hector-garcia

[hector-garcia]

open starter @ A Rotary Club event - 4.35pm

"I know one could be tempted to overthink the whole ordeal, considering how quiet I've been, but I'm the Prime Minister, not starring in a reality tv show." And most people in the room wouldn't put their dirty laundry out in public. So no, he won't comment on the hippodrome events, he won't discuss his husband or his family, and he certainly won't tell a soul about his attack. The doctor has him eating pills for breakfast, lunch, tea and sleep which is bad enough. What's worse yet is that they still haven't got a clue if it'll happen again. "Now if anyone want to discuss anything else, you're free to join me for tea " in the..." He spots his baby sitter bodyguard mouthing "cloister" The prime minister grins. "I think James means to tell me I won't be getting access to the veranda today either." A security breach waiting to happen, and what not.

[hector-garcia]

"It scares me, sometimes..." He comments. He could mean anything by it, couldn't he. Without context, you could easily guess he means to talk about the party at the hippodrome. It's best if he doesn't know too much about his husband and his siblings' activities, just like it's best he doesn't talk about work at home. "How efficient the secret services are." World leader suffers from a heart attack, and not one soul is one bit wiser about it.

"My day has been... different, I suppose," because he generally didn't spend it running a dozen of different medical exams to find out the scale of his attack and measure how bad his health actually was. He knew about the asthma since he had been a small child, he'd grown out of an allergy, and other than that, he thought he was doing well. He was not sure keeping this from his husband was such a good idea. "My doctor's going to be staying with us for a few days."

who: @hector-garcia where: their knightsbridge home, early evening

“— I want them found, and strung up by their fucking pricks by the end of the night. {…} I don’t give a shit about the treaty. {…} Then we’ll start a goddamn war. These rats crawl onto my territory, and think they can fuck with me? Find them.” The door to the top-floor Knightsbridge flat slams shut behind Viktor with a resounding bang followed closely by the crunching sound of his phone colliding full-force with the nearest wall. 

The Jolly Rogers have made him look like an idiot, and he wants every last one of them dead.

The splintered remains of the phone crunch under his shoes as Viktor makes his way through the flat, discarding briefcase, suit jacket, and tie along the way to the kitchen. Whisky and a tumbler await, and he downs a few angry sips before focusing on the figure of his husband sitting at the dining table. 

“I assume your day’s been better than mine.”

[hector-garcia]

Do you think you have a 'type', and if so, what is it?

Hector smiles right up to his eyes and simply mentions toward the portrait sitting on the couch end which depicts the pair on a vacation in Northern Italy. "Anyone who knows me, can support me and understand me as well as he does," which narrowed it down to no one else. He doesn't want to talk too much about Viktor. Gushing about your spouse is hardly suitable for a Prime Minister, even if anyone working at Downing Street knows there's plenty of that going on.

[hector-garcia]

Are you worried about re-election?

I would not say that worries me. I hope I will be trusted with this office long enough for my government to implement much needed reforms.

We all know there is strength in stability. I have trust in the system as well as I have in our fellow citizens.

[hector-garcia]

"Why didn't you say sooner?" The Prime Minister's eyebrow quirked up, and he motioned his assistant to find Samuel a proper cup of coffee. Sure enough, he could have offered in the first place, but he had been worried, and good manners didn't seem like a priority in those moments.

He knew that look. Though Hector couldn't tell precisely what was going on in the Police Commissioner's head, he knew this expression. So of course, he didn't ask. It was best not to probe at an open wound, they said. He was sure his husband would have disagreed with the saying. "We take what we can get indeed. I supposed I deserved the threat," all work and no play, yadah yadah. Hector could have spent a wee bit more time with his family. He knew Samuel understood as much as he did that no, they didn't have time for these matters, that their job came with sacrifices.

"Viktor? He's got people searching for potential culprits," that was all he needed to know. Someone was causing mayhem at his event, it was only fair that he attempted finding them. "Something's off for sure. One horse not passing tests? Sure. But so many? And I assume that protest wasn't planned with the district's approval, was it?" He had tried to reach out to them, but their assistant allegedly had no idea of where their employer was. Right. He sighed, attempting to drop off the tension in his shoulders without success. "But anyhow, I'd rather we don't mop about tonight. You should come over for dinner sometimes, we've got plenty to catch up on."

A brow knitted as blue eyes danced up and down the Prime Minister's features, as though to nonverbally scan him for any traces of disease or illness. Not that he'd have been able to tell. Still though, anyone of Hector's importance falling ill was human, of course, but that created holes. Weaknesses. "What I wouldn't give for some coffee, myself." He agreed, returning his brow to its normal resting position and he placed one of his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, don't remind me," a watery smile crept across his face as his eyes followed others towards the dusty tracks, seeing the diminished number of the powerful animals as they raced around the course. It was fortunate that he was able to manage to get as many people as he could over to the stables to linger where he had to leave. It was just a shame that everything involving the horses had drawn so many of his people away from their designated checkpoints.

His expression fell slightly at the mention of Viktor, however, and he looked back at Hector. Samuel had been the Commissioner for just under half a year now, but mentioning any known names of those associated with any gangs, particularly the Jabberwocks and Jolly Rogers, still felt like a raw nerve. It was something he was told not to touch, so maybe a fresh wound was more accurate a metaphor. The treaty kept all of them at bay from each other, though the man already felt it acting as a restraint. He shook his head and absently knuckled his septum. "Well... we take what we can get, I suppose." He paused.

"Did he say anything about... potential rival activity?" Samuel found himself asking. "Er... not to be conspiratorial about anything, but I just... something feels off. And it's not just my allergies talking." An attempt to add levity to what felt like an offhand suspicion, one that he couldn't entirely back up with hard evidence.

[hector-garcia]

@enderali

The prime minister laid his back flat against his seat but even the way the cushions hugged him did not manage to make him feel any better. Truth was, he worried a lot. He might have been used to dealing with galas, shows, grand openings, events and all sorts of things he was certainly not born into, he wondered if perhaps he was not maybe a bit more stressed with having stepped in Viktor's territory. First he had told himself, quite arrogantly, that he was the goddamn prime minister, and that he could go where he pleased, but.... Things weren't going so well, and he was worried. There must have been something going on tonight between the protestors and the disqualified horses.

His shoulders tensed, as did his neck and arms. And why was he feeling so damn warm. Once again, he tried to snuggle against his cushions, but all he got in return was more discomfort.

Hector was a stubborn man, and he didn't easily consider himself unfit for work, but right in that moment he stubbornly brought himself to call his doctor back at Downing Street. Hector, who was always receptive to these things, could tell from the intonation, more than the words, that there was urgency in his discourse. It was the doctor who reached out to both Ender and the police commissioner, all while Hector could feel his worry grow. When his chief of security barged in, he was taking deep breathes and trying to chase away any thoughts that could darken his mind.

[hector-garcia]

"I'm alright. Feeling a bit stiff. I hope I didn't catch the flu or something like that." Except he wasn't feeling any sort of shiver yet, or any sort of other symptom. His chest felt a bit tight, but he had been stressed by the events unfolding one after the other tonight, and maybe he worried a bit for Viktor's nerves. "I've been trying to unwind with a nice cuppa, but even that won't do the trick right now." A bloody fucking shame. He was too proud to leave, even if he felt like crap. Not that he felt like crap. This was just not very comfortable.

"How about you? You got a bit of action here, isn't that right?" He glanced down toward the racing tracks, wondering how long it would be before the next declared disqualified horse. "I saw Viktor earlier," he began. He was certain Samuel would be overjoyed to hear about it. "He didn't threaten to throw my things in the trash this time, so there's definitely an improvement there," not that... No, he didn't think they'd manage to reconciliate. They were both too stubborn, but... they'd been good to one another. They both made the other ... perhaps not a better person, but in their line of business, they gave the other a much needed second pair of eyes, an edge.

The familiarity, even as brief as this interaction had the potential to be, was welcoming and Samuel took the other man's hand with a friendlier smile than the one offered to him. Appearances were important, of course he understood that, but perhaps it was the silent ability to breathe for a moment, to feel as though he could relax for a fragment of time. The private booth was considerably quiet, especially compared to... literally everything else at the hippodrome, though honourable mention went to "the tracks themselves" and "the protestors outside". The temperature was preferable as well, and Samuel appreciated that he could be as professional as he should've been but it was Hector Garcia that was looking at him.

Strange, perhaps that feeling was supposed to be reversed.

"Yes, well... I had a mask previously," the commissioner glanced around briefly, as though expecting to see it sitting reliably on a table nearby though it was obviously nowhere to be found. "I must've... left it somewhere." Indeed, it had been abandoned very shortly into the day - the man didn't like wearing things on his face at the best of times, let alone when he kept having to remove it to clean up his presentation. He disliked horses. Something he had a kindred spirit in Hector over, given the latter's fear of the animals. What a pair they made.

He cleared his throat quietly, looking over Hector's authoritative visage. "Other than the... unfortunate animal of choice, how's your afternoon faring?" He opted to ask as an awkward form of small talk; he would've been just as content to simply sit in silence for a moment, pretending that whatever he would be called to do simply wouldn't happen, that his evening had freed up and he could go home and spend it with Lowry. "Are you doing alright?"

[hector-garcia]

"You know how much I enjoy watching horses run around in circles while carrying a short human being with them," there would have been no way to quote him on that without questioning whether he meant that, or not. Samuel, however, as well as most of his staff, knew that he hated these poney/girafe hybrids. They were too tall, and there was something about them that freaked him out. Possibly the fact that they were a Tory's favorite animal more often than not. Alright, now he was joking.

Hector gave his friend a slight smile, reaching out to shake his hand. "It's good to see your face." He didn't comment on the state of his eyes, all too aware as he was of the other's allergies. Rubbing at his chest briefly, the minister reached for his glass of sparkling water. He hadn't been feeling too great tonight, but he was happy to dismiss it on account of being stuck in a hippodrome.

Who: Samuel and Hector (@hector-garcia Where: The Liddell Hippodrome When: Before everything goes super wrong

If there was a face to assign the misery of the night with its neutral cruelty, inconvenient happenstances that clashed with each other and subtle digging of fingernails into skin taut with stress, it was Samuel Knight's. The man had been back and forth, in and out, up and down and every other direction he wasn't even aware he could go in attempts to control any and every aspect of the organized chaos that was happening in the Hippodrome. Even assigning the members of the strike team to the appropriate venues to keep an eye out on the festivities, with constables stationed at important checkpoints wasn't enough for the amount of running around he himself felt as though he had to do.

After a particularly disastrous (at least, to him) investigation in the stables resulted in him having to make a graceless exit to pay a visit to the utilities to compose himself, Samuel now opted to make his way to the private booth of none other than Hector Garcia - the seemingly-staged protests outside were one thing, but alleged horse drugging was another, and as he was in the bathroom, the lights had flickered for just a moment and the correlations were starting to mount in the commissioner's mind.

A brief discussion with the security outside of the booth granted the commissioner entry, where he exhaled a congested sigh of relief as blue eyes met Hector's. "Enjoying the races, old sport?" He asked lightly, if a little thickly, as his posture seemed to loosen from its typical rigidity.

[hector-garcia]

"Oh undoubtedly, it is art," although it was not one the prime minister cared too much for. He was more than glad he had assistants picking his outfits for his public outings, though his eye for color did save the day. He also had an eye for communication, and he could tell the other would be a tough nut to crack. His first bet was that the other might be a Tory, which was an offense he would have trouble forgiving. Hector kept his affable smile on, his back straight and his gaze on the other. It took more than jadedness for him to surrender.

He was a bit surprised to see the other humor him, however, and as the man conceeded to a certain sort of ineptitude, the prime minister found him quite relatable. So much was expected of him, as though being prime minister made him an expert in all subjects. He tried his best, of course, to be informed, to stay grounded, but he was never omniscient. "A string quartet and you're set ? I respect that," his smile grew, "I believe the press has made enough ruckus of my music taste," because through his years as a politician, he had been spotted at all sorts of concerts, though the majority of them were attended with his husband which could explain the apparent eclectism if his taste. In truth, he was just as happy singing along to The Supremes as he was reciting every words to Taylor Swift's Shake It Off.

The corner of his lips turn upward. Mostly because the guess of the symbolism was more of what he intended, which did cross with Cernunnos, but he only gently shrugged, "If fashion is art, then art is up to the interpreter. Meaning the answer to that is yes," he said. His tone didn't really carry any sort of indication of emotion, and neither did his face. He supposed some of those were frozen off a long time ago. He wasn't big on telling strangers one thing or another. There was a hundred things you'd think the man who ran the Jolly Rogers would say to the Prime Minister, a hundred others people would surmise he'd do.

Yet, none of those things happened.

Elias was more than content to have this perfectly composed conversation of little merit. Table manners. Part of that was knowing the time and the place, and this was neither. Not with what was waiting for to unfold within this lovely party. If you knew that the crown would symbolize how it was he that was really in lordship over this event. Long had the Liddells had such a pompous demeanor in all aspects. This was no different — a gaudy display of wealth and symbol of power. Well, if you show your hand, it might as well be taken. "I'm woefully inept at most music. I fear I prefer most folk sort of music. Strings seem to settle the best within my tastes. Not excellent music for a party, truth be told."

[hector-garcia]

Where: A secure "room" within the hippodrome When: Sometimes after Hector encounters some dizziness

He was hurried out of the ballroom as discreetly as his status allowed it, but with the music filling up the air, the wine pouring from bottle, to glass, to lips, and the hour running late. They'd led him to a room he was sure had been reserved from the start for such an occurrence. He knew protocols by now as much as if he had written them himself, and though there were some he found a bit much, tonight, one of these extra protocols was proving quite useful.

He wasn't sure what this was about. He had not been drinking. He didn't drink while on the job. Hector had no explanation of his shortness of breath, or how much pain he felt in his neck, his shoulders and arms the more the night advanced. If he had caught the damn flu, he would sure be pissed off about it. And as such, he had asked to be left alone for a little bit. He knew Julie and Ender would be waiting on the other side of the door, but when the door opened too soon to his taste, he had to sigh heavily. "I know you both mean well, but if you could just let me be." @viktor-liddell

[hector-garcia]

"I've always had a preference for Brahms, though they say he's Beethoven's rightful heir," the Prime Minister tilted his chin toward the stranger. There was no mistaking him for anyone else as he had refused to wear a mask for the evening, both to cause Viktor a certain amount of annoyance and because you could easily argue that was a safety issue.

"I have no idea, but this event is cruelly missing some British cult classics," which felt like a personal attack. Where were his Tears for Fears, Culture Club, Pulp, and all the rest? "Were you channeling your inner Phantom of the Opera with this outfit, or a Celtic God?" Cernunnos comes to mind, of course. Amusement carefully hidden behind his usual sternness, the Prime Minister looked at the crown of keratin on the other's head. He's certain his ex husband would have something to say about someone showing at his party like they're royalty. You expected it from the Liddells, or the aristocracy, but he couldn't replace that man's half face in his list of faces he knew.

— an open starter during the liddell horse race

Play the part. He'd been doing such since he was a young man. Taken on some many roles at this point he should get one of those prestigious American acting awards, but then again, he'd be just as likely to bite the head off the little gold man statue and break it down to something that he could liquidate. He never kept much in his hands, less to lose. Even now, his costume for this event was rather grotesque, a line walked between art and being classic.

His mask covered only one half of his face, one eye looking very in tact, while the rest of the mask gave the impression that his face was little else than bone and degrading skin. It was all elegantly done — the illusions made with fine fabrics and ivory that begged the question on what sort of bone it came from. On his head, a crown made from what were clearly antlers of a deer and covered haphazardly with some metallic formula here and there, and holes drilled into them within the bare pieces that gave him a distinctly dazzling and slightly petrifying aesthetic to anyone who looked too closely. The crown was his own personal joke. Hell, this whole thing was his own personal joke to a degree, if you considered him capable of such.

He had a glass of what people thought to be champagne in his hand, overhearing someone say that the composition playing was Mozart, he said quietly, "It's Beethoven. Not Mozart. Beethoven." It was a profoundly sad piece that made Elias wonder why they'd play it at a party, but still the quartet was a thing of beauty. "Was always fond of the strings and a piano, and few men have composed finer pieces. I prefer him to Mozart." He listened for a beat more. "How long, do we think, until the DJ decides to put on some pop like this crowd knows what a TikTok is?"

[hector-garcia]

"You knew fully well that they wouldn't let that pass." Which didn't mean that Hector was unaware of the poor state of their educational system, or the kind of budget that would be necessary to reverse that sort of slope.

"You won't do it, but I will," because he had put his finger on the absolute trash pile that was their Ministry of Education. They weren't quite the laughing stock of Europe yet, but they didn't have anything to be proud of aside from their old universities and the uniforms that were envied by all the nostalgic lunatics that lived around the continent. Like that made a fucking difference. "They don't care. They want to keep the budget under control," and as per usual, anything social such as health or education gets shoved under the bus first.

Cicéron must know by now that Hector doesn't share their opinion on the matter. He'd rather cut bullshit financial presents oh so kindly offered to FTSE companies so they keep investing in the U.K.. Bribery made legal. "You think I'm not aware of all of this? We're going to get a reform in place, but I won't storm in like a bulldozer. This is gonna take time, and we need to earn back the trust of educators."

who: @hector-garcia where: prime minister's office

“I won’t do it.” The door to Hector’s office has barely closed behind Cicero before he’s marching over and slamming a stack of paper with a yellow sticky note attached down onto the Prime Ministers desk. The note is covered in neat handwriting and bears lines of feedback forwarded to Cicero by the the Secretary of Health and Social Care’s office, and it had taken all his professional self-discipline not to tear it to shreds.

“They want me to remove the section of illiteracy statistics for children under eighteen from your speech on the post-16 education reform.” It’s ridiculous, it’s infuriating, and the fact that it’s so on-brand that he’s not even surprised anymore just makes it worse. Inhaling sharply in an attempt to gain his bearings, Cicero takes a few steps away from the desk before immediately starting to pace to-and-fro.

“Do they understand that we’re facing a crisis here? 46% of sixteen to eighteen year olds are scoring at the lowest level of proficiency in literacy, and they want me to remove the statistics because they think it’ll make them look bad. Schools are overfilled and understaffed — not to mention the lack of access to any kind of mental health support that so many children are facing, and they’re worried about their reputation. I won’t do it. This is not something you can just sweep under the rug.”

[hector-garcia]

Timing : 7th of April 2007, after a council meeting

Place: Barking and Dagenham borough

"Who sent you?" He gets his lighter back from one of his councilmen, and with a small nod, wishes them a good evening. "Rothstein? Gross? Wilkes?" Whatever concerned citizen had missioned him to ask detailed question about Hector's new budget must have been an opponent. He was seething on the inside. And yet, he attempted to exude nothing but the figure of someone cool headed, someone who was above this sort of political bullshit.

And of all people, to send a Liddell.

There were a lot of families that embodied capitalism, generational wealth or liberal ideas that gave him urticaria. The Liddells was one of those. They weren't the worst, he supposed. Casinos and horse races. They weren't war merchants. "You seemed to be having an awful lot of fun."

[hector-garcia]

"Oh fuck off," if anythiing, it was Viktor's family that had been a constant reminder that he wasn't like them, that he didn't belong in their circles.

Hector stared into his ex husband's eyes, eyebrows lifting at the mention of evil spirits and sage. "I don't see any of your siblings around here dear." The soft word slips out of his lips, but he pretends he meant to say that. Hun is definitely mocking, but dear ? He used to call him that and he still was dear to his eyes... "If that's all you have to say, perhaps I should just get going."

“I am aware, considering you never let anyone forget it.” It’d been a bit of a running joke amongst Viktor’s family and peers, when they’d first announced their relationship to the public. Hector’s accent is unmistakably working class northern - a stark contrast to the smooth lull of Viktor’s boarding school English, the Russian tint of which he’s worked hard to remove. It’s still there when he gets angry, or on the rare occasion that he gets drunk, but full assimilation into the upper echelon’s of English society has always been key for success.

Viktor makes no move to retrieve the box after Hector ignores it, leaving it sitting there as a buffer between them. “I don’t think I will. That would involve inviting you inside, and I just burned an entire bundle of sage.” He’s being petulant and childish for no good reason which is most unlike him, but seeing Hector get gradually more annoyed is replacing at least some of the ache in his chest. “Wouldn’t want to invite in any new evil spirits.”

[hector-garcia]

"You didn't have to put it like that," or maybe that's precisely what Hector needs to hear. He's been tied to Viktor for so long, he forgot what it's like to be a person without him in mind. Because this was what made them work so well : they always thought of the other's agenda. Maybe it also was what broke them. Constantly reflecting on the other's needs, being in the other's head until... He supposed his current position started taking too much room in their marriage, or maybe it had rotten a while ago.

They shouldn't have parted this way. This much he was certain about.

"Maybe I don't need him, but I still want him in my life," not at all times, not always, but he missed him more often than not. "I don't know. I like seeing him," and that was as positive an interaction he needed : knowing the other was doing okay. Except he could tell he was not.

But when it comes to communication, that ship has long sailed, and the Prime Minister simply scoffs. "I didn't tell him. He probably knows," probably not, but Hector knew that Viktor could press each of his buttons without help. "I got defensive." He looks down. "And maybe agressive..."

“So it was terrible.. and he’s unkind t’you. And on top of that, you haven’t been talking.” Val explains it all back gently. Never judgment, just facts stated in their purest form so Hector can reflect.

They sigh gently and feel for their coffee. “He doesn’t sound like someone that y’need in your life, if that’s the kind of emotions that come from time around him.” They know, however, it’s easier said than done. “When was the last time you two had a positive interaction, would y’say?”

That could also be telling. Has it been this circle of discomfort and unkindness? Or is this new from a larger and more painful event? “Have you… told him, how that kind of cruelty feels? For instance, when you met up with him this last time. What was your response to his unkindness?”

[hector-garcia]

"We haven't been talking a lot lately, no," because they always ended up at the other's neck and it was probably for the best that they kept their distances. But neither of them seemed to really want to abide to that unspoken law, and he didn't blame Viktor for this more than he blamed himself for running straight to him. They had a bunch of wounds that they had left bleeding, and the hemorrhage was too important for the scar to form. He couldn't say he had started getting over it. There was yet to be a day that went by without him thinking or being reminded of his ex husband.

Hector looked up from his hands, paying his therapist a glance, and granting them quiet laughter as they felt the need to add that Hector was not stupid. "I only feel stupid, do not fret. Call it being humble," which was in character for the Prime Minister. Though, he could get cocky when the hour was right, he wasn't defined by it. "I don't know. Maybe I like to think that he did, because he was unkind once I got there." Unkind. A fucking arsehole might have been more accurate. "It was rather terrible if I'm being honest."

Val frowns as they try to understand. "He... messaged your chief of staff that he was going to throw out your books? Why? Was this out of the blue, after a period of no contact?"

They can hear the frustration and stress and shake their head. "You two were married- it's totally normal to still want to see him, love."

The psychologist hasn't ever been married. But that type of devotion lingers, eats away, even if it can never be again. There's always the what ifs, and the memories of all the time before.

"You're not stupid." They add quickly. "But why do you feel that way about yourself? Do you think he was baiting you to come see him?"

Then, a beat. "How did that go, then? Seeing him?"

[hector-garcia]

*sweating profusely, now with a bigger, faker mustache* M-Mister Prime Minister Garcia, your honor, Barnt uh.. Bilzoni, yes, from Another Space Rock Magazine! What is your official statement on bucket hats? In or out, your excellency?

They should have never been in. They look atrocious.