angel face.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 ... and for a moment― for a split second― everything else falls away, the whole pattern and order of my life, and a huge joy crests in my chest. i am no one, and i owe nothing to anybody, and my life is my own. 

OPEN. outside knock five times; september 13th, 3am.

it’s been hours since the shots were fired though to samarth, it already feels like it’s been days. the fact that he’s awfully tired is probably to blame, and the abnormally high number of customers that kept him on his feet and particularly annoyed for most of the night. all he can think of right now is food and his bed but the party inside still hasn’t come to a halt. it doesn’t seem like it’s about to do that either so he’ll have to stick it out for a couple more hours. the customers become very irritating at this point—too drunk to remember their manners—so sam decides to take a break and seek refuge outside, his trusty cigarette box in his hand.

the fresh air and surprisingly clear sky brings comfort, as does the sensation under his fingertips as he traces the carved patterns of the metal box he’s holding onto—a gift from someone no longer in his life that he can’t quite let got of. he lights a cigarette and before he knows it, there’s someone at his side so he does the polite thing and offers them one too. “what a night, huh?”

✧ 

the swanky energy of the night had been siphoned by the boom of synthetic thunder and a party just didn’t feel like a party after some baloney like that. it shifts the atmosphere in such a way that even the sweetest cocktail feels bitter to the taste— the patrons of the speakeasy would be better off heading home to reset for the next time and yet they don’t seem happy to let go of the night. she must be the same, hanging around in lieu of tucking in for the night. but talia’s never been one to let others take something from her ( or so she says; in reality, she’s ever the giver when it comes to her time, her energy, her space...the list goes on ).

still she finds that she needs a little reprieve from the stale air and the soured nectar of the bar. what she isn’t expecting is to run right into the barkeep’s own moment away from the chaos. talia’s almost turning on her heels to head back inside but decides against it, pushing forward and into the man’s space, “darb as can be,” sarcasm thick in her tone. the words hang in the air for one second or two and then she’s grabbing the cigarette, and slipping it between her lips, “you have a light?” she never does, not when she’s only ever smoking in company.

her first impulse is to put her hand on talia’s mouth and to smother whatever exclamation she’s about to make, but the younger girl is quick on her feet and immediately restrains any reaction of hers that she was about to have. in the meantime, ines tries to even out her ragged breathing in a bid to explain and to keep her chest from feeling like it’s going to burst—the bad air does her no favor, making every intake of breath feel like a bunch of needles piercing into her lungs. gunpowder coats the inside of her mouth and it has her stomach twisting uneasily but somehow, miraculously, she manages to find the strength to deliver a clarification: “whe—wherever is safe. someone’s following me!”

it’s nearly impossible for ines to support her own weight at this point as she continues to wheeze and gasp while struggling to keep as quiet as possible. she doesn’t remember the last time her breathing was so labored, and some not so small part of her wishes her head wouldn’t spin so fast to lessen the urge to throw up.

“you have to help me.” these five words are pressed through gritted teeth while she holds onto the other’s shoulders. “i can’t—i need—” i need help, she wants to say, but the words are stuck in her throat.

✧ 

oh, what a load of bunk, she thinks to herself, because the universe really had a way of outdoing its own bouts of entropy. as if it wasn’t enough that those shots had cut through the serenity of her night, talia was now having to deal with...this? and what was this, exactly? she couldn’t understand how trouble had run right into her arms by virtue of chance— and if she happily spent most of her nights at an illegal establishment, it was as close as she wanted to get to nola’s criminal underbelly. this wasn’t any of her business; far from it.

self-preservation should have been the guiding light for her next course of action, but it had never been so easy. talia wishes it could be and still she’s taken by that intrinsic need to help, looking around the familiar buildings to see if she could locate her own amongst the brick landscape. in this moment, she should be selfish, leaving ines to the red hots that are following her, but she can’t— not when she’s falling apart right before talia’s eyes ( well, talia would help even if the woman was fully composed; such is the consequence of caring ).

for: @taliakemarres· date: september 12, 1924; early evening. location: on the streets of new orleans.

this isn’t how ines pictured how her day would end: with the butt of a rifle firmly pressed into her back and one of rogers’ men ushering her down the street. they’re approaching a corner, and there’s just the barest second where the man—ines doesn’t recall having seen him around this part of the town before, but she suspects she might be wrong about a lot of things these days—is occupied with checking the streets for any opposing forces, where his eyes aren’t on her.

so she turns and runs. it isn’t the most subtle option, and it shouldn’t have worked. all he would have needed to do is call out for one of his brother-in-arms and she’d have the whole retinue on her heels, or a bullet in her back. he doesn’t, though: he chases after her himself. and either ines is impressively fast or he’s impressively slow—at least, insofar as he’s managed to remain in what’s supposed to be the elite fighting force of the city in spite of it—but before long she has lost him.

and gotten lost. she nearly knocks into talia before grabbing onto the younger woman’s shoulders to steady herself, all air knocked out of her lungs. “no questions, we have to go!”

✧ 

you could always always trust some goons to ruin a fun night out; they had all of the weekend to wave around their pieces but it just had to be today, and it was so typical to try and keep gals from having a good time after they’d gotten all dolled up. even so a spat was a spat, and she’d been taken with the crowd as they all but scattered into the streets outside. talia thinks she’s lucky to have come out of that little stampede unscathed, but now she was wondering how to get from point a to point b without walking through the line of fire. 

nights like these could really make a gal change her ways, she thinks, but the thought nearly throws her into a fit of laughter ( wrong place, wrong time, talia ). you couldn’t really pry this lifestyle from her cold, dead, hands, but a night like this was just horsefeathers! she really had to get out of there and fast, but it felt like she was wondering a little too aimlessly for her own good. she’d had to stop to clear her thoughts and decide on one direction to move in.

closed to : @taliakemarres·· location : aurélie’s and nalini’s apartment time : september 12, 1924

“there you are!” aurélie beams, falling onto the chaise next to talia, spirits buoyed by gin and jazz. “taking a break from all that dancing? i suppose even you need them once in a while,” she teases. not that either of them are particularly known for slowing down, and if there’s anything talia needs a break from, it’s work. “you know, i think there’s more than one fellow taken with you after that charleston.” she leans towards her friend, voice dropping as she flicks a hand towards a lanky young man who tries to be more than he is. 

“apparently, he knows vera vincelli personally. and that just before coming here, he came face to face with her just after she’d shot five men. thought he was going to be next, he said.” grabbing a bottle of champagne from the side table, she pours them each a glass. “he’s a tough one,” she adds, biting back a laugh, “don’t you think?”

✧ 

people like her needed a bit of divine intervention to slow down— sometimes that came in the form of some random egg spinning her out so hard, she’d made it all the way to that comfy little chaise that she was now calling home. and being the creature of opportunity that she was, talia had been surveying the room in search of a palooka to fetch her drink. that’s how aurélie found her, burning a hole in the side of a fella’s face. “here i am!” she sings, smiling at the sight of her beloved friend, “my gams needed a little reprieve before i spent the rest of the night showing these boys how it’s done.” in due time she’d get aurélie out there with her, robbing the spotlight like they always did. 

for now she mimics her counterparts movements, leaning in close and giving the dame her full attention. talia wants to laugh at the new information but humors her friend nonetheless, making a show of finding their topic of conversation, “he’s gotta be a real cake-eater. can’t believe he’s rubbing shoulders with us regular guys and gals.” and if she thought she could say the words with a straight face, she’s quickly proven wrong as her laughter fills the space around them. the poor fella was putting on one too many airs to be believable, but hey, someone was bound to take the bait. 

someone that wasn’t them, of course. talia turns to aurélie before she starts laughing again and eyes the glasses of champagne appreciatively, “you’re an angel and everything else. you saved me from having to chat up mr. tall, dark and valiant over there. surely, i’m no match for his charms!”

Closed Starter for : @taliakemarres· Location : The Stairway of Nalini and Aurelie’s Building TWs : gun violence

“There you are!” 

Delight crosses Nalini’s face, and she races down the few stairs that separate the two to throw her arms around Talia. It is perhaps not a well-thought out action. No sooner as she hugged Talia, she has to let go, grabbing her friend’s wrist with one hand, and the banner on the stairwell with the other to stop them both toppling down into the hallway below. 

“Oh. Whoops.” She lets out a giggle of a laugh, and once steading, keeps a hold of Talia’s hand, tugging her up the stairs. “Oh, I’m so glad you made it. Come on up. Delysia is here, and Aurelie, obviously. So many people came!” She continues babbling, her mood more akin to one celebrating their birthday than someone forced to stay indoors to avoid mafia bullets. 

“How’s the office, anyway?” She glances over her shoulder as the ascend the stairs to the apartment. “I hope you’re not working yourself too hard. You know how I feel about working too hard.”

✧ 

The way Nalini practically bursts into her orbit is so like her that it brings a smile to Talia’s face. When there’s all this uncertainty in the entropy of the night, she could trust Nali to be unabashedly herself, and if they’d fallen down the stairs in the process, that was just another consequence of being. Luckily, they’d avoided that small outcome and she follows after her friend with a chuckle of her own.

“What a goofy way to go,” and tonight of all nights, at that. “Besides, I couldn’t miss out on this.” What kind of friend would she be to deny the three of them her company? And why would she deny herself theirs? 

“Well, the office is...” it was a million things: currently it was becoming less fulfilling and more tiring. Not because of the work, but because of her stilted trajectory, “the same as always, all work and no play.” That’s what the nights were for, tipping the scales for some semblance of balance ( if she tipped the scales a little too far in the opposite direction, then that was between herself and the alcohol ). “But you know how it is, Nali. I’ve got so many things to do.”

for: @taliakemarres + @selfmaed date: september 12, 1924; a few hours before the shootout. location: knock five times.

the city hasn’t changed much over the last twenty years: there are more people now, more shops and services. the crescent city has grown into a bustling community with competing merchants and bootleggers supporting and enabling a healthy black market trade.

and all along those tight, twisting streets, between the brightly painted buildings and the run-down shacks, sit criminals, officers and politicians side-by-side, waging an unspoken war that currently still remains invisible to those inside knock five times. within the spiraling labyrinth of the speakeasy, you can lose every penny that was stolen in a myriad of ways all at the same table, on the same night, with the same people. some would describe it as paradise, others as a scoundrel’s utopia, a hub of free enterprise and opportunistic crime. but, for all its perceived faults, there is always music playing, jazz and merry tunes. there’s always drinks to be had, dancing to be done, and warm, willing bodies to snuggle up with.

hasim smiles—the kind that’s easy and tells you nothing—when he catches a familiar face separating from the crowd that has built on the dance floor in order to find her way to the bar. there’s few here he hasn’t seen before, fewer still whose names remain shrouded in mystery: she, to him, is no longer a stranger. 

“i saw you dancing out there,” he nods, hands intertwined behind his back while he eyes talia kemarre with newfound appreciation. “quite impressive. if memory serves, you were here late last night as well.”

✧ 

she is her truest self in these nights spent within the walls of the speakeasy— moving to the music as if she were one of the twelve dancing princesses, never tiring. and you’d find her swaying and spinning even if there was none, the alcohol having lessened the weight of her spirit ( removing the residual shackles she’d left on her id ). it must be like that for all the other patrons who sequestered their debauchery to this liminal space, but no other could rival her own permanence. talia thinks she could become an everlasting fixture of knock five times, and no one person would question it. 

must be the way she moves through the crowd, as if she’d be able to weave through these bodies blindfolded and still make it to her destination.

the bar is as familiar as the dance floor, if not more, and she dared not neglect the source of the night’s libations. an aviation sounded as swanky as anything else; even more in good company. it’s a mystery how hasim has not tired of her presence, but then her continued appearance at the speakeasy was an anomaly all the same.