รื่น / rêun / rune.

PHASSAKORN RUNE SICHANTHA — as above ;; so below

— When THE MAGICIAN appears in a spread, it points to the talents, capabilities and resources at the querent's disposal to succeed. The message is to tap into one's full potential rather than holding back, especially when there is a need to transform something.

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“I have fielded no complaints thus far,” Emilio points out, licking the remaining tint of alcohol off his lips. “Nor will I in the future, I should think. Your performance was nothing short of admirable.” It’s starting to affect him now, the vodka; the pleasant thrum of intoxication washes through him, warm, colouring the tips of his ears red. Typically he has his reservations about appearing in such vulnerable a state in front of others, but Rune remains the outlying exception.

He’s seen Emilio at his most vulnerable and has deemed him worthy.

His eyes follow the bottle for a while before he looks up again, expression mild. “Why shouldn’t we talk about it? This is as appropriate a time as any don’t you think? There’s no one close enough to hear if it’s embarrassment that inhibits you. But I don’t think you regret it either, or you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.” Again Emilio claims the bottle, adding a further dent to their efforts of emptying it of its contents.

“All of this lends itself to the conclusion that you enjoyed it, and that you wouldn’t be averse to repeating the experience.” Raising an eyebrow, he mimics Rune’s motion of resting his chin in his hand. “All you need do is ask.”

Rune can’t help the look of amusement as he listens to Aleksandr talk, nor does he bother even trying to hide it. He might accuse Aleksandr of putting on airs if the man weren’t obviously over half a bottle of vodka in already, and if Rune weren’t already getting a sense that this is just… how he seems to be. It’s an oddly fond realization, one that comes with the perhaps too-bold assumption that Rune is getting to see these sides of Aleksandr because the man is choosing to show them. Choosing to let Rune see.

“My performance was admirable, huh?” Rune echoed, more of the amusement sneaking into his tone and steeping it with good-natured teasing. “This is starting to sound like a job review, hero. Someday you’ll have to teach me how you manage to keep stringing such long words together when you’re this far into the bottle.”

Rune’s frown was more severe than usual as he stood, arms crossed over his broad chest, listening to the muttered but insistent grievances of one of his dealers. The room was largely empty at this point, the Red Rose a strange shell of a building compared to its usual noise and bustle the moment the doors opened. That was still hours away at this point, and the largest room available was populated only by Rune, a couple of straggling dealers, and cleaners who were far too used to the darker inner workings of the casino (and the Jabberwocks) to pay them the least mind.

When Rune finally saw the last of them off, his frown persisted as he circled back behind the bar, packing away envelopes fat with cash and closing the lid of the briefcase with a sharp click. He slid this across the bar to a runner with a nod, then let himself be briefly absorbed with jotting a few quick notes in incomprehensible shorthand in his journal. When he looked up again, it was as if Vic materialized from thin air, for all Rune heard his cousin’s approach.

In the back of the Uber, the anger in Eilidh had burned away, leaving her almost hollow in its wake. The fear was still there, the desperate feeling like she couldn’t be alone right now remained too, now accompanied by an almost empty look behind her eyes. One that didn’t leave them even after they passed the threshold into Rune’s home. Shuffling about after him with little more than a nod and a murmur of thanks. Setting about unpacking the mismatched array of items packed in a panic in the guest room he’d directed her towards.

Any awkwardness there she completely chalked up to her end. It was what made sense, obviously. A text late at night about something having happened, and then showing up in a state like this? Hell, she probably still had mascara halfway down her face. She’d cried enough.

And it took her a second or two to realise Rune was back, leaning in the doorway, but she didn’t jump at the suddenness. No, she was right in one thing, no matter how muddled her head was right now. She felt safe around him. Eilidh managed half a smile as she accepted the bottle of water from him, taking a sip before thanking him. It was the most audible thing she’d said since arriving, and still it wasn’t much. But she listened as he rambled on about the shower, nodding a little before answering. “Uh mebbe later, aye?” She didn’t want to be alone right now, but she couldn’t say that.

“It’s uh- it’s been a rough night”

He’d never seen her like this before. Unhappy, sure; you didn’t drink together as often as they did without having the odd night of weepy drinking or bad trips. But never unhappy like… this. Eilidh was more like a shell or a shadow of her usual self, and also unlike their usual downer nights together, it wasn’t something that seemed like it could be fixed by another round.

“Sure,” Rune said gently instead, waiting another beat before finally crossing to join her on the bed. He was at least well enough used to late-night talks with Achara that he didn’t shy away from the concept, but Eilidh wasn’t Achara. He wasn’t entirely sure how to approach this. The best way with his sister usually meant making himself available and letting her come to him, so. Rune figured he could start there.

This wasn’t Rune’s typical haunt, that was for sure; his typical haunt was, of course, the Red Rose — or at least, other places of equal or higher quality. Here his immaculate shoes stuck to the floor, and he’d caught his attention wandering to whether or not he ought to have his slacks drycleaned or burned when the night was over. But he was meeting friends from medical school, and Derek, the one who’d planned the evening, always had… specific tastes.

The most sober of the lot of them because he tended to do the most marathon drinking of his own, Rune had collected bottles and glasses from the rapidly filling booth table to deposit them at the bar, doing his level best not to touch anything in the process. He stood there for a moment and rolled up his shirt sleeves as the bartender prepared the next round, and subsequently did a double-take at the man sitting nearest.

Caleb. Caleb Draper. His sister’s former roommate. Rune felt a pang of something almost resembling guilt; he’d all but demanded his sister move in the wake of Malachi’s disappearance, as if he could play shell games with his younger sibling to keep her safe. He’d never interacted much with Caleb, himself, but she had always seemed to get along with him. Then again, Achara seemed to get along with everyone. For her it was a gift, and for Rune, it was a headache.

Keltie Brown. Rune had been warned about her from his predecessor, the former Magician; there’s something not quite right about that girl, he’d been told. Rune hadn’t really needed elaboration, or even a why. In his mind, anyone who abandoned the Jabberwocks couldn’t have any idea what they were doing.

They’d never worked closely together, at least, so he didn’t feel much sting from her departure a few years back; only the nagging, lingering resentment reserved for former Jabberwocks who’d made the wrong decision.

Rune was doing his best not to hover, but it was a fucking struggle.

Maybe it was the residual worry about his own siblings bleeding out around the edges — Mal was still missing, and Rune was getting to the point of fussing over Achara that he wouldn’t be surprised if she cut off all contact for the next two months until he evened out. He’d be incredibly guilty to admit aloud that Eilidh’s text was an effective distraction, but the moment he opened the door and saw the look in her eyes, any sense of relief vanished.

The guest room in his extravagant flat was already made up, if a bit minimalist and sterile — Rune couldn’t even remember the last time he had company that wasn’t his sister, which was exactly why he paced the kitchen while Eilidh took a moment to settle her things. It was rare that the two of them felt awkward around each other, but it was also rare that they spent much time together sober. Or vulnerable.

“Pretty sure I own that bottle of vodka you’ve been drinking from,” Emilio counters without much malignancy, leaning back more comfortably in the chair. He’s willing to share for now, if only because it’s Rune he’s sharing with. “Seeing as I paid for it with my hard earned cash. We can’t all be born into unfathomable wealth.” How easy and quickly they fall back into the same pattern of give and take; sharp wit and well-placed quips, dancing around the hard questions and uncomfortable truths with rehearsed ease. It feels natural with Rune. More natural than any of the conversations he’s been having of late.

Pleased that Rune finally decides to sit and stay, Emilio reaches across the table to swipe the vodka from him. It goes down far easier than water. “Busy month, busy life. You know how it is, I’m sure.” He has been busy; busy stabbing and shooting and strangling half of London on Javier’s orders, purging the streets of anyone the Jolly Rogers’ new King deems unworthy of life. Like a good soldier Emilio has kept his head down and his mouth shut, but this streak of obedience can only continue on for so long. A gun unloaded is still a gun.

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed my absence at all. It must be hard and strenuous work keeping all these customers satisfied to your standards.” Jealousy suits him like an ill-fitted coat. Not once has the thought of exclusivity come up between them, nor will it ever. Whatever they have isn’t meant to last. “Or maybe you’ve been missing me somewhere else?”

Unfathomable wealth. Rune leans his chin in his hand and smiles, lazy and boyish. He’s fielded too many digs like that over the years for it to sting, especially the way Aleksandr says it. It’s still a dig, but one without barbs. Light-hearted, even, though rooted in… something. Rune will have to try and sink his fingers into that another time.

Reclaiming the vodka with a pointed look once his companion has taken another drink, Rune simply shrugs, sliding the bottle back and forth between his hands rather than taking a sip of his own. Ever since his parents died, he hasn’t known how to function without being busy. It’s a product of his paranoia and insomnia, probably, or maybe the cause of it. Cyclical. Rune does take a drink from the bottle now, but he cuts it off with a laugh at what Aleksandr says next.

Emilio doesn’t protest when Rune swiftly exchanges the bottle of vodka for one of water, eyes barely lifting from the point on the far wall he’s been staring at for the past few moments. It’s uncomfortable hearing Rune call him Aleksandr when all Emilio wants to do in that moment is tell him the truth, consequences be damned. Maybe Rune would forgive him for lying. Maybe he’d understand the necessity for dishonesty in times like these. It’s a risk he’s going to have to take at some point, even if for now he decides to allow himself to appreciate the concern in Rune’s voice.

“What does one in the mood for company typically look like?” Emilio finally looks up, gaze lingering none too briefly on Rune’s bared throat before wandering further upwards. Absentmindedly he notes that the bruises he’d there left have since faded and are in clear need of being refreshed. Later, perhaps, when Rune has joined him in intoxication.

“I invited you to sit and drink, did I not?” Gesturing briefly to the bottles he then nudges at the empty chair with his shoe. “You might hurt my feelings if you don’t sit down. Unless you have better places to be and other customer drinks to steal?”

What does Aleksandr look like when he actually wants company? Rune isn’t sure he knows, beyond the dark looks he’d been on the receiving end of weeks ago, the thought of which still sends a brief thrill down his spine. Rune huffs out a breath in a futile attempt to dispel the residual sensation. “I own a portion of this place, remember? It’s not stealing if it’s mine.”

Rune could pretend some part of him considered walking away, seeing if Aleksandr’s feelings really could be hurt — but this was a foregone conclusion the moment Rune noticed him in the corner, alone. Rune still looks like he wants to complain but by some miracle he doesn’t, slipping out of his suit coat to hang on the back of the chair with a sigh — the best indicator he can give that says he’ll stay a while — before settling into his seat and resting his elbows on the table.

A beat passes, and Rune isn’t sure what to say. His fingertips brush the edges of the label of the vodka bottle as he considers, then takes the bottle up again for another long sip.

There’s the sound of the door opening and Achara’s ready to javelin-throw a pen at the person who’s dared to disturb the sanctuary she’s claimed in the break room. A wisp of smoke sits on her lips, vape pinched between her fingers, and she preemptively holds up her badge without even looking to see who it is. “I’m a doctor, I know exactly what this is doing to my body” she drawls before letting it go. The badge snaps back to her side with a small sting courtesy of her badge extender. The ‘No Smoking’ sign in the corner stares her down. 

Break time. Achara’s here for some shitty coffee, a quick nap, a little drag - but her eyes snap open at the familiar voice. She would know the sound of him, the shape of her brother anywhere. 

She spots the coffee, the smell hits her not too long after. The affair they’ve got set up in the break room is sub-par at best, just barely a fairer substitute for grease oil. It doesn’t matter how Rune got in here, Achara just makes a sound, an appreciative hum of thanks for the cup he hands to her. But almost immediately, she pauses mid sip. She peers at him over the rim of her cup with slight scrutiny.

“You look like shit.”

’More so than usual’ she wants to tease, but finds her concern congeals the words in her throat. It’s habit at this point to scan her brother for bullet holes, for stabs, for scratches, for signs of his little hobby that involves sampling the very supply he creates (’What the fuck, Rune?’ she always says.) With all the lying that happens, with all the falsehoods that the average person offers up to their medical professionals, becoming a lie detector of sorts has been crucial to saving lives - but as far as Achara can tell Rune is unscathed. Physically, at least. She’s not discounting the slight traces of exhaustion that crescent under her brother’s eyes. “What’s going on?”

Rune doesn’t even bother to roll his eyes at the abruptness of Achara’s assessment, partially because he’s used to it and partially because it’s true. The worst stretches of his insomnia and paranoia can’t be covered up with a well-tailored suit or a flashy shirt, least of all for someone who knows him as well as his sister.

“Nice to see you, too, and you’re welcome,” he says flatly instead, settling himself into the chair beside hers as soon as it seems like she’s finished glancing him over. Rune hates the habit that’s become, and the reasons he’s given her to develop it. He knows they’re his fault. He also knows he won’t stop, not unless she asks.

Rune also knows lying or avoiding her question would be the epitome of pointlessness, but that doesn’t stop him from hesitating, letting out a slow sigh of a breath as his thumbnail picks absentmindedly at the cardboard sleeve on his own coffee. He can’t even console himself with an ‘it’s better if she knows,’ because it’s just one more reason to worry her.

who: @thc-magician​ where: the red rose casino

It takes a respectable amount of alcohol to get Emilio drunk at the best of times — but these are the worst of times in every way possible, so he orders an entire bottle of vodka without glass or ice and retreats to a table somewhere in the corner, as far away from company as it gets. There’s neither rhyme nor reason to the decision of picking the Red Rose as the place to drink. The list of reasons as to why it’s a bad idea factually outweighs any reason he should be there, all things considered, but Emilio’s never been good at paying heed to logic.

He hasn’t seen or heard from Rune in weeks; not since he’d quietly snuck out of the hotel room they’d found themselves in following a long night of drinking and Rune’s hands creeping into places they really shouldn’t have. It’d been a terrible mistake on both parts, but perhaps more so on Emilio’s side following Rune’s candour about his name. It’s a favour Emilio has not yet returned, too concerned about the inevitable complications the truth would bring with it. Alexandr is harmless, a small-time criminal stealing and threatening only to make ends meet. Emilio on the other hand is directly connected to the enemy, and with Malachi gone and Eliza at the beginning of a life-long prison sentence, that’s not something he imagines Rune would be amicable towards discovering.

In the end Emilio convinces himself that the Red Rose is probably one of the safest places for him at the moment. Javier doesn’t have the jurisdiction to start any shit at the casino, and there are just enough non-gang affiliated civilians around for the Jabberwocks to leave him alone — for now. Emilio doesn’t intend to overstay his welcome or to piss anyone off, but the bottle’s two thirds empty much sooner than expected, and the seat he’s chosen is too damn comfortable to vacate just yet. 

Preoccupied with his own miseries, it doesn’t occur to him that the casino is actually the place he’s most likely to run into Rune until it’s too late. Backed into a corner in the truest sense of the word, Emilio swallows down any words of concern he might have voiced at the tired expression on Rune’s face, and instead gestures to the remains of the vodka with a sweeping gesture.

“There’s still enough for two.”

Rune genuinely isn’t sure which would irritate him more: if Aleksandr had come to the Red Rose to see him, then chickened out to drink in the corner; or if Aleksandr hadn’t planned to see him at all, and this was purely coincidence. Rune could’ve been his usual brand of petty and simply ignored him, pretended not to see him, but at no point has Aleksandr had Rune acting how he usually acts. And therein lies the problem.

Lips thinning at Aleksandr’s offer, unimpressed, Rune takes one look at the level of alcohol in the bottle and walks away. A smarter man might not even come back, but eventually he reappears with a glass bottle of unnecessarily fancy water, sliding it across the table to replace the bottle of vodka. “Let’s trade,” he says simply, then lifts the bottle of vodka to his lips and tilts his head back. The view Rune offers of his throat, bared and smoothly muscled, is entirely on purpose; if the bruises Aleksandr had left when last they met were any indication, he had a particular appreciation for that part of Rune’s body.

Swallowing down the vodka as though it might as well be the water he traded it for, Rune sets the bottle down again between them, not empty but notably lighter. He doesn’t sit yet, sizing Aleksandr up with an inscrutable expression. To be mad at him would be largely hypocritical. Neither of them had reached out. 

“You don’t exactly look in the mood for company,” is what Rune finally settles on to say. His tone isn’t even scathing; there’s a hint of concern that sneaks in, whether he likes it or not. Where have you been?

The lively bustle of the hospital always felt like home to Rune. Their father’s private clinic had never been quite so chaotic as the emergency ward could be, naturally, but there was still a very specific brand of urgency that felt familiar. Finding comfort in the smell of antiseptic was hardly common, he knew, but the Sichanthas aren’t a common family.

Rune nods amiably to one of the nurses behind the station desk and receives little more than a glower in return. They don’t love the way he wanders through like he owns the place, but after years, they’ve learned there isn’t much they can do about it. The amount of money Rune tends to drop in regular charitable donations probably helps dissuade any attempts to tell him ‘no.’

With one of his siblings to the proverbial wind, he’s decided he needs to have eyes on the other immediately. Yesterday, even. The Sichanthas never go that long without seeing each other anyway, and it isn’t as if he hasn’t been peppering her with texts, but Rune knows the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach won’t so much as ease unless he can see her. Talk to her. With two sturdy paper cups of coffee in hand from the needlessly expensive café around the corner, Rune follows direction and finds Achara in the eye of the storm; one of the emergency wing’s break rooms.

“Hey,” he offers as casually as possible, but despite best efforts, the relief he feels to see her crawls its way into the tone. Setting the cup of coffee on the table between them, he doesn’t sit yet, cocking his head and half-smiling.

Rune? Fuck. Momentarily taken aback, it took Emilio a few seconds to rearrange his thoughts. He’d never met or seen the guy before, but arguably, he didn’t have to. Everyone in the business with more than half a brain knew of Rune: Malachi’s adopted brother, right-hand man, lover, pet - depending on your persuasion. Emilio too had heard the name mentioned before - usually in close association with meetings on just how much shit Malachi’s rats were causing the Jolly Rogers’. For all the notoriety surrounding Rune’s reputation, Emilio hadn’t expected him to look quite so young.

The moment of surprise passed quickly and Emilio smoothed out his expression once again, unwilling to let any recognition show. He might have expected Rune to be present at a Liddell family party, but he hadn’t been expecting Rune to also turn out to be the man Emilio had threatened in the streets not so long ago. A stroke of extreme good or extreme bad luck, he couldn’t quite decide.

“Fancy name. I guess that sort of thing comes with being rich.” Assured that Rune had not yet sniffed him out as the enemy, Emilio copied the motion of relaxing against the wall. “Maybe I like being called hero. But if you get bored, you can call me Aleksandr. Your fancy expensive education teach you how to properly pronounce that?”

If there was any obvious flicker of surprise or hesitation across his companion’s face, Rune didn’t appear to notice through the comfortable haze of alcohol. Similarly, Rune tried to keep his own complicated feelings on the commentary related to his own name under lock and key; not a conversation for a party, and not with someone Rune found so undeniably fascinating. His hero’s edges are less prickly tonight, and it’s a look that looks good on him.

“Aleksandr,” Rune echoed, mindful of the pronunciation, considering Emilio’s significant commentary to follow. “Sounds fancy, too. I like it.” Not that Aleksandr seemed to care in the least for Rune’s opinions, which was arguably one of the reasons Rune felt drawn to him. Problematic thoughts for some other time. “Would like to see—”

Ironically, this was where the bright lights around them abruptly and unceremoniously cut off. Rune stiffened in surprise, dropping whatever hand was still tangled in the delicate chains of Aleksandr’s costume to straighten, frowning. He blinked a few times, willing his eyes to adjust — but the lights were out everywhere, apparently, with nothing filtering even through the enormous windows and glass doors that looked out towards the city. “What the fuck,” Rune declared simply, eloquently, more irritated at his conversation being interrupted than yet concerned for what this could mean.