nocturna.

[florence pugh — 28 — she/her] Introducing  SILJE ERYKSSEN . Word on the street is they are a TATTOO ARTIST and member of THE SYNDICATE for the past FIVE YEARS . Though they are SARCASTIC and PRAGMATIC , they can also be LOYAL and DISCIPLINED . In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in. 

[ about ] ☓ [ connections ] ☓ [ interactions] 

“People always say it’s a human bone,” the medical examiner shook his head. “Of course, I’m not saying you shouldn’t go check but it’s probably a dog or even a prank,” in Houston, he could have predicted it were a horse or a coyote. “Alright, now go humor someone else with your humerus,” with a barely there smile, the man hung up and picked up his glass. Why was he even answering the phone after he’d finally left the office ? Catching someone glancing his way, he frowned. People were so easily keen to eavesdrop, weren’t they? “Hello?”

SILJE WASN’T ONE TO BE CAUGHT. Not eavesdropping, not carrying out the *duties* of her station, not even swiping an extra ring from the tray when the jeweler’s back was turned. They wouldn’t miss it anyway. The only time she could be ‘caught’ was when she intended to be mostly. So, when she heard the man’s call trailing to an end, she didn’t bother to disguise her interest. What was it to her if he knew she had an interest in human bones? In fact, she even went so far as to snort at his joke. 

❛ Don’t mind me, just listening to your shitty puns, ❜ she didn’t bother putting down her glass. ❛ Are those free or does someone have to bring you a body part to identify first? ❜ She had a few on offer. 

—

Lola sighs and rolls her eyes — no malice, only playful. “If you insist.” 

Silje knows her way around, still able to find anything within this maximalist apartment. Big this, exaggerated that, and too much of everything. Colors, patterns, textures — from rugs to pillows to spirits. It doesn’t look like a place where anyone should exist alone. Needless to say, she’s happy she’s here. 

“Yeah.” One travel to the fridge and back, cranberry juice is offered Silje’s way. From then on, she’s allowed to just watch as magic happens. Silje’s attention is down onto the glass, and Lola’s is on her. “…Did you miss the city?” 

There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask. There hadn’t been an opportunity for almost anything, lately. But trust, tonight would be different.

“I actually went to Norway, did I tell you!?” Vacationing, all by chance. “I even used a word you taught me. Everyone at the bar looked really impressed.” Or maybe she was just that drunk.  

WHILE LOLA RETRIEVES THE JUICE, Silje makes quick work of combining a careful portion of bitters and liquor, hands moving of their own volition. She swallows at the question, gaze fixed on the red liquid as it swirls about the glasses. It stands to reason that she would ask, would seek answers for the gap that demarcated their… friendship? The term doesn’t quite fit, but it will have to do.

She tries her chances at brushing over it. ❛ I did, ❜ the blonde admits, assessing her handiwork before handing the better one to Lola. ❛ There’s fuck all in the mountains. I almost missed the sound of street hawkers and sirens. ❜ Almost.

With the mention of her homeland, her jaw flexes, tensing for a moment before she disguises it with a sip from her drink. ❛ I’m sure they were, ❜ a smirk. It has been years since she last set foot on the soil of her homeland, yet still, it seems like it will never be long enough. 

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄 | a playlist feat. the unraveling of 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐉𝐄 𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐊𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍 

❛ ...honey, you are nothing to me, i don’t call people anything that’s thought to be so sweet... ❜

presumably dead arm x sidney gish

first love late spring x mitski

night shift x lucy dacus

cold love x rainbow kitten surprise

ya’aburnee x halsey

– – click here for full playlist

Location: Sil’s Tattoo Shop For: Silje || @spxlledinks

—–

She had scheduled an appointment after her impromptu meeting with the younger woman at the park. She had dithered back and forth over whether she wanted to go through with it, but as her husband’s birthday was coming up, and he had been in such a mood lately, she needed to do something to appease him. 

Samira walked into the shop and studied it with a critical eye for the artwork on the walls and the chosen decor. She only had one tattoo on her left shoulderblade, and she had gotten it on a whim when she was a junior in high school.

“We spoke on the phone,” she said nervously, forgetting to introduce herself. “I’m - we met at the park, I took your picture. You said that you’re a tattooist - I told you about a silly tattoo I had gotten…” 

Two squares with legs and arms holding hands. Meant for Sam One and Sam Two – the Sam Squared, as she and Sam had been known. Such a stupid tattoo, but she had loved it when she had gotten it and had she had an alternative, she wouldn’t want to get it covered. 

“I was wondering if you could do something artistic with it - not flowers, or all right flowers. Butterflies. Anything that isn’t violent or bloody or — I should stop talking and let you do what you’re best at.” 

WEDNESDAYS WERE RESERVED FOR WALK-INS, the calendar left purposefully blank to allow for as many customers to pass through as possible. The artists would alternate, ensuring that fatigue didn't make their work grow sloppy, and designs were limited to pre-made flash. That day, though, Silje was excused from her duties as one appointment marked the calendar with her assigned green label.

Silje looked up at the sound of the opening door. Invitations were discarded just as readily as they were offered. Part of her expected the woman not to show, mistaking rambling for indecisiveness. Still, she allowed the woman to continue in as much detail as she saw fit. ❛ I remember you, ❜ she finally replied once the trail of her words wound to an end, a fleeting warmth flickering in her eyes. 

And she did, both from the call and before that.

❛ One bloody venus flytrap holding a machete, coming right up. ❜ Little shop of horrors style. She came around the counter, for once pleasantly surprised that she wouldn’t need to strain her neck to meet her client’s eyes. ❛ I had an idea while we were on the phone. ❜ The blonde kept a pen and paper by the phone for such occasions, allowing her hand to drift as it saw fit; impulsivity the height of creativity. ❛ You said they were squares, so I thought we could use the angles to create a pattern, ❜ 

—

“It’s okay.” 

What it is, is a walking, talking, blazing, flaming hot red flag and Lola knows it. No tattoo could ever be so urgent that it couldn’t be pushed up for later — her own skin having been Silje’s canvas more than once, she’d know — and plans had been set for days now. But never underestimate Lola’s ability to ignore the world’s most obvious clues for the ones close to her heart. “You’re always pretty, but you’re glowing.” Make no mistake: eventually, she’d ask. Just not tonight. 

“Hi.” Third time’s the charm. “Oh my god, you didn’t have to!” Overly-theatrical, Lola beams as she picks up the bottle like the finest jewel. “Can I mix you a cocktail for your troubles?”

BY WAY OF EVADING THE COMPLIMENT, ❛ I like doing good work. ❜ Silje teeters on the edge of wanting to explain just why a call in the night had upended their plan, that her unpunctuality is a matter of consequence rather than disinterest. To divulge the darkest details of the evening, down to her reasoning for choosing carbon steel in spite of her preference for Damascus. For obvious reasons, she keeps her mouth shut.

❛ No. ❜ She’s already halfway to the drink trolley, and pauses only to cast a grin over her shoulder. ❛ But I can mix you one for your troubles. ❜ She selects two glasses based purely on the way their hexagonal shape reflects the light. Aquavit is not the kind of spirit that can be readily substituted for another. The caraway, she’s learned the hard way, requires a careful hand to not become overpowering — albeit she’s never turned it down.

Location: Jack’s Apartment, Brooklyn  For: @spxlledinks

—

A few days after the murder, Jack sent a text to Silje to invite her over to his old apartment. He could have invited her to the apartment that he shared with Lee, but there was something to his old place - the one over the bookstore that had been handed over to the Syndicate proper to have them handle the shipping and warehouse. For him, it was best if he remained focused on the funeral home and all of the needs that it represented. 

“Indiana Jones and The Godfather,” he said instead of saying hello when she came inside the apartment that was now used for any Syndicate member that needed a place to crash. It was comfortably furnished, complete with a cactus that he mostly remembered to water once a month or so. “You could have said archaeologist and you went with anthropologist.” 

Clearly, he’d been thinking about it for a few days. 

“…I thought we could take a walk through the new territory now that we have a hand on it. See what its needs are, if anyone needs to be taught about the territory, perhaps make friends with the local inhabitants.” 

JACKS’ INVITATION CAME AS A SURPRISE, albeit a welcome one. The murder had gone well, all loose ends were tied, and they had secured the territory that had been a source of contention for the better part of the year. A success on all counts. Her expertise, however, rarely had her called in for a follow-up and she was curious.

Silje recognized the address, having been to the apartment on a few occasions though only viewing it from the street. Inside, it was one of the better outfitted safe houses, far nicer than any she’d been afforded in Norway. ❛ Afternoon to you too, gudfar. ❜ Whether he liked it or not, the nickname would be sticking. After all, she had always wanted a godfather, albeit even one in name only.

❛ I did. They're the unsung heroes of the historical research world, ❜ she shrugged. It seemed that the blonde’s casual documentary hobby from her days in the cabin had transferred into a staple of her evenings. ❛ Everyone wants to hear about excavations or digging for Pompeii ❜ — herself included — ❛ But no one thinks about how floodplain agriculture worked in the Indus River valley. ❜

@spxlledinks

Lola had retrieved to one corner of the couch as she’d waited, a movie pulled up on the TV yet paused two seconds in. Waiting, too. It drags for an hour, two, maybe even longer than that. Just as she’d given up on a knock at the door, it’s exactly when it strikes. 

“Hi.” Door swung open and with plenty of room for Silje to come inside — she should be familiar, by now. Once in the living room, Lola’s eyes can finally focus, brows slightly heavier than seconds before. “Are you okay? …I don’t mind waiting, it’s just— it’s late, and—” And we’re girls, and because we’re girls, there’s no need to elaborate any further. The view gives little away: while slightly less polished, Silje looks somewhat more vibrant than before. She could either have fought a dragon or kissed the prince that’d tried to slay it. Lola chuckles, “So, was it good or bad?” 

SILJE WAS LATE, REALLY LATE. Inexcusably late, even, but with good reason. The Hudson had made a fitting grave for the murder weapon. For the remaining unused knives, she took the back entrance into the tattoo parlor. What was the good of owning a business if you couldn’t make use of the closet place for the night?

—

“Do you have a bad side?” Samira asked without thinking, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could think them through. She would have face-palmed if she didn’t have the camera occupying both of her hands. “Wait, let me take that back, pretend that I didn’t say that. It was corny…” she paused, cleared her throat, exhaled and then tried again. “Hi, I’m Samira - I’m taking pictures for a very poorly titled book, which I’m also taking suggestions for a new title if you can think of it. In return, I can give you a…” suddenly, she had a mind-blank. She couldn’t remember what the word was. 

“Dedication page. I can dedicate the book to the stranger who made the book possible - the woman with wit.” She let the camera hang from its strap, slipping her hands into her pockets. 

Her smile, when it alit on her face, was bright but brief. “Consider it a strange little passion project that probably won’t go anywhere - but I grew up – not around here but in the city, and it’s changed since I was here last, and I’m afraid that when I leave again – if I get to come back – it’ll be even more alien. I didn’t take enough pictures growing up, I want to make up for that now.” 

She groaned. “Okay, I’m full of just … horrible lines. Can I get a third try? Or would you save me by letting me off the hook by giving me … honestly anything else to talk about? I know a random fact about squid brains if that piques your interest.” 

THE MORE THE WOMAN SPOKE, the more amused Silje became, to the point where she was certain the other would be relieved if she walked away. It had been a while since she’d seen anyone trip over themselves quite so much, even longer since it wasn’t to do with one of her intimidation tactics. Suddenly her presence was less that of a hounding artist, all eager professionalism, contorting into something… more honest. And Silje was far from accustomed to honesty. Didn’t know what to do with it, never had to learn how to navigate conversations that lacked duplicity.

❛ I’m Silje,” she interjected instead, a mercy offered to somehow save the woman — Samira— from herself. Then, with a wink, ❛ For your dedication page. ❜ A beat. ❛ Would you really do that? Dedicate your passion project to some stranger you found off the street? ❜ I could be a murderer. Something told her that it wouldn’t matter. This woman sought to capture a fleeting existence as it existed in that moment, its truest form. And what was truer than a killer who masqueraded amongst society, the darkness cloaked in light?  

This woman knew the dark, she decided. It was in her smile, vibrant yet strangely fleeting. Were she the prying type, she might have latched onto it. But that would open a whole new can of worms, so Sil passed over it in favor of a brow crinkle at the cliche statement. ❛ I think it’s safe to call it a rescue at this point, ❜ she noted instead. ❛ I’ll trade you an octopus fact for a squid one. Everyone knows about their three hearts, right, but did you know they have nine brains? One for each of their arms and a main one for everything else. ❜

❛ Learned about it last night on the discovery channel. Zombies would have a field day. But it could also make a great tattoo, if you’re in the mood to support a local business? ❜

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊​:

“… why would I let him fight back?” Jack asked, deadpan and serious. “The orders were - quick and clean. No signs, no missing pieces…” he paused as he reflected, “which means no eyeballs. Apologies, we’ll have to go out for iHop instead.” Lee didn’t want signature flares. No room for the chance that the boss would get away, nothing indicating what person did the kill. 

It was what Jack was known for – or better yet, not known for. There was a reason why he didn’t have a reputation - a name meant a target and a trail. Jack did his work with the cruel efficiency of a man who didn’t need or want to play when he was picked for a job. 

“If the Brotherhood doubts our word, then they should have hired someone they trusted, or done it themselves. They can piss and moan about not getting proof but what will they do? Sue us for breech in contract? We’ll go to the Underworld court and argue in front of a jury of our peers?” He toed the body carefully, right by the thigh, careful to keep the blood away from his shoes. “When I said this was like being back in prison - I meant it. Kill quick, through whatever means necessary. Mathias did what I needed him to do, bring him in so I could make my kill. Should I have announced myself? Given a monologue? Waited for him to prepare himself for death? Final last words? Should I have given him a knife to defend himself? Made him piss his pants in fear?” He looked down at the body. “He defecated, which means he likely urinated. I think we did enough.” 

No … Jack didn’t play. He wasn’t kind or curious or at all interested. Dead eyed, focused and without warning - it was how he had worked best in the past. 

“Come along then. I have to find my dog and my husband – and you two can go find someone else to dally with. Film it for me and let me see how it should be done. I’ll take notes.” 

-

“Because it’s fun?” Mathias added. He could see now that Jack was the perfect man for this job. If it had been Mathias, it wouldn’t be so quick and easy. “I guess that’s why we get paid to kill people and you don’t, Jack”. 

It was all in one ear and out the other now. No trophies, no fun catch me if you can notes. It was just a dead body in an alley, and now they would get paid in some way. The lack of flair was disappointing, and Mathias’ fingers itched to make a spectacle out of someone else. “Alright then, I’ll take that as you giving us permission to cause trouble. Thanks”. His eyes stayed on the body that laid dead on the floor, taking a moment to memorize it. 

It really was a shame they couldn’t have done more, but death was death and sometimes it was unglamourous. Mathias would get over it within the hour. He gave a half hearted shrug and smiled at Jack, “Have fun, say hi to Lee for me”. 

FOR HER PART, SILJE COULD APPRECIATE A SWIFT DEATH. Some lives came to unceremonious ends, going out in a puff of breath with few consequences. But this, a boss — Lee would have been severely disappointed had he gone in her direction. The final words she could draw from a man would make the most scrupulous of killers proud. There truly was no option but Jack. ❛ A soliloquy might have been festive, ❜ she mumbled, ❛ One last confession on his death bed. ❜ Or floor.

❛ Next time I’ll come better prepared. ❜ A smile spread across her lips, and then teasingly, ❛ I’m thinking sabers? ❜ Hypothetical or no, the blonde was never one to pass up on poking fun at her superiors. 

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊​: 

—- 

He appreciated their prompt arrival and their willingness to not question what he asked of them. If there was a merit system, he’d give them both gold stars and a piece of gum for their good behavior. He looked at the knives that Silje brought to him - he only wanted one, but pocketed a second. “Good work,” he said. 

The ally was deserted, not even a rat or cat were hiding among the trash cans. The garbage came by earlier today, so there was no food for the homeless to rifle through - no sagging couches for broke dreamers to take. It was – good enough for what he needed. Nothing flashy. Nothing grand. He wasn’t going to be taking his time and playing with his kill. It wasn’t the time for cat and mouse. 

Mathias brought him who he needed, and as Mathias and the Cartel walked towards him, Jack advanced forward. What were the odds that the man was wearing a Kevlar vest? Would the knife skitter off and miss where he aimed? Would it be better to go for the jugular - taking into account arterial spray and the need to stay clean? The femoral artery – but it required precision, more than what he had in the few feet he had left. 

“Almost like I was back in prison,” he commented, stepping forward for the cruel kill, sinking the blade into the soft meat of the boss’ belly, angling down and twisting, aiming to puncture and pierce, to spoil the meat, exposing intestines to the dirty city air. In the same motion, in his right hand, the blade plunged into his throat - the problem of arterial spray solved. “Keep the knives as a gift from me to you,” he said as the boss fell at his feet. 

He looked up, appraising Silje and Mathias. “Would you like an eyeball? You could deliver them to Sam and Lee – or keep them in a jar.” 

Screw gold stars, Jack would give out eyeballs in recognition. He heard the wet slurp as the organs fell from the wound he created. Now, the rats came - attracted to the smell of blood and viscera. A gurgling, wet noise - the sound of death. “Haggis and Guinness anyone?” 

-

Once Mathias caught sight of Silje and Jack, he backed off. If memory served him right, this was supposed to be pretty quick, so he wasn’t needed beyond bringing the cartel leader. What a shame. Mathias would have loved to make a whole scene out of it. 

With a sudden spary of blood, and the sickening thudding noise of a body hitting the ground, it was all done. Jack was clean and precise. The word impressive came into Mathias’ head. He moved closer to Silje and nudged her with his elbow, “Kinda anticlimatic huh?”

He gave a very half hearted applause to Jack to congratulate him on a job well done. “Can you take some teeth instead? Eye balls aren’t really impressive anymore”, he said. 

Mathias wondered how long it would take for someone to find the body, or even if someone would know what happened here. “Should we take a picture though? So they know we were successful?”

SILJE WATCHED THE MAN FALL WITH A TWISTED FASCINATION. What once was a formidable opponent was reduced to a pile of meat on the cement. ❛ I had hoped he would fight back more, ❜ she commented back, head tilting as she watched the entrails spill out. ❛ It's almost a waste of a good blade. ❜

Those were the kills she relished, a true fight for who would draw their last breath, the thrill of knowing that it might be you. Jack, for his part, however, had performed flawlessly.

❛ I'll take an eyeball. ❜ She stepped forward, peering over to look into the unseeing organs. ❛ Set it in a jar with red isopropyl? It'll look great on my mantel. ❜ She had always wanted to try her hand at preservation; this was a worthy specimen.

EDMUND – Do you ever wish you’d been born someone else? If so, who?

ROSALINE – Which people from your past haunt you?

This isn’t his favorite sort of conversation — the ones that lead to unplanned casualties. Inevitable, though, when curveballs are thrown their way. “Use your best judgment.” Silje isn’t so different from himself. She’s clinical, and for that, he trusts her. “If you need backup, ask for it. No hesitation.” He could be there in minutes.

TOO EASY. Planning for the worst whilst hoping for the best is how she’s made a living and there’s no difference now. ❛ Understood. ❜ True to form, she can’t help adding, ❛ So no guns blazing shootouts, got it. ❜ A beat. ❛ Don’t worry, I’ll make you proud. They won’t even know we’re there. ❜

CLOSED STARTER: @spxlledinks​ LOCATION: diavoli territory >:) TIME: just after 9pm

A pop of blonde hair is what alerts him to the Syndicate’s arrival. Silent and swift as always, Silje Erykssen nearly catches him off guard. He doesn’t start, but rather adjusts his position almost robotically. Feet remain grounded, shoulders pivot towards the approaching frame. Between the two lies only cement and the pointed barrel of Milo’s gun.

Secretly, he’d been hoping they’d send Erykssen to do the job. He’s always respected her efficient way of operating that’s not too unlike his own–  militaristic. 

Milo tilts his head to the side and the gun mirrors it, as smooth and comfortable as if he were gesturing with his own hand. “Your load’s lookin’ a little light there, soldier.” He holds eye contact as he reaches into his pocket, tapping his phone screen a few times. The darkness around them grows deeper as JJ kills his car headlights around the corner, not a second later.

His head straightens again, and his gun follows. “Where’s the body?”

THE WAY SHE SEES IT, with the hard part handled the rest of the night is dedicated to bureaucracy. Unfailingly her least favorite part of the job, it brings her face to face with the leader of the Brotherhood.

Milo Ritter. An interesting case study in militant precision and drive. She's heard about his temper but has never seen it up close. Hopefully, it stays that way.

It’s natural to slip into easy banter, shoulders rolling back on sight of the weapon. ❛ I didn’t want to throw out my back. ❜ A smirk finds its way to her lips. She doesn’t bother looking away to locate the light source and subsequent lack thereof; no backup is worth taking her eyes off the gun pointed right at her.

❛ It’s taken care of, ❜ she says, folding her hands behind her back. Her thumb grazes the handle of the retractable knife she keeps concealed within her sleeve — in case he doesn’t like her answer. ❛ If you have questions, talk to Giant Old Man One or Slightly-Less-Giant Younger Old Man Two. ❜

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊​: 

Event: Shakespeare in the Park, Part III For: @intxication & @spxlledinks

—-

He had been given the command - kill the Cartel boss. Perhaps twenty years ago, he would have executed the order alone. Now, he wasn’t nearly as foolhardy and willing to take the risk. This needed to be done with precision. 

No, now - he had a team. All the better to control any possible changes or issues that arose. He had a plan, and it was easy enough. 

He had connected to Mathias through text, asking if the younger man would be able to herd the boss to the kill point. 

To Silje, he had asked that she bring him knives. He always carried two with him, but the knives would have to be disposed of afterwards, and he liked the knives he had. No, she’d bring him what he needed to get the job done. 

The three of them had that in common - an appreciation for knives. 

Mathias and Silje would take care of anyone who stuck to the cartel boss.

Jack would take care of the boss. Orders given and accepted. 

So – he waited in the shadows for Silje to make her delivery and close the choke point behind Mathias. 

-

Mathias was tasked with getting the Cartel leader to the kill spot. Easy enough. While he prefered to just kill people wherever he found them, this wasn’t his kill. This was Jack’s, and Jack wanted him in a different area. 

It was also pretty easy to heard the man, all it took was some quick deaths of some guards, and a well placed ‘If you don’t want to suffer by my hands, then you better get a move on’. Again, this wasn’t his kill, but he could use that to his advantage. 

It was a lot like herding an animal after that. A few prods with a knife, and hopes that no one would pay attention to a blood stained young man as he walked behind a complete stranger like he was a shadow. 

Easy enough. 

He came to the meeting point, and Mathias changed to a more aggressive method. He kicked and kept his knife pressed against what he assumed were important parts of the body. Now he just had to wait. “Don’t run, okay? If you do then I’ll have to kill you, and you don’t want that. The VIP will be here soon”. 

PROCURING THE MURDER WEAPON WAS A TASK well within her capabilities. She had a supplier, one who didn't know her and didn't care to. When she came in to have a new blade forged, giving specifications down to the grind and a name that changed every time, he would nod, name his price in cash, and she would be back in a month to collect.

But that wouldn't do this time. She bought off the shelf, both for time sensitivity and de-identification; custom blades carried a unique mark, and these needed to be unremarkable.

Better to be over-prepared than under, Silje took into consideration each style of blade, weighing each option against the user. Jack worked in multiples and Mathias was quick, so size was crucial. Moving pieces provided another opportunity for failure, and thus she only supplied two folding blades, which alongside a bowie and kukri brought the tally up to twelve.

Locating Jack, noting the sound of an impact in the distance, she unclipped the roll to reveal the knives.