#augustevent

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               She loves her birthday’s. Ever since she was a kid, she’d loved them. Of course, her father had gone all out for his little girls. Everything they could possibly want or need, they got. Spoilt was an understatement when it came to their birthdays, and Rebecca had never really grown out of that. Every party she’d ever thrown had been bigger and better than the one before -- except last year. Last year, her birthday had been hell on Earth. Even now, a year later and with her daughter alive and well, it still hurt. 

            She can still remember the agony that pierced her heart when she heard, when she saw what had become of Caroline. She’d had nightmares of that night for months, but this year would be different. This year would be better. 

                                       She had the cake pops to prove it.

              Twirling one in her hand, the other moving up to her hair to ruffle it a little, Rebecca grinned at a few of her guests as she passed. Honestly, it was going... well, and that surprised her. Not that she would’ve been pleased were blood to spill but words, at least, she’d expect to fly. Insults and thinly veiled threats. Of course, she’d had enough of that with Charlotte earlier but, still -- when crime and law and three sides of a war congregate in one place, one tends to expect a fight. 

                Sliding the stick of her pop out of her mouth, Rebecca dropped it on a passing waiter’s tray, smiling, content. From her place, she could see a vast majority of her club, and the people within it. Vivianne, by the bar. James and Lydia, at a table. Tiger -- Caroline, sitting beside Amber across the floor. A quick flick of her gaze finds the boys, her boys, off to one side, and she smiles at the sight of her sons and her husband - together. It wasn’t ideal, with the Jokers in close proximity and law enforcement keeping such a close eye, but it was... good.

                                                Happy Birthday, indeed.

                               Catching Caroline’s eyes with her own, Rebecca smiled softly, raising her glass in a silent toast because, as much as it hurt, as much as she still hurt now, this was her daughter, and no amount of denying it, of pushing it away, could change that. Caroline made her choice -- Rebecca didn’t want to lose her again because of it. 

             She bit her lip, swallowing a mouthful of her wine before walking forward, weaving her way through the bodies dancing. She’s usually graceful, she’s usually able to sidestep a drunk man unsteady on his feet, but there are a lot of people, and the floor is wet with sweat and spilled drinks. She stumbles a little, knocking in to someone and Rebecca turns, her too-good-a-mood throwing her usual glare and insult reaction out the window.

                                                            She smiles.

        It’s not quite apologetic, because Rebecca rarely apologises for anything, but it’s enough it seems, for they smile back, reach out with one hand to steady the Queen as she tries to find her balance. They’re close now, incredibly close, chests pressed together... Their hand tightens on her wrist, Rebecca’s smile falls, and she stiffens. There’s something pressed against her stomach, moving up, up, up -- closer and closer to her chest and she panics. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she pulls back enough to look them in the eye as they smile at her, and...

                                                         BANG 

            The gun shot rings in her ears, tearing through her stomach like fire, and Rebecca doubles over a little, her eyes wide and her mouth open, a strangled gasp flying from her lips. She’s been shot before, but this... this one burns. It’s just below her chest, beneath her breasts but the angle -- there’s a pain in her heart, and she drops her glass. It’s like slow motion, the way it falls over their back until it shatters on the floor and Rebecca grasps blindly at their arm, trying to stay standing as the pain races up her spine.

      Rebecca stumbles back, her hands falling to her stomach where she can feel the lace of her dress begin to fall heavy. Her hands shake, her head bows and she stares at the palms of her hand as she turns them over. Blood. Blood cakes her hands, stains them red. Blood. Her blood. The shock begins to settle in, and she looks up slowly. They’re gone. The shooter. Having disappeared in to the crowd but the corners of her vision are starting to go black, her head begins to feel like lead and she stumbles back another step, reaches out blindly to grab the person standing beside her but her hand misses, and she starts to fall.

                Looking up, Rebecca blinks as tears begin to well in her eyes. Her lips form a perfect ‘O’, framed in red, just like her dress, like her hands, like her blood. Her eyes meet Caroline’s, and Rebecca tries to say something but she’s already falling, and she can’t  keep herself up.

        Rebecca crumbles to the floor, her legs going weak, her knees buckling, and she falls back with her hands pressed against her stomach in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

                                                          It doesn’t stop.

          Her hands shake, her legs curl up as she turns on her side and the music stops, someone screams, there’s shouting and sounds and noise, loud noise that hurts her head. The crown she’d been gifted with, the crown she’d fallen in love with as much as she’d fallen for the person who’d presented it, slides from her head and rolls on the floor, gathering her blood until it glistens red. It takes strands of her hair with her, drenching long brown locks in thick red blood and Rebecca’s breath stutters, her head lolls to the side, and Rebecca stares up at the ceiling light with blood trickling from the corner of her mouth from where she’d bitten her cheek to stop herself from screaming.

                   At least her dress was already red.

She was getting real sick and tired of this shit. First, Caroline’s party. And now this. Honestly, attending Romono’s ‘event’ had been a last minute decision. A decision made out of pure boredom. Well -- she wasn’t bored now. With a gun pressed against the small of her back, Rebecca walked through the halls and in to one of the back rooms, oddly... quiet. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was rage, either way, the Red Queen’s silence continued until she’d reached the back wall and turned to lean against it, dark eyes rising to watch Violet as the door clicked shut. 

There were so many dead, and it made her sick to not know who. Exact numbers were as yet unknown, and there was no way in hell that she was going to ask one of the so-called Jokers. It was a surprise in and of itself that she hadn’t been one of them, that she still stood tall, breathing, alive. It was... confusing, and concerning, and it didn’t sit right with her. 

But she said nothing, merely glared at the girl in front of her with arms folded over her chest, hands curled in to fists as she tried not to name the bodies she’d stepped over - it was killing her not knowing. Her family had been there, her children. Not knowing whether they were alive or dead made her sick to her stomach. But this was nothing new, nothing she couldn’t handle, and she put it all aside to eye the gun still aimed in her direction. 

It wasn't anything special that made Dylan Spade head out tonight with mischief on her mind. Stuck now in a town where things were happening constantly, but never to her, tonight she decided to change that. She could always ask her brother of Fiona about things, sure, but that wasn't the same as actually seeing for herself.

Dressing dark, her hair pinned up, the youngest Spade made her way to the Raven's Nest. She'd heard enough whispers of its location to find it for herself, quite proud of herself when she stumbled upon it without too much trouble. No endgame to her mission, simply to snoop, her size making it easy enough to slip into places she might not have otherwise been able to.

In and out of doors of the warehouse, her hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket, the lights were dim, but still made enough could be seen that she wasn't tripping over anything. There wasn't anything that she was looking for in particular sans something of interest. Things were growing dull and that was something she simply couldn't have.

A smile to herself as to how easily she'd made it into the building, as she round the corner to turn down a different hallway, that's when Dylan froze. There were two men standing at the very end of the hallway, one she recognized as a collector for the Spades. There'd be a third man, however, with his back faced towards her, his pistol pointed at the other two.

There wasn't an ounce of hesitation from him as he took the first shot that pierce directly through the collector's chest. The young blonde jumped from the sound of the shot, noticing that the second man took off only to be followed behind. Not thinking quickly so much as she was reacting, Dylan turned to either side of her before noticing the fire extinguisher in its case to her left. Busting it open with her elbow, she pulled out the object before starting down the hall after the other two.

"Hey asshole!"  she called out as she was just behind him after a short ensued chase, a turn of his head would deliver the object blunted straight into the man's forehead, rendering him unconscious. Smirking smugly as the stranger toppled over onto the floor, Dylan knelt down in the hazed light to get a good look at his face.

A red haired man, a stranger, not someone that she'd at all seen around before. A menacing look about him, one that made her feel uneasy, as if he might get up to pounce at any given moment should she have knelt down too close. Taking his chin into the palm of her hand, she made positive that he was out cold before setting the fire extinguisher down, pocketing his pistol with the safety on in her back wasitband, and heading back to check on the man that had been shot.

The way that the body had fallen made it obvious that the man was gone, but that didn't stop Dylan from taking up the man's wrist to check for a pulse. Staining herself with blood in the process, she looked around desperately hoping that someone else might have heard and headed towards the sound of commotion.

No such luck, not yet at least, and without the sound of footsteps nearing by, Dylan made the executive decision to head back to the shooter. Checking her pocket for her phone, while she didn't recognize the man, there was a chance that someone else would, and a photograph would do far more justice than any sort of description might.

Again, unfortunately she'd have no suck luck for as she ran back towards the spot that she left him, certain that she wasn't mistaken for the fact that the fire extinguisher still remained. "Hello?" she called out to either side of her, well knowing the possibility that he might strike from anywhere at any given moment. She'd been trained not to be completely foolish, thus once she was certain that the coast was clear, she'd head off to find someone else - to let them know what was going on.

“Seriously officer, it’s a one time thing I swear I won’t do it it again” Dahlia moaned as she half got left half dragged her feet as a police officer led by the arm the young girl through the police station.

This wasn’t her very first stint in the joint, or at least the “light” version than were the annoying, usually drunk-person full and crammed version of a local precinct. It was never a fun time all around, but even though it was useless, it was always better to plead from the beginning- being annoying from the start? Well it was a great way to sell her whole ‘dumb party girl’ shtick from the get-go.

Some cops even liked that whole persona. Creeps.

Dahlia stumbled forwards slightly as she was pushed into one of the small rooms. Yep- New York or Chicago; they all shared that disgusting ‘hosed down for your sitting pleasure’ look. “Hey, hey, could you please take these off? I’m no trouble I swear they just hurt” she asked, looking at the cop pleadingly, smiling and batting her lashes when he took the handcuffs off of her.

“How long are you putting me in here, I said I was sorry!” she called out as the cop closed the door on her and left her alone in the tiny room.

“Shit” she muttered. Her sheet was clean here; she wasn’t noticed at all on the street. A month of laying low- thrown out of the window like that. Dahlia was boiling inside and doing her best to not let it overpower her. Her short fuse could fuck her up in this situation. 

As she was walking around the cell, trying to come up with some kind of contingency plan she heard the door open and looked up, seeing a cop drag in someone new.