#amaroadriana

"I should've guessed that was yours, honestly."

WHEN: Aviv's hospital room after THIS self para.

A whip-like snap crackled through the air, followed by another.

The second he heard that sound, he was moving.

With everything that had happened, Maksim stormed into the hospital room with a sense of urgency he was sure he'd never felt in his life; a hint of fear for his unconscious friend, stormy blue eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of life, but instead, he took in her form.

Heart was racing, mind clouded with dread.

Adriana.

His best friend's lover, and someone he'd known the same way, once. But instead of being a comforting presence by Aviv's bedside, she was pointing a gun at him. He didn't even get a chance to take in her before his eyes were on his friend. Aviv lay there, unconscious and vulnerable, but breathing.

Alive!

Maksim's blood boiled. Was she going to betray him in such a heinous manner? Marching towards her without taking a beat, his eyes locked onto her with new found rage, when his hand snaked around her arm and yanked her away without any thought for his strength. He really didn't care. Maksim was fueled by his fury, and nothing would stand in his way.

The second he'd cleared her through those doors, yanking her away from the bed, it was only when they were outside of the room that he was slamming her back against the wall. The force of the impact rattling the room; he knew if Aviv saw this, he'd probably tear him apart, but right now, he only saw white hot rage coloring the corners of his vision. He was beyond reason.

"You!" Eyes wild with disbelief, "What the fuck are you doing?" The way in which the words bellowed from his mouth, filling the surrounding space with a low rumbling of thunder. Some of the others left, giving him the space.

What would he do with her now?

Maksim didn't relent. He towered over her, his grip on her arm unyielding.

‘‘I have to say---’‘ Melissa purred, eyes alight with the haunting look that others may have not placed yet. While that internal burning fury was alive within her. Raising her glass at Adriana, she smirked. ‘‘--- You’ve done a fantastic job.’’

There he stood appreciating the art that sat upon the wall; Guernica was Picasso's distressing illustration of the terrors of war. How a perception could be captured in a singular, still moment. A lot of pieces often showed the ultimate moments of victory, which was why Vincenzo especially liked this one. Depictions of the actual horror were much more fascinating and realistic. No one came out of war without bloodshed. It was the unfortunate truth, and one he’d had to learn the hard way as he’d grown into a man. 

He hummed, low and quiet, it often subscribed Vincenzo to the moment he stood in. Able to take from what he saw and draw the larger picture; a man of many means and many abilities. And yet, words never failed him, but he so rarely used them. Except for now, a bubbling in the back of his throat; he never even turned to whom he was talking too. 

‘‘What is your opinion?’‘ He asks, raising his hand up to point towards the picture. ‘‘Honest opinion, that is.’‘ 

After The Fight.

Battered and bruised was the only was to describe Olivier as he practically hobbled out of the back rooms in which he’d been treated. He was keenly aware of the eyes that now trailed after him. For the second year in a row, he’d lost. But it sat differently within the pit of his stomach this year. It wasn’t eating him alive. He hadn’t been carried back to his mothers house, where he’d cried to her about his failures long into the night. 

No.

Instead Olivier walked out with his head held high. Or, at least as high as he could manage. He would no longer be weak. There wasn’t room for that in his life, and Olivier Fontaine finally felt like even if he’d lost the fight, he’d gained something back. Respect for himself. His jaw however was stopping him from smiling, the support he’d been given by the physician was to stay in place for four to eight weeks; the pain radiated as he fist bumped an old friend as he passed. There was one face he didn’t dare look for, Elaina most likely somewhere in the room. 

But then his eyes landed upon Adriana. Great.

‘‘I’m supposed to keep my mouth closed.’‘ He managed to say. ‘‘Then there you were.’‘

Olivier: I'm guessing you've skipped out on the Loving Hearts thing? I think a 'Sour Heart' is more your kind of event.

Olivier: But on a serious note, are you coming?

Olivier: It's always a bit more fun with u around.

LOCATION: Smoke & Mirrors

Olivier seemed lost in thought, music in the background that seemed to thump effortlessly, was not interfering with his concentration for he was completely wrecked by the day's events, running a hand down his stubbled beard, a look of confusion evident, he began to rub tirelessly at his eyes; he’d thrown himself into work lately, anything to keep himself going. He was, after all, a man that loved his job. But even he was sure that he’d need a break or a good laugh sometime soon.

Reaching across, he came to find his drink empty as he sighed; a typical thing for Olivier when he was in work mode. He was planning his route for an event he was working security on; Olivier liked to be prepared, to know every vantage point for the other side, know the best entrances and exits; it was why he was so good at his job, and so invested. He loved it. He found the intricacy entertaining, but tonight, he was just tired.

‘‘I’ll take another...and a whiskey on the rocks please.’‘ --- two drinks might make the night seem better, but as he was about to go back into work mode, he saw her, an audible sigh falling from his chapping lips as he sighed.

‘‘Good evening, Adriana.’‘