#descendantsofwar;event

Klara wasn’t one to shy away from dressing up for an event, gaining pleasure and enjoyment from it. It was also paramount to her that she looked elegant, yet deadly as in attendance were Scorpion members who she needed to make a lasting impression upon. Taking a champagne flute from the tray of a servant doing the rounds, she scanned the scene before her. It was American opulence at it’s finest, which she had become accustomed to and was beginning to appreciate. “Wonder how many florists worked tirelessly to create this?” she mused out loud to no one in particular.

location: La Santa food truck

Starting off with a bang was necessary for Carmen’s reputation. No way in hell would she allow La Santa’s name to be dragged through the mud. Looking at her set-up from a distance, the sound of music wrapped around her as she couldn’t help but dance up to the truck and grab a tray of samples from her chef. Walking and talking with individuals as they stopped to try La Santa’s food, she couldn’t help but notice the figure hesitant to approach the food truck. “Come on, now! Don’t be shy... I know you want an elote,” she said, waving the tray of Mexican street corn individually prepared for trial. “Or how does a churro sound? Do you have a sweet tooth? We have it all to satisfy your cravings,” she assured, tempting them with her alluring smile.

Estelle Jack Taylor attending the Marchand-Montgomery Wedding with Brandon Shapiro 

It was the alcohol, he kept blaming, or the blunt he’d shared with Milo, or what he and Skylar had indulged in, but Vas was drunk, and as he followed the attractive blonde out of the bar, only to be confronted with Amalia and slurred words were shared before she had her arms linked in his. It was somewhat surprising to him, and he glanced around, wondering if Isaak or Logan were around - something felt wrong. But the way her body felt against his didn’t feel wrong, and he followed along as she led him around somewhere hidden away.

Everything seemed hazy, his eyes half hooded, and she was looking at him with those wide eyes, that lovely enchanting smile before she was moving. He tried to follow, but the feeling that something seemed wrong wouldn’t leave, and it was then that he realised something was wrong. His feet moved on their own accord, but they weren’t fast enough and there was movement just behind him. Another person. A figure. A slash. He expected pain, but there seemed to be nothing but silence. He tried to throw them off, but his arms were no match against those of a well trained person, his own failing and useless in his inebriated state. There wasn’t much of a struggle, and the party raged on beyond him, but the darkness of the alcove he’d been lured to seemed to just contain him. A sound erupted somewhere, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was until he realised it was himself, a sound, or a scream, or something. Another slash. The sound of a blade in flesh. The smell of blood. Then pain erupted, his body feeling as if it were on fire, and he could feel himself falling, knees buckling as he tried to localise where it was coming from. But it wasn’t anywhere, and it wasn’t anything, and everywhere and everything at the same time. Searing, hot pain flooded his body and he found himself lying on the sand, glancing up at the star soaked sky and the last thought that he seemed to be able to fathom was the thought of his uncle, bleeding out on that pier, not so far away, and he heard his name, but it sounded far away, far too far away for him to respond, and Vasili Volkov closed his eyes, against all better judgement, despite the desperate calls of his sister in his ear.

THE MARCHAND NUPTIALS EVENT

THE MARCHAND NUPTIALS EVENT