#& thread

@besaea​

gikwang found himself stuck, a little unsure of what to do. who could blame him? for the most part, gikwang had been minding his business, paying no attention to what was happening around him. his earphones were in and he was planned on cutting through the park to take a little time off his trip to the gym. on the way, he had passed a girl, someone. just standing there. it was a little odd, it played in the back of his mind. enough that he couldn’t help but turn around and peek, she was still standing there. 

and then, he was a little worried, back tracking a bit. he was a safe distance away. he wondered if he should get a little closer but at the same, this it was just a tad too scary at night. “hey!” he didn’t mind calling rather loudly, “are you okay? do you need help?” because no one would be that perfectly still right? he found himself inching closer, pulling his phone out to turn on the flashlight. “can you hear me?” and did he need to call the police. that was the biggest question. 

A full agenda greets Remus on the morning of the tenth, a day lined up with meetings and speeches, scheduled schmoozing and well-timed laughter all pieces of a larger political plan. Campaign hits the ground running and every bit of effort towards his election counts, Cemile there to remind him to work in some of his many important running points into his big speech; he’s an outsider, however popular family name and media presence might make him — today is just another chance to convince their shareholders that a Warden in charge of the country will be profitable for them all. He’s on his best behavior, clean cashmere and shaven face ( at Maman’s request ) and meticulously planned speech all contributing to his image. Though his voter base is strong, polls touting clear favour from the Over 40s crowd, Conservatives, and all the corporate types, there are always new people to win over. Of course, it’s so much fucking easier to accomplish when you aren’t pitted against one of your own.

Now that he and Saint have promised to work as a team of Seraphim instead of competing fruitlessly with each other, he’d thought he’d managed his way past these kinds of direct fucking comparisons. It seems that’s what politics is about, pitting candidates against each other — but his blood boils when he hears the name murmured in small pockets across the hotel. Sure, Astrid looks good on paper, her experience as an MP and rapport with constituents is certainly quaint...but there’s a reason Remus is running and she isn’t, a kind of power in name and wealth in connections ( the kind of power Astrid, too, might have enjoyed as a Warden, the kind of things that were possible if Death hadn’t taken Juno from them all ). After hearing the whispers of Astrid’s name amongst businessmen, gossip delivered fresh from his wife’s mouth, he disappears in the interest of keeping composure; there’s no point in making a scene or sticking around to hear what Astrid might say in response — these are things to be sorted out later.

Instead, he bursts into the greenroom, a conference room converted into a private space for the Warden family and their closest associates. Making a beeline to the beverage table for a water bottle, Remus downs a quarter of the bottle as if washing down his annoyance. It’s only when he sets bottle back on table with a heavy sigh that he notices Domenico, celebrated Dominion and newest member of the campaign team ( security more important than ever before as Remus becomes an even more public figure ). “Hey,” he says nonchalantly, settling to sit on the table’s edge. Rubbing at his face, Remus asks, “how’s the big meeting treating you?” In an ideal world, Domenico would have a very boring day with no security threats, but their business rarely deals in ideals. “Anything suspicious to report?” he adds, thinking back to how Gabrielle words her commands; any issues that come up are to be handled by Domenico quickly and cleanly. “Besides the fucking lip flying out there on the floor,” he says, tone going grumbly, “the last thing I need is this Astrid shit to ruin my fucking speech.” He’s not angry with her directly — not yet, at fucking least. Remus will have to figure out if Astrid Hunter has any ministerial ambitions for herself before he makes a fool of himself.

All of that flew out of his mind once he finally found Stevie in the crowd, right where they promised to meet. “Hey!” The word came out In English and he wrapped his friend in a half-hug. His eyes on the others that were currently finishing up this round of apple bobbing. “Can you guess what my costume is?” Would the other even get a hint of robin hood, Gikwang doubted it. “I’m ready for my turn, I’ve been practicing my apple grabbing skills, trust me, though I wonder, does someone catch a head cold if they keep dunking their head in water for a game?”

DEATH AND GRIEF TW

After one gruesome death is put on display, the light of the television screens puts the crowd in a collective trance, and Remus Warden unknowingly holds his breath. He watches two men die and feels nothing for them, only immense dread for what he knows is to come; he would easily trade a million fucking lives for his sister’s, would eagerly exchange an endless number of unfortunate souls from Pestilence & Famine if it only meant Juno’s face didn’t appear on that fucking screen. She is Death’s closing act, the reappearance of the stolen Warden Seraphim a sight to fucking behold, parading her in her family’s face as they watch her die, but not without honour. Terse French is a fucking call to action to her brothers: Venger moi frères. Her final words run on repeat and repeat in his head, drowning out nearly everything else as his world falls apart around him. Watching life drain from Juno’s face tears apart the facade the Wardens like to hide behind, their tendency to paint themselves immortal proven false before all their enemies. The only thing Remus knows for certain as screens go black and coffins raise is that he won’t let anyone touch his fucking family again.

Screams pierce the air, a broken sound, the unnatural cries of Gabrielle Warden in mourning ringing through the near fully reclaimed warehouse. Remus knows the vivid memory of this night will haunt him, right alongside all the signs he didn’t see beforehand, all the paths he could’ve taken if only he had known they existed. Though each gang loses someone tonight, War loses the most, a member of their family stolen, the only daughter of their line killed before their eyes. When Remus arrives on scene at their parents’ London home, he is silent, feeling numb, still unable to fully grasp the reality of the tragedy. One foot inside familiar place, inside perceived safety ( if such a luxury exists anymore ), and walls come tumbling down, Remus unable to stop hot tears from falling when he sees his parents, feels their hearts break as he holds them.

But it’s Saint he worries for, the youngest Warden, always one to blame himself when things go wrong — and tonight is a horror, a fucking nightmare brought to life. “Et mon frère?” And my brother? he asks Gabrielle, who clings to him harder than she ever has. It’s Warlock who points to their youngest, the silhouette of Saint Warden seen through back door window, an evening of chain smoking already begun without Remus’ help. Already proven unable to protect one sibling, more than ever before the eldest Warden feels a fucking violent urge to seek out his brother, willing to do anything to keep his family from suffering like this, unwilling to sit at the wayside helplessly again.

Despite all the unyielding love Gabrielle Warden feels for her children, like any normal family, there are growing pains, plenty of vivid memories of her characteristic icy rage that the children come to inherit for themselves. Remus Warden is at first the only child, sole heir, and yet blossoms into his place as big brother, a role that doubles as protector. It is Remus who spends his childhood keeping little Juno and wee Saint from killing each other ( only a year apart and somehow constantly at each other’s throats ) , every cry and yelp from out siblings’ mouth quickly soothed and silenced by him, Remus willingly taking the blame for every broken vase or window busted by one of the little Wardens. Older, bearing heavier weights on his shoulder, he can withstand their mother’s anger, too, keeping little siblings safe from the grunt of it. He’s come to know that side of Gabrielle well, knows what to expect, knows the warning signs and when to give in — but with baby sister gone, rage is absent, and in its place is  grief, the insurmountable, swallowing darkness of a child lost. Somehow, seeing his mother with tears flowing, inconsolable in her sorrow, is more frightening than any of her hellbent anger ever was.

Seeing Gabrielle falter when facing the loss proves to Remus that there are cracks within the stronghold of War that have now been exposed; no matter what their mother might have drilled into their heads as naive children, the way she crumbles in her daughter’s absence is proof enough to him that the Wardens are at their strongest when they work together, move as a unit. Seraphim targeted, sister stolen in the night, there is no room for petty competition, no time for keeping scores and holding grudges against his family. That deep-seeded urge to protect gnaws at Remus, keeping him awake at night, feeling powerless with no leads, no evidence, nowhere to turn to...except his brother. Always his brother, forever the person he can rely on, especially when times are dark and seemingly hopeless, maman’s petit soleil is Remus’ shining light. Despite past transgressions, the vicious power moves on the other’s behalf and all the biting arguments between them, there is a voice in his head that knows now is the time to make things right.

Rarely does Remus go to other people — he’s used to holding the meetings, having people come into his office, ask for his advice for things and solutions for problems. But it’s a testament to support and reliance on his little brother that he makes this move, extending a helping hand across the hallways of War HQ. No knock on office door, closed for privacy ( but never closed to Remus ), he lets himself in without hesitation and announces his presence as he steps into the room. “Salut,” he starts, meeting brother’s eyes quickly before the door shuts closed behind them again. Sensitive matters require discretion, and no one else within War needs to know about the proposition that is soon to transpire between the two Wardens for their sister’s sake. “How are things?” Remus asks the question, but the answer is obvious enough. With warehouse in ruin, Saint scrambles to restabilize their distribution chain while Remus tackles the more public front as president, comforting shareholders and attempting to smooth over all the bad fucking press; they're both pulled in every direction, stretched too thin, and the stress is palpable. Hands in pocket, Remus crosses the room, settling quietly in a chair across from Saint. “Outside of this shit too,” he says, hands motioning generally to the room, meaning the shitstorm Bellum and War have become in the last few days. From the pocket of suit jacket, he pulls out a cigarette pack, taking two out. “How are you?” One is offered to Saint, their usual tradition.

DRUGS & SUBSTANCE ABUSE MENTION TW

Celebrating Valentine’s Day almost passes as a non-issue in the face of gang violence, passionate gunfights, the return of love interests past — and divorce. Though, is that still happening? No lawyers have been called off, not officially, though neither Remus nor Rita have touched that damn assets file in over a week, ignoring every phone call and looming court date sent their way. Then there’s the sex, their steamy reconnection, entanglement at first only further complicating the messy fallout of their marriage. Now, it’s something else, a slow rekindling of what once burned between them. Remus has no idea what’s appropriate for Valentine’s day this year, where expectations lie, but he knows he has to try something, as they’ve agreed they owe each other at least that much. Optimism blooms hesitantly inside him, sweet ideas of surprises for Rita accompanying that hope. 

They’ve begun the process of melding their lives together again, whether or not the pair are fully aware of it. Morning coffees, synchronous get-ready routines, little mannerisms like knees tapping together as they unwind on their couch in the evening, like old times. They share the same bed again, giving Remus the best sleep of his life these three days past. The energy in the whole house has shifted, and even the house staff are aware of the happy change — they treat the once-Wardens to romantic Valentine’s brunch delivered to the master bedroom, giving sort-of husband and wife their privacy and the luxury of a lazy morning together. It’s a blissful distraction from the chaos lying in wait just outside their stately home.

A late start to the day means that Rita is late to get ready, her beauty rituals bleeding well into the afternoon. Remus doesn’t mind, doesn’t take issue with waiting blissfully from his place on their oversized marriage bed ( and the pills he’s been quietly taking definitely help his normally thin patience ). Moments later, Rita turns from the bathroom, moving quietly into their room, and Remus sits up at once, reaching arms out towards her, an invitation. “You’re stunning,” he murmurs, no hesitation in welcoming her into his lap, wrapping arms closely around her waist as she unfolds into her natural place on top of him. Hand absentmindedly pushes hair from her face, Remus feeling some incessant need to maintain close contact as they speak. “All that time in the bathroom...did you manage to come up with any other guesses as to what your surprise might be?”

DATE: Evening of February 5th

@zhangrita​

From the moment Rita makes her much-anticipated, albeit emotionally distanced return to their family home, Remus has been a mess of longing, wandering eyes, and daydreaming mind. He doesn’t dare voice these yearning desires, not when Rita makes her way upstairs alone at night to their master bedroom ( though Remus arrived first and had already unpacked his things in their once-shared room, when he came home to find her asleep between their Egyptian cotton sheets, he compromised and silently took one of the many spares instead ), his gaze trailing those long legs of hers with want. These thoughts go unvoiced again as she leans over marble kitchen counter too, lost in thought over cookbook, Remus wishing things were as simple as wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing kiss to her neck from behind.

But because it’s them, because of their painfully complicated history, he finds himself sat at their immaculate dinner table instead, waiting for Rita’s first official attempt at dinner for him in hesitant silence. He knows how thin the eggshells beneath his feet are, and that saying the wrong thing would send her running off again. It’s enough for now that they’re here again, together, it’s enough that she’s set a date to cook him dinner for tonight. It’s getting late, however, much past the time Remus would prefer to eat, though he’s held his tongue for long enough as stomach audibly grumbles. Finally, with soft voice and tone, from his place at the table he asks, “How’s it coming along?” Whatever she’s making smells delicious, which is more than what he could say about her previous attempts, Remus the usual cook in their marriage. “Is there anything I can help with?” He won’t leave from his seat unless she asks — in this experimental phase of their relationship, he’s more willing than ever to become putty in her hands.