spider / * QUEEN

"at this rate, you'll be waiting until seven. you know damn well i can't pack everything up before then. you might as well just go around instead of making a fool of yourself." heart pounding in her chest, angelica felt acutely out of her element. she was not the confrontational type, but after the dinner... she knew she needed to stand up to these people, the del bosques. they didn't, despite what they would claim, own coronado. she wouldn't pretend she was doing something noble; it was just a movie. but if they didn't start somewhere, they would start nowhere at all. there was only place she knew she wouldn't budge, a practice round—her movies. she couldn't have written a better set up. she could certainly have written the twist, as of yet unknown... "we're filming the last scene. you can wait here and cry about it, or you can go around." narrowing her eyes, she reiterated, "the longer you keep me, the longer you keep it blocked."

"They built this island on our backs. You know as much as I do that they wouldn't work a day on the Docks in their life, it'd be too hard on their pretty little hands or whatever," he mutters, turning his attention back to the view beyond the balcony, grip tightening on the glass he holds. Imani forces himself to breathe; he needs to wind down, he can't cause a scene here of all places. He'll go for a swim tonight, out until he can't distinguish the shapes on the beach, and then he'll scream, and that'll have to do. What else can he do? He feels powerless– an empty, echoing feeling deep in his gut that spreads like tar through his veins, a dampening of his every sense that he hasn't felt since the fire. "What're we supposed to do?" he asks through gritted teeth, turning to her, as he always has, for advice or instruction. For something that'll get him through the rest of the night. We can't just kill a del Bosque, let alone all of them.

what are we supposed to do? this time, angie didn't have any direction to give. she had never been a revolutionary—only honest. daring to be different in her creative works had never seemed to roll over to her personal life. in her family, she could barely stand to be anyone at all. that was her family. how was she meant to stand up to the people that had all but claimed ownership over the island they all shared? "i don't know," she admitted, softly. "yet. but i'm going to make a plan. i can't just sit and do nothing."

He doesn't begrudge her her wealth, her privilege. Imani knows he's lucky to be in the position he's in, lucky to have the job he has, lucky to be trusted. However, he has to do his best to bite back a sardonic laugh. Of course she didn't think about it. "Issuing permits to some people means not issuing permits to others." He's very firm on his stance – people will die. And what will he be able to do but stand idly by and watch? "Shelters aren't the same as having a home," Imani knows, he can remember those first few months after the fire, after everything was lost, and they spent time wondering how they could survive, "as knowing you'll have that home, not worrying about it being taken out from under you. Stability's important. Jobs are important. I'm not- I'm not mad at you. I'm... frustrated. And- and yeah, I'm angry at them, because they don't care about us. They never will."

"you're right," she agreed, somber. the more imani spoke, the worse she felt about everything she had heard—how could she have been so blind? more importantly, how could she have been so complacent? "you're right. and i know you're not mad at me..." she could see why he would be frustrated, though. with her, with the entire system, with all of it. "i just wish i could do something useful. i would love to build homes, schools, community centers... whatever. but i don't think they'll give me a permit after this, either." clutching her bag, she thought she could feel princess sending positive energy her way, the strength she needed. "...we're just going to have to figure out how to do it another way. how to make sure this doesn't happen."

Next to his now-empty parking spot, there is another car, also owned by him, on top of which two women are currently canoodling... A wet dream for some, surely, but rather an opposite reaction for the Del Bosque; who kills the engine and snaps off his seatbelt before splitting out of the car, eyes landing on the same culprit he's found down here for the third evening in a row, now. "What the fuck, Angelica!... Not again."

the stage was set, the cameras were rolling, and the professionals were bringing her vision to life—everything was perfect, right down to the last detail. until the horn blared. as startled as the rest of the crew, she turned to see headlights blasting down her set. ugh, and now they were going to have to set it all up again! throwing her hands up, she turned back to the crew and called out, "okay, take five everyone! i'll handle this..." intimidating wasn't on her list of traits, but being fed up could make anyone into a proper monster... this was the third night in a row that he had tried to drive through here. "don't you what the fuck me," she sniped, glaring down into his side window. "you know i'm filming here. there are signs everywhere. you know, the big detour arrow? follow it. i'm sorry you're inconvenienced, but the more you interrupt, the longer it takes."

River doesn’t believe her one bit. “Any party that offers booze automatically opens up the possibility of its guests getting sloshed. But also, there’s definitely gonna be an afterparty to this snoozefest, and Greta’s basically calling dibs on me.” His words are artlessly put, and entirely by design, to see if it stirs anything in her.

"you're free to get as sloshed as you want. me, i'm going to make sure i can drive home. not that i'm going to. just... in case i need to leave early." wrinkling her nose, it was clear she wasn't pleased with river's antics. "oh, ew. don't even joke about that, river. i don't want to think about who she has dibs on." definitely wasn't going to be river though. she hoped.

Still holding the purse, pinching it with just the tips of her fingers, she looks anywhere but the mouth of the bag which hangs just ajar. "She needs to go home. Put her in a cab like yesterday."

angie tried to go for the bag, but greta's hands were faster than her own. sheepish, she could only watch as they looked inside and found that she had brought her unconventional pet after all. still reaching for the bag, she hoped that she could scoop up her purse and head to the bathroom, make sure she wasn't upset from being jostled around... people weren't usually thoughtful about spiders. angelica saw them for what they were—beautiful, delicate creatures. "she's my emotional support animal," she protested, weakly. "i'm not putting her in a cab. what if someone hurts her? she means too much to me, greta. and she's not bothering anyone. she doesn't even want to come out of the purse!" the tarantula in question was even adorned with a small, golden bow. stick on, not tied.

Looking over at her, his face remains flat, lacking every ounce of typically-present mirth. Does it look like he's being dramatic? When she declines the offer of his dessert, he nudges the plate away with the back of his hand, then turns his full attention towards her. "If you take away someone's entire source of income – so, any business in The Mill that isn't a traditional Coronadan industry or whatever," he resists the urge to scoff, forces himself to keep his voice low, not wanting to be overheard by any passerby, "those people are going to starve." Starve, or have to travel huge distances to open their businesses, and the finances of a commute can be choking, especially if there was no commute to worry about prior to this ridiculous Act. "People won't be able to pay their rents. And the studio, the publishing house, everything... with that 2% tax, what can we do to help them?" Imani knows he's not a du Bois. It's not his business, their finances, but he's concerned. "The traditional values they're preaching about - those ain't our values, they're theirs."

at first, angelica found herself astonished by imani's grave expression. she didn't think she had ever seen him so... consumed, she would have said. by what, who could say? she had delved into a lot of different headspaces, being a writer and producer, but she found that real people, more often than not, were complete and utter mysteries. even so, he had a point—a perspective that she, in her privileged position, had never considered. "...i guess i didn't think about it that way. i thought they might just put up a few statues, issue a few permits... i mean, i know about the tax, but we can pay that..." should they have had to? she couldn't say much on that, either. "isn't there anything anyone can do? ...shelters, food kitchens? i've been meaning to increase my donations..."

Simone hums, both glad that her friend seems to be genuinely happy, and also in thought. "I've been keeping to my bubble, though with what I've written about most of the people here.. It's not that surprising I guess." Her smile curls with mischief and she leans in a little closer. "What do you say we burst our bubbles?" The orchestra begins a new piece and Simone holds out her hand, palm up. "Want to dance, Ange?"

"you mean the truth?" that didn't make it any less troublesome, though. the truth was something that people wanted to hear the least—angelica wouldn't deny that she often belonged to the same category. humming, she considered her friend's offer. did she want to dance? there was only one right answer. "okay, but only because you're coming with me. you know i hate dancing by myself."

"Did your purse just move?"

seafood had always been one of angie's favorite, perhaps a cop out given their island home. you couldn't drive more than a few hours in any given direction without hitting a wall of endless, bountiful sea. she had already plated herself with a wide array of tasters, as she would call them. she was prone to nervous nausea and didn't want to take in too much, too quick. angie was also about to take her first bite when greta's startled exclamation caught her attention. moving? oh! "no, of course not!" she chirped, setting down her silverware to snag her small purse, peeking inside, she could see that princess had shifted around... but now she was happily burrowed in between her pocket book and cell phone. "my phone must have gone off, that's all. i always forget to put it on silent..." she knew that greta was less approving of her pets... too bad she was a terrible liar.

"People are going to die," Imani says, flat-toned. Most people at this party wouldn't have needed to think through the implications of forcing businesses to close, forcing them to adhere to the standards of the mega-rich. But he does. What happens when someone loses all of their livelihood to cultural preservation? He takes another bite of the cream in his bowl, the texture in his mouth all wrong. "Dessert. You want mine?"

"die?" the gravity in imani's voice gave her pause, but her expression was rife with disbelief. "don't you think that's being a little dramatic? i mean, i think it's... concerning," it spoke to a level of control, a reminder of the power structures between them; "but do you really think it's going to kill people?" the dessert she had been eyeing seemed a little appealing now. "...i think i'll pass for now. thank you, though."

“Nah, the bad paps aren’t here—they don’t have those special ID things you need to get into Villa Solana,” he dismisses with a wave before handing over a triplet of shots to her. “Ready to get appropriately sloshed? Maybe find someone to go home with after?”

"you'd be surprised. some of them double dip... but i'm sure i'm just worrying for nothing. i always do this when something big happens." dismiss her feelings, that was. "and i am not getting sloshed tonight. i'll have a few drinks, but it's not that kind of party, river. not for me. i need to have more... decorum."

River frowns, though he masks the little tinge of genuine concern with an empty chuckle, “What? What happened last time? Was there a thing?”

"...just being swarmed by a bunch of tabloid paparazzi, that's all. but i haven't seen too many tonight. the bad ones, i mean." waving away the subject, she continued, "give me one of those, would you?"

"You look lovely, as always. Are you having fun?" Translation: is anyone in need of a roundhouse kick to the face? There's a very serious part of her that hopes that's a yes.

"i can't say i blame you. they're not for everyone." she was pleased to see that simone looked well. she always wanted to hope that she wasn't under too much stress, working with her family. she knew from experience that they could be very difficult. "i am having fun, actually. but you know me... i might also be staying in my bubble."

"i don't know, i think they've got other things to worry about." angie hoped, in particular, that they would avoid her. she won't say that, though. "but i appreciate you humoring me... mr. del bosque." she didn't dare presume that she was on a first name basis with him.

he's not sure when someone last told him they loved him. minho just stares at her for a moment. his gaze seems tinged with a kind of affection that's slowly starting to feel familiar when he's with her. it's the kind of look that says your words mean a lot to me. the kind that says you mean a lot. his lips curve into a smile that holds a certain kind of weight that seems to reach far beyond this moment as he steps closer. he's still mildly awkward as he pulls her in for a hug, evidence of how rusty the action had become since it had served no purpose in his life. "i'd let you wake me any damn time of day, ang," he says with a quiet chuckle, voice low and brimming with affection before he clears his throat and loosens his hold on her, voice attempting to land on a teasing note when he continues, "just don't make me regret awarding you that privilege, alright? i can't risk handing in my cult membership because i can't cope with the daily wake up calls before sunrise."

the hug was both a surprise and a blessing. she knew that minho wasn't always so fond of affection, physical or verbal, but to abandon it completely was against who she was as a person. she never pushed, but with all the things she did have to hide, the value of friendship would never be among them. with this development, angie liked to think that she had rubbed off on him in some way. she liked to think he had done the same to her. everyone, she knew, was a collection of all the people they admired. she admired minho. "i'm holding you to that," she said, giving him a last squeeze. "and i promise you can sleep in the next day. i just know i'll have so many things to tell you!" pulling back, she gave him a last, appreciative smile. "text me so i know you got home safe?"