#mafiahq.starter

It was irritating how a simple task given could be turned into a big giant mess, one that inevitably would be left for Javi to take care of such as he was doing now as he stood in the back alley, metal clinking lightly in his hand as he looked down at a male that had been forced to his knees. “I really do hate having to do this, hermano,” Javi spoke. “But apparently some people just can’t do their jobs right and it’s rather unfortunate for you, isn’t it?”

when: late evening

who: open to all 

At the end of the day, when you peel back the deceit of it all, sift past the embezzlement, the laundering, the forging - white collar crime, more than anything, is about sleight of hand. A magic trick on those that are more than able to afford it. It’s an addiction that sticks though, a habit that tends to weave its way into the bloodstream, settle in the bones.  

Some poor guy’s left his wallet on the bar and quick fingers manage to swipe it up. Anastasia turns to lean against the cool marble counter as she thumbs through the contents of the leather wallet that’s been forgotten abandoned. 

Next to her, the ice in her sazerac melts, already a relic of a meeting that went well enough. Her guest is at least ten minutes gone and she’ll linger if only to have a moment to herself (certainly not for the drink.) But if peace is what she’s looking for, she’s always been bad at it; Anastasia finds that one thing will always be true: idle hands are the devil’s playthings. 

ID, gift card, photo, business cards - she feels eyes on her. Her hands still as she peers over the calling card that she holds. Anastasia raises an eyebrow and keeps a stoic expression. 

“This yours?” So what if it is? “I was just about to return it.” Lies. “I’ve never really had a stomach for petty theft.” She smiles. 

Couch’s pull-out was a mess of ruffled sheets and scattered pillows as Jill rested comfortably with her head pressed against the arm of it, of all things. Her slumber (hangover) was interrupted only by a serious of pounding against her door. The first few times, it only woke up her slightly – she thought it might have been somebody else’s door, so sue her! After the third and fourth times, she finally lifted her hands to press against her face in an attempt at waking up even more now. The pounding, much similar to the one in her head, only seemed to get louder before her patience ran thin.