i'm just so numb.

Her eyes flickered to track the movement as her hand reached casually for her weapons. Of course, she’d be armed, just as much if not more than Isabel was carrying with her. It’d be a fool’s move to whip everything out and attack each other unprovoked but one could never be too cautious. Besides, it would be a waste of a pretty face. “Nightingale, of course. Rather poetic, I must say. Fast, beautiful, and busy at night. Can’t blame a girl for trying for more,” she says with a smile, sipping her drink. 

She didn’t come to the meeting to end Isabel, but you can never be too prepared. Being in the business as long as Mira had guaranteed her enemies, though she didn’t count the other woman as one of them. “There are a lot of stories as to why I chose that name, but I must say I’m a fan of the one you just spun. And of course not. I’d think less of you if you didn’t.” She adjusts her legs under the table, one arm draping along the back of the booth. “How about you, Isabel? Does your name suit your calling in this life?”

They called her The Nightingale. Legend and rumor preceded her every action, coupled with the information which Zephyr had recounted on numerous occasions of his indulging the woman. Their own first encounter had been fleeting, little more than passing courtesies, but Sera rarely forgot a face. Recent speculation placed her company tonight on enemy lines, albeit with liability to swing either way, the capo held little respect for those whose loyalties changed with the seasons. Still, she attended their meeting upon request and as her lithe frame settled into a spot across the table from Mira, she spoke in feigned annoyance. “Remind me again about why I agreed to this dinner.” @thenxghtingale​

“Now that’s the spirit.” Acceptance of a refusal hardly entertained him and he anticipated convincing the woman at his side by one mean or another, though it surely echoed with ease the way in which she bent so deliberately for him. Almost too deliberately, but that piqued a curiosity for another night. “You know what? I like it. Lascivious without being over the top, succinct without being vague enough to draw questions.” Bold enough to shoo away the woman whose eyes had been lingering upon his figure for the majority of the evening should she even attempt to make her approach. The rock glistening upon her finger still scintillating in the dim bar lighting just as it had in his bedroom the week prior. Shifting hues back to the co-conspirator at his side, he beckoned information from her with a false sense of intrigue. “Is this your first time playing the part or are you just a natural storyteller?”

Jasper reached down and hooked two fingers around the handle of the back, bringing it up onto the slab of wall to sit it back down at a level more comfortable to handle it at. “Mm, there. That’s what I’m aiming for,” he made a motion with his index finger pointing toward her. “Uniqueness. And consistency. That’s what all the self-made business owner guides claim is the key to success.” He chuckled at himself then, seemingly pleased with what he had to said.

“Yes, that’s all still the same.” Jasper assured her. He paused and looked over at Mira, doing nothing but watching and allowing a few moments of silence to pass. “Deliveries?” He parroted, finally. “I… suppose so, yeah. But my ability to get around the town anonymously is a bit limited. And finding someone to run someone off the record is a bit harder than you’d think.” Regardless of that fact, he’d find some way to figure out an order. Money was money, after all.

Uniqueness and consistency. She could understand that. “I personally aim for the same things. As well as punctuality,” Mira added meaningfully, “and follow through. I don’t like to disappoint.” Her reputation as the Nightingale stemmed on her past kills, and she’d cultivated it for too many years to threaten it. Perhaps you could exclude that instance when  someone hired her to take out Ismael, someone so basically her own brother that she couldn’t do it, but death was had in the end. One of the seldom times she’d ended the customer instead. The very thought brings a dangerous slash of a grin to her face, not in any way aimed at her current companion.

He was not a man known for forming lasting bonds or leaving much room for sentimental drivel. Undoubtedly, it would render you vulnerable when your concerns extended further than yourself, but Ismael had never made the conscious choice to stay detached; for safety nor out of fear. It was unclear when he had begun to separate from the herd. Ismael only knew light years spanned the space between his concept of love and how others so intimately knew it. Selflessness seemed to line the border where he diverged, where he lacked.  In his own way, he loved profoundly and deeply, but discriminately and with conditions. No one was exempt from his wrath or afforded second chances. A handful had earned his respect and devotion and, for better or worse, knew a more honest side of Ismael. A man whose anger and love were boundless and perilously close. A guard dog off its leash. He’d tear your foes to shreds but it would be ill-advised to offer him your hand.

Years passed before he connected the kinship and encouragement he found with the Lawton clan with the notion of family; then a young man disconnected from the term. A space was carved out by their side and Ismael was offered a seat at the table, none of the judgement or ostracism he’d sensed growing up. It was a defining moment in his growth and understanding of what love could be. “Uh huh,” he started, mouth curved in a loose smile, “seems like a shitty excuse, if you ask me.” Ismael leaned on the desk beside her. “Ah, there it is, the real reason you’re here, right?” He slid a hand along her shoulder before rounding the desk. Ismael bent down to grab a decently sized, black container. He winced, the mostly healed injuries to his sides aching. “Shit,“ he muttered and placed the crate on the desk with a thump. “Alright, ready to be wowed?” Ismael unlocked it, lifting the lid to reveal an array of things, a sniper rifle prominent in the center, knives and scopes arranged around it. “Where do you wanna start?”

Becoming near family with Ismael hadn’t been a path Mira had foreseen in her life, but then, at three years old she hadn’t exactly known that assassin was her calling. That was, until she was around five and saw her father kill someone in front of her for the first time. She’d felt curious little, and but had wondered about the power it had taken to snuff out someones life. Nearly three decades later, she was proud to be the weapon  instead. Even if she occasionally used hunks  of metal to increase this skill. Ismael was the only one she bought from, nowadays.

Legs still crossed prim and proper, Mira pushes a long dark curl behind her ear. “I wouldn’t say the real reason. But it certainly was not bringing you a bagel.” She didn’t add that procuring that one in particular had taken her out of her way, because that would bely what she had told him. She leans the tiniest bit into his touch along  her shoulder, and but doesn’t  hide the spark of interest in her eye at the black  box. She very much knew what that meant. “Always ready to be wowed. Make my day, Mae.” A near whimper wanted to escape at the gorgeous bowie knives, M9′s, and scopes, and she scoots forward to the edge of her seat. “Knives first, please.”  Her aim was impeccable, and though guns were often more practical, she loved a knife murder.

giannacarcone·:

His hand was on her back in seconds, as if he sensed that she would formulate an excuse before the clipped phrase even finished passing through her lips. Cass’ eyes found his and though his tone was light, she knew better than to assume his intentions were innocent. He knew it wasn’t about the money - Cassidy wouldn’t see a cent of it anyway - but that didn’t matter. Unless Rafal, Irena, or Zephyr appeared at that exact moment to pull her off to fulfill a more important purpose, the next step was clear. Her answer came in the form of a short nod and she left the drink ordered for her previous company on the bar, then crossed the floor to find a spot that she knew Ismael would prefer, secluded enough so that he could slither into the shadows but with a full view of the rest of the room.

A forced smile came to her lips when they followed her and sat down on either side of her; Ismael’s comment about her lack of a beverage was actually amusing. As if she and Nic didn’t throw back at least a couple shots before the start of most shifts, though Nic was admittedly a bit difficult to keep up with. His hands kept finding a new a spot on her body to focus on, silently reinforcing his possession of her. Cassidy’s own fingers rose to her ear after he released it, fulfilling the subconscious need to make sure the back of her earrings were still popped securely in place. A nervous tick. The muscles in her leg tensed when his touch moved to the soft skin of her inner thigh and she cursed her body’s reaction, knowing that it would amuse him. What a sadistic bastard Ismael was. “I wouldn’t say you keep me hidden,” Cass allowed slowly. The fact that he so openly displayed how she would tolerate his every advance was proof of that. But it wasn’t all about the public display; she had learned that their private moments could be just as effective as any public show. She was unsure how he would like her to reply to the question Mira posed and so she fell silent, deferring to the man beside her to lead the way as she so often did.

@ismaeldela

Ismael looked upon her, smugly, a heat in his stare that was intended for Cass alone. The hand slipped further down her inner thigh, squeezed gently at the sensitive curves before he eased off, slinging an arm over the back of the seat. Ismael angled his frame to the women, one leg fell across the other as he settled into the position, whiskey glass resting on the knee. One that I didn’t need or want. The statement seemed odd, before the subtle message beneath found him; eliciting a simple nod from the man. In the end, Ismael had no qualms about others nearing Cass, nor did he doubt his own hold on the woman – though the image of Mira’s hands tracing her delicate skin sent a shiver down his spine. They were not of blood yet she had become a sister. Were these two worlds to intersect – no, Ismael had no intention of seeing it happen after that evening, where he remained in control. 

“No, not hidden,” he concurred, tongue tracing the bottom row of teeth, “some birds shouldn’t be caged, right?” Ismael imagined the woman between sprouting colorful, beaming feathers as he drank of the whiskey, licking his lips as it travelled down into his chest; warmth spreading there. He turned his attention to Mira then. “Guess I like keepin’ some things for myself, y’know how it is, sis.” The mark of some familial connection escaped him, force of habit stronger than Ismael’s careful nature. A laugh came next, dulcet and full of amusement. “What’d you think, Cass,” shining eyes landed on her, “am I playin’ with someone else’s toy?” Fingers began to tangle loosely into her soft locks, his demeanor evocative of a cat playing with its prey.

@thenxghtingale​

Mira hadn’t survived, hadn’t thrived as long as she had in an industry like her own without having some sort of edge, something she had that gave her an upper hand, and in her case, this skill was her spectacular single minded dedication and observation skills. She would watch you until she could could guess your next move, where you went out at night, what kind of person you’d crook over in the dark of a bar. In Mae’s case, she hadn’t even had to train her cat-like eyes on him, as she had years of experience with him under her belt. She knew what it looked like when he was possessive over a toy, when something was his to play with and his alone, and he took joy in it. Reveled in the power, the ownership, the game wherein he held the upper hand. And Mira saw it in his treatment of Cass

She hadn’t known that she had a keeper that wasn’t whoever held her purse strings, and the fact that it was the one man she’d call her brother was another cause of interest. How could Mae not tell her he had a favorite plaything? Mira would make him suffer for it later. Probably with some choice words about his manhood and some bagels to the face that weren’t his favorite. She’d probably enlist Violet too, and lord knows that girl could tear you down in a sentence if she wanted, spoiled brat that she was. In the moment now, however, Mira recrossed her legs, the lights of the club shining on her exposed shoulders as she took in her companions and tried not to dry retch at the sexual ownership being displayed as well. She at least hoped Cass was getting orgasms out of it, though dear God she did not want to see. 

“I know you can be a selfish player, Mae. But I understand why - if I had a peacock as pretty as this, I too would be loathe to see its beauty in others hands.” Mira doesn’t mean to keep referring to Cass as if she isn’t there, but with Ismael doing it, it comes more easily than she’d necessarily wish, the corner of her teeth biting her lip when the man’s hand tangled in the other womans. “Cass, I know he isn’t much to look at” a lie, but she could never be in any world attracted to him, that much was true “but there are worse players to keep you to themselves.” If Cass didn’t know of the intimacy of their connection, she certainly did now, with ‘sis’ falling from Ismael’s lips, but Mira didn’t much care. Mira Lawton could call whomever she wished family - The Nightingale didn’t, and couldn’t, have one. 

@giannacarcone

Mira doesn’t quite know (or care) what plans he’s got swirling behind his dark eyes, but she likes very much that he keeps her employed, and that he’s damn pretty to look at while he’s doing it. Sigara makes damn good looking people. As far as opinions go, she doesn’t have a huge one, but he’s on her good side as long as Julian keeps sliding crisp bills her way.

“––The purpose is that you’re pretending to be my date for the next twenty minutes, or until the coast is clear.” As if their mutual position at the same standing table didn’t solidify that image already. “If that seems too complicated a task, let me know. I’d hate to waste further brain cells explaining myself.” Punctuating the words with a smirk of feigned charm, he buried lips behind the rim of his own glass as if top shelf scotch might erase the calamity of this union. “I think we should add a valuable backstory to this affair… Where did we meet? Cape of Italy? Your father’s yacht? My father’s yacht? Feel free to chime in.”

“People close to power sometimes think that have it… personally, I’m not interested in letting that delusion take root.” Investments in their future, they were the main things that would keep the Faction alive when the Kovali descended. Holding onto the ports secured a steady income, buying off some government officials kept them out in the world… It all mattered. Every little action would add up someday. And while Julian had facilitated quite a bit, he just recently cashed in on his own future. Not that Mira or any of the others would find out. Pulling at the strings of his charade was now the main goal, to show his devotion to the cause. “Happy to have you on my mind.“ Julian replied, a charming smile pulling at his lips. What was business without pleasure? “Ah you see, that’s the fun part: now. The meeting is in ten minutes.” 

“Ruining delusions sounds like great fun.” Mira responded to him with a smile that held too much glee for a conventionally considered sane person She hadn’t killed in a minute. She hoped that this job would give her the chance to do just that. Though technically, most of her work tended to come from the Faction, she took great pleasure in playing both sides. Kovali money was money, and that was all she cared about. She knew they had big dreams, and honestly she didn’t care, as long as someone was there to add zeroes in her account at the end of the day. “I’ve had much worse.” She seamlessly flirts right back, a bright shine entering her gaze at the nearity of the job. “Not much preparation. But that’s fine. Could I just gather my purse? I’ve left it outside your office.” She needed her things, after all.

“Will you show me where you like your privacy?” The question arrives without heed or hesitation. Supposedly forming for longer than it was allowed to be reaction. Might have ended up there without Mira’s mention of privacy.  The fact is, Azra is lost. Has been since Mira mentioned the idea that she might be a consideration for once.  She doesn’t know where she’d go if she had the chance, at least not while temporary choice would extend only as far as the city streets. Doesn’t know what she’d do with time of her own. Doesn’t know who she is or what she likes. Knows a great deal about what she doesn’t, and how little that matters.  So when she asked it in some kind of return, she wasn’t trying to reject the opportunity; simply wasn’t able to find her own version of want.  The words sound rather naive, as though the veil has slipped. It’s not used to be appealing, but that’s what she hopes it is.  “Do you mind?” It’s pathetic how easily stolen she’s been with the idea of choice, careless and clutching. And now she wants Mira to have mercy on her, to not be offended. 

“You seem to know what you desire. I’d be interested to learn that- where you go in the city to find your peace.”

Ah. A question that Mira had no problems answering. A little smile curled up one edge of dark lipstick as they walk, a flick of the shoulder following a lock of dark hair. “Yes. A hotel room. It’s too far to walk, so I’m going to call a car.” She’d ridden in cabs before, and they were....fine, but she shuddered to think of what a blacklight would do to the inside of the leather seats. She had a car service she preferred to use instead, if it wasn’t utilizing her own vehicle, which she hadn’t done today. The opportunity to spend some hours in the evening occupied with a beautiful woman had put her into a good mood, even as her dark eyes watched Azra for reactions to her words.

“No, I don’t mind. To find my peace?” Mira looks up from her phone where’d she’d called the soon arriving car, brow slim and not wrinkled though the question was an odd one. She wasn’t sure she was ever at peace, though she also was never quite on edge either. She was aware at all times, hyperaware if she had to use the weapons she so loved, but still. “The night air tends to do it. It find it calmer than the sunlight.” Darker, and quieter.

When would they tell a lie?

Anytime it gets Mira something she wants or needs. She’s constantly someone she isn’t on jobs, and working with powerful people that she doesn’t think are all that requires plenty of fibs. She’s damn good at it, when she’s trying. If she tells you she likes your shoes in a certain tone though, Mira’s not even attempting to hide the lie.

What would they sacrifice their life for?

Ah Jasper, or as Mira likes to call him, always high Einsteins theory of insanity. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen his eyes not red, and she could judge him for getting high on his own supply, but she does also play target practice where she shouldn’t so. Pot and kettle. He’s silly, and that irks her a bit as a businesswoman (he is VERY annoying on the business end), but Jasper does deliver, which Mira appreciates. He’s a necessary evil, but she does appreciate their working together, and he’s her favorite chemist. If people have something like that. As I’ve said before, she doesn’t actively ignore his presence, so. That’s a lot for her.

Azra is beautiful, much like a pretty bird caught in a cage that Mira, to be honest, wouldn’t even attempt to open. Knowing men, which Mira is sure are Azra’s normal clients, they probably don’t treat her the way she should me - and as with every lady she comes across Mira likes to try and give them a special time in her company. When i stop being a boob and get on this reply, I pinky promise she’ll do a good job.