#c13starter

Andrew was less than resigned to the idea of a day for love. He turned slightly, content with the anonymity of being one well-dressed and powerful man among many, to the person sitting next to him, mouth turning up at the corners as he held his drink. 

“Is there anything as sad as being alone today?” He said it rhetorically, to himself, but really, he expected an answer. A conversation. Anything to drown out the words on everyone’s lips.

The only thing stopping him from throwing his drink over the man seated beside him was his appreciation for the way the water condensed around the glass. That, and an ingrained reluctance to cause a scene. It was painfully important that Dante maintained a healthy connection with this celebrity author, Richard Ways, who told everyone he assumed a friend to call him Dicky. While he was revered by the general public as a brilliant man, Dante was seeing another side of him that he just wanted to throttle. Before letting himself hear another misinformed phrase spill out of the man’s mouth, the editor slid out from their booth and excused himself for a cigarette.

“I’ll be back, gentlemen,” he said, reaching for his jacket on the rack beside their table. The Dick and his friends offered their electronic alternatives  to make him stay, but only got a laugh out of him. If only they knew how disgusted he really was.

Back in the 90′s, a nice slice of his weekly income was put toward his cigarettes. He since managed to pry himself from the habit, but never forgets to keep a pack on hand in case of emergencies like this. Feeling the box in his jacket pocket, he headed straight to the bar’s front door without stopping for anything. The sooner he was out, the happier he’d be. Nothing about the place had caught his attention enough for a look, but as he passed by the other patrons, he spotted a familiar, hardened face happening to glance in his direction. She might not have been a friend, but Katherine’s face was a much more pleasant sight than the crew at his table. Still, he headed straight out the door without a word, and didn’t expect to see her again.

The Coalition burner phone was supposed to be a secret. Its prevalence varied across the members. Those with dark dealings or family members aware of the situation might not bother. Those with a professional reputation that might come under threat or people around them who remained innocent of the knowledge of their significant others darker dealings preferred a burner phone. Given the situation with both her brother and her girlfriend, Nadia preferred the latter approach.

She supposed she could have blamed her long day. Or the fact that their premiere was just around the corner - and she was going to somehow pose for photos and walk the red carpet pretending she wasn’t very much in love with her co-star. Luckily, she was a good actress - but Nadia still knew that the torch she carried for her girlfriend burnt brightly.  

Ducking out into the kitchen to fetch a snack - her heart skipped a beat when she walked back into the living room - her burner phone in Saskia’s hands. Upon reflection, she probably should have acted more casually. But it was instinct that drove her words.

“What are you doing?”

But tonight, the smoke felt stuffy - it seemed to stick to her skin like salt air. She felt contaminated, which was odd for her. It was rare that she didn’t feel herself - vibrant, malicious, and in control. She made an excuse to leave that was only barely noticed by her compatriots, slipping away from the group. Across the room, there were doors - she could feel a faint movement of air as she moved towards them. 

She nearly sighed when she opened them, the night air pressing against her face. She left the doors open, sure that  if someone was opposed, they wouldn’t question closing them again. She leaned against the railing of the balcony she found herself on, inhaling slowly. When Madison heard footsteps approaching, she didn’t turn. 

Low heeled boots clicked softly against the marble floors of the entrance as the security guard waved her through; she smiled her thanks and headed for the elevator. Since she hadn’t gone through the papers, she had no idea if they belonged to Maia or to Luciano, but she figured she could pass them off to whichever family member she found first. If they weren’t too busy, perhaps one or both of them could join her for dinner before she headed back to Oxford. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding and Vienna stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor before moving aside so the other occupant of the lift could select their destination. 

They had risen about ten floors when the elevator jolted to a halt with a mechanical grinding sound and went dark. “Oh!” Vienna gasped, grabbing onto the handrail to steady herself. “That can’t be good... are you alright?” Using her cell phone as a flashlight, she located the other passenger in the lift and tried to offer a reassuring smile. “I guess this is my punishment for not taking the stairs... New Year’s Resolutions and all that. Uh, do you think the building’s lost power or just the elevator? You’re not claustrophobic at all, are you?”

Perjury. Of the crimes that Ezra has committed since pledging himself to the Coalition, it’s only one among many. It never gets easier: he swears, he affirms, he promises—he looks the law in the eyes—and he lies. It’s killing him, he swears it is. 

Mere moments after he stepped off the stand he felt it: a cresting wave, a deadly tide, it carried him helplessly along. His exit from the courtroom was brisk enough to be noticeable, but not moreso than such a public breakdown would have been. He locked himself behind a bathroom door, stalls thankfully empty, to clutch white-knuckled at the sides of a porcelain sink and struggle to breathe, to try and push down the demons that rose and gripped at him—the result of some math that Ezra could never understand, never predict. Sometimes it was just one lie too many, one step too far, and they came for him.

The door rattled behind him, and he looked himself in the mirror: tie askew and collar damp, eyes red-rimmed with bags underneath. The only thing he could do to put himself to rights was straighten his tie and blot at his damp face with a paper towel. Take a deep breath and hope no one he knew was there to bear witness to his disgrace.

It rattled again, and he put on as convincing a face as he could—(woefully inadequate)— opened the door. “My apologies, I didn’t realize it was locked.”

Their chase down the sidewalk and Bri’s concerned shouts of Koda’s name ceased when she saw her dog had settled at someone’s feet. 

“Oh, thank you so much -” Bri heaved the greeting upwards as she bent down to grab Koda’s leash, her breath full of holes as she recovered from her brisk run. “And I am so, so sorry if he bothered you.” Aubrielle looked up with a smile at the transient hero of the day as she jostled Koda’s fur, pressing him to her side momentarily. Her attention went back to Koda. “This boys just a little bit mischievous.”