ain't no fortunate son.

It should have been a bit more disconcerting, the way his newfound company didn’t immediately answer him and distinguish between friend or foe, but it wasn’t. Somehow, the atmosphere didn’t feel all that heavy, at least not in the manner it did in the moments leading up to something bad happening. It just felt…different, and different was something Rio could handle. Different was welcomed, considering his last fourteen years had been nothing but more of the same. 

closed starter ✧ rio delgado. ( @wickcdways) location ✧ black widow.

Nearly a decade and a half away took a toll on a man and Rio Delgado was living fucking proof of that. His breath hitched in his throat, his spine straightened to the point of driving a small ache into his shoulders, and his eyes…god, his eyes had no idea where to look. 

Snorting an amused laugh at her question, Hakan cut a wry, pursed lip look over at her and shrugged a shoulder, “Thought about it once or twice,” he supplied, winking then before turning his attention back to the drink in front of him. Hakan knew how it looked– he knew what he projected any time he spoke about his marriage, or lack thereof. He came off as flippant and uncaring, and maybe to a degree it was true, but that hadn’t developed overnight. No, that had taken shape once they’d both been totally sure that it was over. Hakan and his wife had tried just about anything and everything, and it hadn’t worked. The truth was that the quick, easy, and painless divorce he’d hoped for was proving even harder than the marriage itself. Shaking his head at the thought, he turned to Alexis again, smirking at her answer as he peered down at her drink, “Naturally.” Eyeing the bartender, he motioned for another round for both of them, then met her gaze, a soft smile creasing the corners of his eyes, “Ah, same shit, different day,” he answered honestly, casting one more look down at his phone. This time was no worse than the time before, and he figured it’d carry on this way until they both finally settled on divorce terms. “Nothing that can’t wait,” he added, his way of telling her that she had his full focus now. “How’s my favorite arsonist?”

civan wasn't a stranger to the afterlife, and it was his usual preference to go to if he was in need of a night of distraction, which was a lot lately. "i appreciate the unsolicited advice," he was half joking, but also it was a good reminder, "i wasn't planning on it anyways." he announced, before taking a sip of his negroni. he's heard stories of a least a handful of relationships crumbling once they were legally intertwined, even if there was no particular reason.

“Hey, at least it’s free,” Hakan offered, shoulders rising in a noncommittal shrug, “Solicited advice from me isn’t exactly cheap.” Hearing that marriage didn’t appear to be in the cards for the other man anyway, Hakan nodded, raising his drink to his lips and humming his approval, “Good man.” Inwardly, he wondered when he’d become so cynical, especially when he hadn’t always been that way. But that wasn’t a question Hakan was going to solve tonight, or with a drink in his hand, and so he dismissed the thought just as quickly as he’d welcomed it.  Brows lifting at Civan’s counter-offer, Hakan nodded at the logic behind it, “You make an excellent point, kardeş,” he agreed, more than willing to drink on someone else’s tab for one round, “In that case, I’ll take a vodka. Neat.” Downing what remained of his current pour, he set the empty drink aside and angled more towards Civan, “What’re you trying to avoid tonight?” He asked, figuring he wasn’t the only one looking to get his mind off of something.

Sloane was never the type to find herself at a bar - well after she had Gracie - but it felt much needed in the moment. Her sister offered to spend the night with her daughter to let Sloane get out and enjoy a night to herself. It was something that she seriously lacked since having her daughter but she never minded it. She honestly loved spending time with Gracie more than she would want to spend without her. She had been sipping on a vodka cranberry when she heard a voice booming next to her. She glanced over at him and had to laugh at his advice. "You could have told me that when I was in my teens" she said, a laugh escaping as she shook her head. She didn't regret her marriage, no but sometimes she wondered where things would have went if she would have stayed. Looking back at her drink, she decided to down it before pushing the glass toward the bar. "Vodka cranberry. Make it a double." Moving her body toward him, she rested her arm on the bartop. "So, who asked for the divorce? You or the other person?"

“Better late than never, I guess,” Hakan supplied with a chuckle, raising his glass to his lips and finishing off the drink he’d been nursing. Easing out a sigh, he set his empty glass back down on the bartop and shook his head. Did he really regret getting married? Hakan supposed his answer depended on the day, but even he could admit that it hadn’t been all bad. “You got it,” he murmured before relaying her drink order to the bartender as well as ordering another vodka for himself. Turning his attention back towards her, he tipped his head to the side, visually mulling over her question and how to answer it, “Kind of a mutual thing? We married young, realized we wanted different things– separated about three years ago, but can’t finalize the divorce. Go figure.” He held up a hand and lightly twirled it in a circle over and over, mimicking a merry-go-round, “So around and around we go.” Pausing, he offered up an apologetic smile, “Sorry– that’s…probably more than you wanted to know. I won’t ask you to play marriage counselor, I promise.”

Mari got the text at the last possible second; excuses stacked one after another. Sick kid, family emergency, no ride. By the time she finished reading, everyone with sense and seniority had vanished, leaving the newest hire, the convict, to close the diner alone.

“Ah, shit,” Rio droned beneath his breath as he recognized none other than his boss’s voice cutting through the space between them. Flashing her a sheepish look as she slid into the seat directly across from him, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Sorry– forgot to lock up.” Really though, he was less concerned about that and more mortified at how he’d basically insulted the food here. “Wasn’t expecting you to be walkin’ in either,” he added, not bothering to mask his embarrassment, “The food’s actually great, I just…” Rio trailed off, head shaking.  Wordlessly, he scraped the pad of his thumb along his lighter’s trigger, igniting it, and held it up to the end of her cigarette. “I was about to leave,” Rio continued, feeling as though he needed to explain his reason for loitering around after hours, “just lost track of time and needed a minute.”

Out of everyone who could’ve walked through that diner door, he hadn’t thought it would be her. In fact, for half a heartbeat, Rio had convinced himself that he only thought he’d heard Charli’s voice, but the way the tension in his shoulders seemed to ebb and flow like an outgoing tide until he visibly relaxed only cemented the reality for him. He’d never react so viscerally to something imagined, or a mere thought, so that could only mean two things– she was here, and she was just as real as he was. “Charli,” he greeted, though the gentle lift in his smooth baritone hinted at his surprise. Extinguishing his Marlboro just as quickly as he’d lit it, Rio slid out from the booth and turned around, dark, yet warm eyes finding and studying her for the first time in nearly fifteen years.

Jet always had been a night owl. There was always that warning, nothing ever good came after midnight but he thought the opposite. But there was something more peaceful about night and the darkness it brought. The silent hour of it all was his comfort. However, the inconvenience was there and how there was nothing ever open at this hour. Until he saw a "We're Open" sign at the local diner. His stomach was deceiving him and since the past few days had been more hectic or how it seemed to be, it over-ranked the simple task of having gone grocery shopping. Upon getting entry into the place, he heard the voice of another. That's what he got for having hope, even just a slither. Hope is a corpse. A dead thing. "Not according to the sign." It was just a simple observation, Jet wasn't that entitled to expect anything to be really open at this hour. He conjured up in that moment that someone must have not changed the sign back after their shift. "Shit coffee is better than nothing. Beggars can't be choosers. I am sure I have had worse." If anything, the biscuits could be dunked into the liquid to mask the staleness. Moments like this could make any one with will desperate.

Fuck, of course he’d forgotten the ‘closed’ sign. Every other part of closing the diner down, Rio thought he’d nailed, but he’d fallen short on the most important part of making sure the damn place was actually closed. He couldn’t fault the stranger for pointing that out though– sure enough, it was as clear as day, posted on the door– open. “That’s my bad,” Rio answered, finally turning around to face the other man, “Forgot to flip the sign.” But again, that wasn’t this other man’s fault, and if Rio was being honest, maybe some company right now wasn’t the worst thing for him. Rising from the booth he’d been sat in, he made his way around the counter and scavenged up a clean coffee mug, “You and me both, brother,” when it came to having worse coffee, that was. For the last fourteen years, Rio had had just about the worst of everything and wasn’t about to start getting too picky now. “Want any cream or sugar or anything?”

﹒nazli & aydin ( @wickcdways ) ﹒samcro clubhouse

This time, he’d caught a split in his brow from a left hook that had caught him off guard in the third round of his most recent bout. By the fifth round, Aydın had realized that it wasn’t going to stop bleeding, no matter how much it’d been tended to throughout the fight, and so when it was all said and done, he’d called in a professional. Glancing up at his cousin as he peeled the gauze away from his brow, revealing the oozing cut, Aydın shot her an incredulous look followed closely by a tiny, albeit playful smirk, “When have I ever given you the impression that I’m normal or sane?” Sure, it was meant to be rhetorical, but he was still counting on an answer from Nazli. “Plus, you know I hate hospitals– it’s why I don’t ever bring you coffee. Definitely not because I’m cheap or anything,” he supplied, feigning an innocent look before sobering with a long exhale and subtle shake of his head, “I’m kidding. I really do appreciate this. Bastard got me good with a cheap shot.”

"Yeah, you can say that again. I think the worst part is going to be tomorrow. It's true what they say, once you turn thirty everything goes to shit." He could only chuckle at the predicament. It was his own fault so he couldn't even be mad. Braden nodded at the offer of the hand, sighing before taking it. In that moment - he was on his feet again. Standing. Then quickly releasing the grip. "Thanks. Hell, that skateboard didn't hit your motorcycle or anything right?" That now being the main priority. He would deal with the aches later, nothing Tylenol could fix. Or at least he tried to remain hopeful of that premise. Hues briefly scurrying around to lock in where the board had ended up. "My kid's new thing now is skateboarding. Figured I could impress him by the tricks I used to be able to handle when I was younger. Obviously, I had more confidence then I should have allowed."

“Wish I could say it gets better, but,” Aydın paused, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before sporting a crooked grin, “I’m pushing forty and the horrors persist.” Helping Braden to his feet, Aydın shook his head, quick to dispel any worry that his bike might’ve been involved, “No, no, not even close. I’m on foot today.” His bike was safe and sound back at the clubhouse while he was out taking a stroll, another attempt to clear his head. Hearing why the mechanic had found himself on a skateboard, Aydın smiled warmly, “Little rusty though, huh?” He teased, shooting him another wry grin before shrugging a shoulder, “Nah, I think it’s cool you’re doing this for your kid. Just try not to bust your head open, yeah?”

On a sidewalk around town.

Aydın hadn’t seen it happen, but the all too familiar sound of flesh and bone smacking against asphalt told him all he’d needed to know– whatever had just happened had really fucking hurt. Abandoning his trek deeper into town for the moment, the biker rushed over to the scene, quickly recognizing none other than Braden Strome laid out on the pavement. While he couldn’t claim to know the man incredibly well, he’d had enough work done on both his bike and his truck over the years to know that Braden was one of the best mechanics in town, and one of the few the biker actually trusted with his Harley. “Ate shit pretty good there, man,” he noted, peering down at the other man and cracking a half-smile, “You alright? Hit your head or anything?” Aydın leaned down and extended a hand towards him before jerking his chin towards the skateboard a few paces away, “do I even wanna know?”