. Just encase.

It's not so much that she makes herself at home, but more takes up space in his apartment until Bora politely askes her to leave, be it for job or something else. Yelena always does as she's asked, because it's Bora and she owes him, and usually she's gone with an armful of his mothers Baklava for her troubles.

Speaking of which, when the door finally opens again a while later, Yelena is sitting in his living room, and is half way through her second helping of it, stolen from a Tupperware box in his fridge, that she had dug out of it's hiding place.

Yelena smiles at Bora when he appears and it is so warm and so genuine, that is morphs into a grin half way to her ears. She flashes her teeth at him and squirms slightly under his gaze. It was crazy, the effect he had on her. Just a look was enough to have her spiralling sometimes.

"Good morning." she says gently, almost sweetly as she licks filling from the back of her spoon. She tilts the little plate in her hand from side to side "-want some breakfast?"

And yet, when he opens the door to find her boots and coat in the entryway, he’s happy about it. And when he sees Yelena herself, sitting on his couch like she belongs there, his heart surges, and he automatically returns her grin. There’s so much he has to think about these days, to analyze and calculate and do everything he possibly can to make the best choice for his family.

But with Yelena, it’s easy. At least for now.

“Good morning,” he answers, leaving his own boots and coat next to hers and stretching out next to her. He’s moving a little stiffly—he’d had an uncooperative target the night before and come away with a slash down his ribs, which Sabahat had stitched up before sending him home in Emir’s borrowed clothes while she tried to salvage his bloodstained ones. But once he’s next to Yelena, his head resting on her thigh and her warmth easing the tension from his neck and shoulders, he’s suddenly comfortable. Holding a hand out for a piece of baklava—and cutting a brief look up at her as he realizes how little is left—he says, “Guess how long my mother complained about my tattoo today.”

But the grin from a moment before hasn’t really left his face, and he can’t be annoyed right now—not with Yelena here, so close he can pull her down to kiss him. “Where’d you come from?” he murmurs, still smiling against her lips. "Have you been here long?"

But, on the other hand, if the masks did their job, it'd cut the risk of getting recognized, and especially for a job like this, Bora would take any help he could get. Besides--there was something about seeing Yelena dressed like this, the red suit and tusked mask so unapologetically her amid all the glamour, that might even have made attending worth it on its own. Anyway, she seemed to like what he was wearing, too. Standing so close to her, he could almost pretend they weren't surrounded by people, and forget about work for just a moment. After all, they were just killing time until Elias gave the signal, right? Smiling at her words, not quite aware of how much his eyes softened as he looked at her, he said, "You should come out to the barn again. He likes you." Bora liked the light tug of her fingers in his jacket, carelessly intimate, although he wished he didn't have so many layers between her hand and his skin. "I thought he might forget he's retired and try to take off when the races started." It was mostly a joke--but this was the first time Bora had ever put Tulpar back in a racing environment, and it had been impossible to know what memories would kick in.

Echoing her quiet laughter--it was so easy to influence each other's mood, and maybe he should have been suspicious of that, but he wasn't--he said, "Well, maybe they've seen you spilling wine. Or maybe it's the tusks." A light touch with his free hand to straighten the mask where she'd shifted it picking at her cut--and then, as her fingers trailed down his arm, he turned his palm over slightly, catching just her fingertips in his own. "I don't know," he murmured, "Maybe I can find someone to go home with me. Know anyone who might be interested?"

Grey swirled the colours around her into something boring. Bora was still there, shining like a gem in all that fine blue silk. It was an anchor, almost and behind his mask, silver as a switchblade, his eyes shone blue as the sea. The warm kind. The kind she had only ever seen in photos. Bora was her warm, summer sunshine ocean. She thrived in that gaze.

"The Barn-" she echoed him with a happy bemusement, her face wrinkling into a laugh under her mask "-I really like it out there by the way, it's so far away from everything else." She chuckled again. She had never really been an animal person, they usually gave her a wide birth, but Tulpar she liked. He was like his dad, in a way, calm and honest. He seemed to like Yelena best when she had a carrot in her hand, so she rarely made an appearance around him without one. "Hmm, well if he ever does get back in the game, I would be lying if i said I said I wouldn't want to see you in one of those little jockey outfits." He grinned then and she laughed again "-those tight white pants? oft...very sexy." She waggled her eyebrows at him under the mask and idled a little closer to Bora.

If she could've gotten closer to him, she would have. She was, however, was forced to settle for a barely there touch of his hand. It was skin to skin though, she supposed after half a moment. It was still his skin on hers.

location: random chicken shop

Yasmine stormed into the chicken shop about fifteen minutes late, annoyed expression on her face as she looked around searching for a familiar face, sighing as she slid into her chair across from them. She only wanted to make a small stop before they met up but the small stop turned into a thirty minute argument with the 75 year old cashier at the liquor store. "Sorry I'm late, but this one's not on me. I was just denied buying a a bottle of whiskey because the guy was convinced my ID's fake and that I'm actually underage. Don't you dare laugh or say not to take it personal. I'm taking this very personal. I don't care that he doesn't have much time left to live, I'm ready to make his time even shorter."

Other than that, though, he just kept eating and let her rage—he’d found with his siblings that it was usually best to let them vent. “So, what was your plan with the whiskey?” he asked after her initial outburst. “Shots with your chicken, or are you going somewhere after? —After you kill this guy, of course.”

Granted the more she watched, the more something seemed off. Her eyes tracked the horses with interest, a slight curiosity wondering if the protest outside wasn't the only thing bringing chaos to the day. Her head lifted as she caught the sneeze, diverting her attention to the horse in question. "à tes souhaits" Her head tilted up to the horse, something oddly familiar, though she had yet to place it. Shifting her attention to his handler. "What is his name?"

"Hassiktir," Bora hissed--which he guessed was probably not as polite as whatever Sofie had said. He and Emir had been so careful not to draw any attention--but of course Tulpar hadn't gotten the memo. And even worse, Bora suddenly remembered that the horse had itched his head on his foreleg a minute ago. He couldn't have smeared the fake white markings, could he? Was Emir close enough to have noticed if he had? He would have warned him, right?

Bora was a blessed distraction. A small frown tugged at his lips at his message and, he responded, "Party's over, time to get to work." He moved to pull his phone. He was the last man on earth to use a flip phone, but he went about his usual way of T9 that happened quickly to send the message to the rest of the group. Truthfully, the flip phone afforded him more anonymity. It didn't track his where-abouts like the smart phones did. Given that he routinely changed his contact information, it was economical as well.

Looking up, he grinned to Bora, "Shall we?" Head to the stables, he meant. They'd have to exit this area. Elias would head to the bathroom, lose his antlers, and then slip out the side door and lose the rest of it.

Well, it mattered to Bora. Nodding, but not returning the smile, he scanned the room for Jabberwocks or security. "There were Liddells by the piano a minute ago," he said--he hoped they'd stay put there, a few rooms away from where they were standing, and not come out of nowhere. But Doruk seemed to be staying put, too--either that, or he'd just forgotten to text back--and after a followup text that also went unanswered, Bora told Elias, "I think my brother's still out front. Can I meet you there?"

A very particular elsewhere, actually. She and Bora had a bottle of vintage shiraz to finish. Could have been enjoying that instead of wandering through a sea of rich folk.

Oh well, she thought, he was here. As long as he was here it didn't matter. There's always tomorrow night. And the night after, and the night after-

He was taller than her by a bit, wider too and the difference in their size sent a shocking thrill right through her when he approached. Under the mask, she bit down on her lip hard enough to mark it. It was a familiar dance by now. Lingering glances, longing filled touches. Yelena often found that it didn't help that she couldn't really do anything about it in public. To her, Bora was just begging to be kissed half the time. Especially when he was grumpy.

In particular, tonight, in his fancy new suit that she was growing very fond of. The colour suited him. It made his eyes shine like sapphires. She hummed softly after giving him a once over, in approval.

"Of course I did." She had reclined back slightly, elbow perched on a chest high barrier that stopped them both from careening out and onto the main floor below. Yelena angled her head up again, body all but caged between his and the glass panels behind. "Tulpar was beautiful. He always is." Yelena reached out and slipped her fingers into his jacket, smoothing her thumb along the pretty black trim of his lapel. Under the mask, her eyes shone for him. "I could watch you train that horse all day, you know. You look so happy on the saddle."

Yelena laughed softly and had half a mind just to take the damn mask of her face so that she could really smile at him, really let him know just how happy his mere presence made her. "-not at the moment. Can you believe I've been at this thing for hours now and no one wants to take me home." she pouted, playfully "-isn't that a shame." Her hand slipped free of his jacket then and she tried not to make a show of it, of how her hand lingered a littler longer on the bicep of his right arm, how it slid down the rest and how her long fingers brushed the back of his hand. The briefest of touches, feather light and teasing. Her voice is low when she spoke then, accent more pronounced "And you krasivyy? what are you're plans after we all eat the rich tonight?"

But, on the other hand, if the masks did their job, it'd cut the risk of getting recognized, and especially for a job like this, Bora would take any help he could get. Besides--there was something about seeing Yelena dressed like this, the red suit and tusked mask so unapologetically her amid all the glamour, that might even have made attending worth it on its own. Anyway, she seemed to like what he was wearing, too. Standing so close to her, he could almost pretend they weren't surrounded by people, and forget about work for just a moment. After all, they were just killing time until Elias gave the signal, right? Smiling at her words, not quite aware of how much his eyes softened as he looked at her, he said, "You should come out to the barn again. He likes you." Bora liked the light tug of her fingers in his jacket, carelessly intimate, although he wished he didn't have so many layers between her hand and his skin. "I thought he might forget he's retired and try to take off when the races started." It was mostly a joke--but this was the first time Bora had ever put Tulpar back in a racing environment, and it had been impossible to know what memories would kick in.

Echoing her quiet laughter--it was so easy to influence each other's mood, and maybe he should have been suspicious of that, but he wasn't--he said, "Well, maybe they've seen you spilling wine. Or maybe it's the tusks." A light touch with his free hand to straighten the mask where she'd shifted it picking at her cut--and then, as her fingers trailed down his arm, he turned his palm over slightly, catching just her fingertips in his own. "I don't know," he murmured, "Maybe I can find someone to go home with me. Know anyone who might be interested?"