with deepest sympathy;

With projects picking back up again, their schedules completely packed, it’s harder to keep an eye over a tiny little kitten. During Boy Venus she was curious but timid, usually happy to simply stay by Jess’ and Julian’s side while the world hustled around her. Now, with a few more months of growth, she thinks she’s queen of the world ready to tackle it all, easy to lose sight of her the moment you turn away. Speaking of.. 

“Appel..” Tomas called out, slightly frantic as he searched high and low for the tiny rascal. If he lost her, he is probably dead to Juno. “Sorry.. have you– uh seen a small orange tabby kitten about -this big? I– I just turned away for a second and..” Tomas flusteredly asked the first person that crossed his path, she couldn’t have run off too far, and she’s quite the squealer, “she’s around here I swear..”

dressed in little more than a robe and hair pins, bri idly scrolled through her phone as she awaited her hair stylist to return--something about a broken curler; brielle had only been half-listening. what she did hear, try as she might to ignore it, were the approaching whines of a stranger who appeared to be searching for a pet. or a very stupidly named small child. a loud breath fell from her lips when he finally appeared at her side, making her annoyance clear as he stumbled through his question.

she turned from her mirror to meet his gaze, staring him down for several long moments before pointing behind him. “that one, you mean?” the cat had appeared some time ago, taking a liking to the two great danes that had been napping in a back corner of the room. diedrick and leopold may have eaten the thing if it had crossed paths with them while still under fabian bishop’s care--or, lack thereof. luckily for the pitiful creature it hadn’t taken more than a few weeks for brielle to properly train the dogs and now the three animals lay together in a pile of fur and soft snores. “you may want to take it before they get it in their heads that she's their new toy.”

It wasn’t always the money that meant success. It was the critical feedback, the feeling of a polished product, the fact that the points of the contracts on her production had not been hit to the point of cancellation. If they happened to reach that end on their own recognizance, there was nothing to be done, but it would not be held over her head. A contracted actor had signed their /contract/ with all the liability laid out before them. If only we all could be so lucky to know the worst consequences beforehand.

Siobhan had been in the business too long to let it hinder her. Mahogany desk, veneer shining from what was not covered by scripts awaiting to be put into use, to be picked by her good name and brought to life from her funding and supervision. Even the blot at the door could not distract her fully, eyes raising in her own time to catch the face.

“You aren’t scheduled,” she pointed out at first, her normal voice showing no highs or lows, no inflection to betray whatever emotion could be still within her. “Your own schedule is full from what has been relayed to me.”

the corner of brielle’s lips tugged into a smile though there was no warmth in the gesture. “dreadfully,” she confirmed the status of her schedule, “so i hope you can appreciate the fact that i am here in person.” the actress stood her ground across from the producer, internally acknowledging the fact that siobhan sterling was a woman of similar.. capacities. bri considered them of the same class; a compliment that was rarely offered. it was more than how she carried herself, demanding respect with every silvery word that dripped off her tongue, but rather something at siobhan’s very core that elected this feeling within brielle. something primal, maybe. a predator recognizing a predator. the snake that hides underneath the flower. 

of course, there was also the possibility that this attraction had nothing to do with their perceived similarities and was instead the product of influences brielle had not allowed herself to consciously acknowledge for a very long time. siobhan was an alluring woman. beautiful, in a way that could very well be described as intimidating; though brielle only saw it as a familiar reflection of her own beauty. 

“2021. that’s where we’re at now?” brielle’s tone made it clear the words were less of a question than a statement of exasperation at her projects latest delay. no time to die was initially anticipated to have a very promising premiere, the closing chapter in the latest series of james bond films; brielle irons playing the dubious dr. madeleine swann. the project now expected to release a full year later, brielle was understandably... unhappy. mistakes like these, mistakes that were no fault of brielle’s own, costed lives. and she’d be damned if she was killed over a fucking bond movie. 

What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Beaumont-Jackson?: 

”There wasn’t one. I don’t think I've even watched a single film of his.”

Do you believe anyone wished him harm?:

“You, maybe? This whole ‘interrogation’ charade is such a joke.”

Are you familiar with narcotics?:

“Not in the least. Perhaps you’re asking the wrong Irons--I know Charles likes to slum with undesirables. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s picked up some questionable habits from them.”

To the best of your ability, do you remember the last time you saw Mr. Beaumont-Jackson?:

To say that Fabian was ruffled by the accusation was an understatement, but it acted like a veneer to his embarrassment and detestation, hiding it just beneath the surface. Naturally, it would be his family wriggling their fiendish ways out of the woodwork to obliterate his accomplishments at Prometheus Productions. Fallon Bishop couldn’t help himself, just like the rest of those heathens back in South Carolina.

He looked at Brielle with thin lips made thinner by the way they sunk into his mouth, only to try to be lapped at again by Leopold… or perhaps it was Diedrick. They were insufferable, even in appearance.

“Ms. Irons,” he began curtly, maintaining professionalism through-and-through, “the matter does not concern you, but if I must be accused in such a manner, I will inform you that to be called their owner is a misjudgement on your part. They do not belong to me, certainly not in any permanent fashion that would require me to extend to them any training.”

Unfortunately, a letter from Fallon had popped out of one of their collars, claiming the opposite, but in the moment he could have his bubble remain intact if he refused to read it.

“Furthermore, you are the first to ever make an impression on their otherwise fallow minds,” he remarked, a voice lower than before, as if it pained him to give any credit.

fabian had hardly began his sentence before he overstepped the line--that very fine, invisible little line that separated people like brielle irons from... the others; those who were, quite frankly, beneath her. 

straightening up, she smoothed out her Dior skirt, venom all but pooling behind her tight smile as bri gave fabian an unimpressed once over. “the matter concerned me the moment these over-grown mongrels attempted to put their paws on my six-hundred dollar skirt,” her tone was tight, determined, and she gave fabian no room to argue as she continued speaking. “no matter how deeply you’ve managed to convince yourself you’re not in charge of these beasts, they were sitting of your office door, which you were clearly aware of, and you have chosen to do nothing about it.” 

she paused, a hot breath escaping her nostrils, coming out in a huff.

“you’re doing them no favors by letting them sit here unattended. either train them or pass them on to someone who will,” brielle offered in advice, making the situation as simple as possible in case mr. bishop was truly as dense as he seemed in this moment. 

“and with this matter dealt with,” her tone made it clear she expected him to pick one of the above options she’d presented, “maybe we can begin to discuss what brought me to your office in the first place?” perhaps the awkward introduction would’ve caused anyone else to turn and leave, but brielle wasn’t easily deterred--especially not when it came to her career. 

 His parents had been placed on one of the highest floors that Ms. Samson’s building had; the view it provided of the city would be the envy of most. Only the best accommodations for the Irons, except it never was good enough, not for Mrs. Jacqueline Irons. Even on one of her more gracious days, she could find fault in being stranded in a suite, the little nuisances that were not up to par coming to bring her down to the levels of poverty in her mind. Charles had spent the past hour hearing all about it until he finally found reason to excuse himself. He had fulfilled his obligation as the dutiful son for the day, bringing with him a bouquet of peach roses and calla lilies, regaling her with his progress on Nocturnal Animals, reassuring her that things were /fine/. It was enough.

The door closed behind him and he released a small breath before the back of his hand smudged away the faint mark of lipstick on his cheek. It was too late, though. It apparently had already been noticed.

“At least you’re not a paparazzi,” he spoke with a thin smile before he went on with a tilt of his head, taking the last bit of stain off of his skin. “This could have been the start to an awkward conversation.”

despite the fact that they were pressed into close quarters to play possible victims for both a malicious diseases and a potential serial killer, the true terror of the situation was that the irons family had become inescapable from each other. the four of them, mother, father, charles and herself, were all terrible people on their own accord--but together? they brought out the worst in each other, that much was certain. 

pursing her lips, bri continued down the long hallway she’d been walking through before charles had stepped out of their parent’s room. of course she should run into him, of course mother would time things just right so that they crossed paths while making their offerings to her; gifts and tokens less of their love than as proof as their continued loyalty to playing their roles as perfect little irons children. she almost curled her lip at him, instead forcing the muscles in her lip to remain relaxed and allowing her grasp on the bottle of 1947 cheval-blanc to tighten. “don’t play cute charles, you know i hate that.” 

because that’s exactly what charles irons was--cute. the youngest child, the sweetest, their darling baby boy who amused them without even trying. “i assume she’s already invited you to brunch tomorrow?” because, mother had already invited brielle. and because, nothing mother did for or offered to bri came out of the goodness of her own heart, there was always an ulterior motive; and in most cases, that motive was simply another chance to remind bri that charles was the favored child. “at least come alone. i don’t think i can stand watching father ogle another of your little girlfriends while mother measures her finger for a ring.” it was almost cartoonish how desperate the irons were for a daughter--despite the fact that they already had one, right in front of them.

“Could you believe the lack of historical accuracy in some of these productions?” Nicholas asked. “Imhotep lived in late 27th century B.C., not the 13th! You don’t have to be a scholar in Egyptian history to know this. It just takes the simplest of fact checking, and yet, they can’t seem to do it.”

“if only we were so lucky to have our very own nicholas scott clark on all our projects,” the production assistant's name was sharp in brielle’s mouth, though she was more bored with his whining than annoyed. despite this annoyance however, she couldn’t say she disagreed. “sometimes it’s not even that they forget--it’s a deliberate choice. someone decides that Nefertiti's dress absolutely has to be robin’s egg blue, never mind that the dyes to make such a color wouldn’t have even been invented yet.” bri offered in complaint, her attention still on the nail file she held in her slender fingers. “it’s absurd.” 

brielle irons notable projects

There was a scratch at Fabian’s office door. A scratch not a knock, followed by a strong huff.

“Ms. Jennings!” he called out to his secretary, only to have no response back. His lips pursed together. What if there was some wildebeest on the other side? Of course not! Impractical, a manifestation of the imagination when running rampant in uncertain times. He stepped closer to the door, adjusting the latex gloves on his hands to hold to them better before opening the door, only to be instantly slobbered on by a Great Dane, followed by another one.

“Blasted! You mongrels! What on earth are you doing here? Begone!” he protested before pushing their mouths away until seeing that it wasn’t just them. Had they done something to the visitor? Were they here to deliver them undoubtedly from his hellish brother? “I genuinely apologize if they caused you any trouble,” he staggered out between his continuous pushes against them to leave him be. “What is the extent of the damage they’re responsible for?”

this whole situation was utterly ruining her schedule, taking her carefully planned life off the rails as projects were delayed and interviews cancelled. it seemed things had come to a roaring halt the past few days, what little work she was able to take care of from her suite in cora’s safehouse being postponed or deemed otherwise unimportant, in the scheme of things. brielle abhorred how she’d somehow become the only person in her world who wanted to keep working, who pushed to keep her career moving lest she lose the momentum she’d spent a lifetime generating. though--deep down, deep enough that she could hide it even from herself--bri knew that the real reason she couldn’t keep still had nothing to do with her career, with her points or her reputation. 

brielle irons was terribly afraid that if she stop moving, even for just a moment, she’d finally give in to all the terrible thoughts and feelings that her parent’s had sowed in her from the moment she was born. that she was unlovable, hateful, and worst of all--mediocre, at best. 

that simply couldn’t happen, she reminded herself, looking down at the two great danes that had appeared and blocked her way into mr. bishop’s office. she had seen that they meant to jump, their excitement overcoming them and demanding that they greet this new human visitor. before they could reach her, bri held a hand up to them and commanded loudly, “stop.” if nothing else, the suddenness of the commanded seemed to confuse the animals enough to prevent them from tackling her. “down,” bri instructed the animals, a long finger pointing towards the floor as she waited for them to follow the command. they whined, bri repeated herself, the danes eventually slinking back down to the floor under her icy gaze. when the door to mr. bishop’s office finally opened he was greeted with the sight of her kneeling slightly, petting the animal’s in reward for their compliance.

 “none, though the same can’t be said for their owner. “ her eyes flicked up, striking him with a steel gaze. “animals must be trained, mr. bishop. failure to do so is quite irresponsible.”