williamcohxn-blog

[williamcohxn-blog]

charlotte-leigh :

She follows his gaze to the man at the bar, catching herself rolling her eyes. She had seen plenty of people like that both in her time at Le Ciel and Moulin, overly eager to imbibe in whatever they could get their hands on. She frowns into her glass as she takes a sip, and shakes her head at Will with a sigh. “We could take him, I bet,” she teases, twirling a curl around her index finger. “You just say the word, I’ll handle him.

Her expectations to make friends at L’Enfer had never been very high, not even when she worked at the neighboring club. Perhaps she had misjudged. From across the table she shoots him a smile, before her eyes wander around the room. “You caught me, absolutely been training up a storm. Is it the guns that gave it away?” She laughs, arching a shoulder forward. With a flick of her neck she sends her blonde hair over her shoulders to her back. “Tell me, what is it you do when you’re away from here? Still fighting crime, looking after people?” 

      If it came down to it, Will had a feeling Charlotte could easily put a man in his place, whether he be too handsy or a little overzealous with the liquor. He’d seen the gentlest of faces curdle under the right ---or wrong--- circumstances, and though it was hard to imagine, this young woman struck him as the type. Beautiful and kind, but certainly no doormat. Luckily, at least for tonight and any other night she might show up while Will was working, they wouldn’t have to find out. 

      This time, he can’t help but laugh when she does. “Sure is, guns indeed.” As a force of habit, he follows her gaze as well as he can (without completely turning around in his chair). People’s gaze gave them away so often, whether they were the ones causing trouble or the ones afraid of it. They either looked at their target, or they looked at someone that made them nervous. Will, it would seem, was always looking for a good excuse to put his fists to work. “Not much, must say. I like the people watchin’ bit ---if I’m not doin’ it here, I’m doin’ it somewhere else.” Tonight, however, he would turn his gaze back to Charlotte and enjoy her company. This was something he’d have to continue to remind himself to do. “And what about you, Miss Charlotte?”

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malmurd :

@williamcohxn

There’s nothing worse than a reminder, particularly when said reminder is linked to the grimiest parts of oneself, desiring to be ignored. Malachi tries his very best to be a proud man; to leave the festering sections of his character to wail only in the lonely night, and to greet his circumstances with private guilt and mercy. The things he does he is not proud of, though where’s the use in showing that to anybody but his Priest? He chooses to hide all remorse behind an icy exterior, and for him, he at least believes, it works. He dons said icy exterior upon his frequent visits to a woman, whom unbeknown to her, has thawed more than she’ll ever get to see. 

Tonight, a man watches, and Mal’s hackles are on end. He returns the glances, expressionless, every now and then, but his albeit nonchalant attention is mostly granted to Carmen. He’s only come for whiskey tonight, nothing more, and yet still passes her payment when he goes to leave. He leaves with no urges quelled and nothing gained but a subtle reminder of his own sad existence, and it’s been instilled through nothing more than a look. 

“Don’t worry,” He says to the man on the door, his gaze now held steadily upon him as he flicks a cigarette up to balance between his lips. “I’m not arrogant enough to think she wants anything other than my money.”

      It was something that couldn’t be helped, the attention he gave Carmen whenever she was on stage. Will never stared, and in fact did his job quite well, as his eyes landed more often on the men caught in her web. Tonight, there was someone he had seen before, who set his teeth on edge for a reason he couldn’t place. He would be lying to himself if he said it was not, at least in part, simply because it was Carmen that the man’s attention laid on. Still, there was something else there, too. Something cold and quiet and unnerving, and it put him on edge much the same way Carmen’s snake did ---which he refused to call by name, mind you. 

      When the other got up to leave, Will’s eyes made the rounds of the room, but they fell back on the mysterious stranger. There was no point in pretending he didn’t have his attention; he was certain he knew. He fished a lighter out of his pocket, flicked it on, and held it out to the man out of common courtesy ---it was not a kind gesture, like it was when he did it for the woman in question, merely polite. 

      “She’s a complicated woman,” he shrugged. “I don’t know what she wants.”

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pythcnidae :

Humming in agreement, she brushed her hair back so it cascaded down her shoulders, holding it aside for a moment so the cool night air could reach. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to be taken by the calmness around her at last. Whilst it was not busy at work, it was always loud, and though she thrived in it, she did so enjoy the quiet too.

“You still deserve a raise.” She commented as she opened her eyes again to take in the humble man. For a man of his stature, he was not as intimidating as many saw. Sure, he could get physical were he needed to be, but outside of work he was probably one of the nicest men she knew. And one of very few men she trusted, even if she did not let on. Chuckling, she nodded. “You should have seen the trail of bodies I left before you joined us. The cemetery is only full because of me.” She joked, always a woman for the risque in most aspects of her life, especially in her words so poetic. Leaning forward she nudged him with her ankle. “So, when’s your next fight, huh?”

      Truth be told, Will did not believe himself to be so kind. If it weren’t for his ability to deal with trouble the way he did ---the way he was encouraged to do so, in fact-- in his line of work, his rage would be far more volatile. A desk job would never suit him, no matter how old he got, and he imagined he’d break his phone or knock the lights out of a colleague who gave him a funny look, if he didn’t have some other outlet. That’s where the fighting came in, too. He needed some way to release it all, and he wasn’t a man to gamble or dabble in opium, and he found there was little better than the feeling of a fist against someone else’s bone. 

      “Oh, I believe it.” He nodded his head at her in agreement, only half-joking. If not for her fiery personality, then he was sure she could have killed men with a single glance, or sent them to their deaths with a curt rejection of their advances. Perhaps this was why he kept his feelings to himself. To be turned down by her, he was certain, would be close enough to dying he did not think he could come back from it. He dragged on his cigarette, and rolled his shoulders back as if he was shaking off the thought. “Next Monday,” he answered. “You’ll be there?” His question hinted at something hopeful he often refused to let himself feel, but even when he knew she couldn’t make it, he found himself scanning the crowd for her.

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Send '✏️' for me to draw your muse

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orelsie :

Elsie watches, flabbergasted, as a shadow of a man materialises behind her pursuer and truly to her rescue. She looks at him with saucers sized eyes, and is on the verge of shooing him away because she’s got this ‘proper under control’ but then there’s a sickening crack and she yelps, blinking to focus the sight of the stranger swinging one at the pig of a man she’d been getting trouble from. She can’t quite believe it. It’s not as if she’s never had men throw fists at each other because of her before, because that had happened many times, but it’s because it was done voluntarily. In circumstances passed, Elsie has been the one manipulating the conflict, and so there’s the dual gratification of the flattery that comes with the attention, and the power trip from the control she gains. With this, it’s all honourable and noble and she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. So she stands and looks, her jaw ever so slightly agape, her silk black locks tumbling over rapidly reddening cheeks, waiting for him to speak.

When he does, her mouth falls open even more so. That accent. She’s awash with nostalgia and stutters when she goes to answer, for the state of disbelief in which she pairs a face that she has seen many times on nights out, with an accent so close to home, is so overpowering that the brash Elsie that Paris is growing used to is temporarily erased. “What part?” She says, out of context, and amiss of any kind of thank you. “London. What part?”

      It wasn’t missed by him that her eyes grew as big as the moon, and her cheeks flushed the colour of strawberries, but he made no comment on it. Will imagined it must have been jarring enough to be accosted, let alone in a public place where no one else had come to her aid ---she certainly didn’t need to have it pointed out how clear the reaction was on her face. To add to it all, there’s a stutter in her voice when she finally speaks, and her question, in turn, surprised him a little. 

      “Whitechapel,” he answered coolly. His left hand cradled the knucles of his right in its palm, and rubbed over them to ease the ache that rose between the joints. There was a time he remembered that felt not so long ago, when he could sack a man’s jaw or any other bony piece of him, and feel very little. His age was catching up to him, he knew, but Will wasn’t likely to stop until his fingers fell clean off, or he died. He simply couldn’t. After a moment, he shook the hand out again and let it drop to his side, though he continued to flex and stretch the fingers as he spoke. His face revealed none of his pain, but his concern for her was clear. “But are y’ alright, love?”

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ritasrussianroulette :

“More like someone shit in my whiskey,” Rita grumbles as she takes the cigarette gratefully, “But thanks for the smoke. Least I have that.” 

“Fucking bastard,” she curses Le Ciel’s bouncer, “won’t let me in to see-” she stops. This man seems friendly enough, but there was a good chance he wouldn’t be if he knew Rita was about to give roses to another woman. Her own mother once slapped Rita for saying she found one of her female French schoolmates beautiful. “Unnatural!” she had cried. So Rita, from then on, kept her romantic feelings to herself. 

“The roses,” she starts again, “they are for a friend. A close friend. But the fucker will not let me in.” If only I had my gun, Rita thought, and almost said aloud. But this nice man didn’t need to know of the violence inside the woman she was smoking with yet. 

Her cigarette lit, Rita takes a drag. She calms down a bit, but only a bit. 

      He resisted a chuckle at her response, but his mouth turned up a little at the corners anyway, and offered her a nod as a silent way of saying you’re welcome. Will’s brows would have furrowed, if they weren’t already squashed together, as he listened to the woman’s explanation. Her sour mood made perfect sense, really ---how strange, to be kept out of a place that thrived on admiration for its dancers. As much as he respected the other bouncer’s caution, a woman ---or a man, to be fair--- with a handful of flowers hardly seemed like someone to cause trouble. Nor like something out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was because she was a woman that she’d been turned away? There was no way of knowing, unless he spoke to the other security guard. 

      “Seems a bit much.” A pause. “Keepin’ you out, that is. Not the roses.” The roses actually seemed like a lovely gesture, despite the innumerable bouquets any one of the dancers at Le Ciel must have had spilled over the dressing room. There was something particularly touching about the fact that she only had three, and that they were unadorned with frilly bows or crinkly casings. It seemed a bit more sincere, to Will, but he was a simple man and had little clue what young ladies appreciated. 

      He let a few moments pass between them as they smoked, and then tacked on, as if it were only an afterthought, “Shall I have a word with the fuckin’ bastard, then?” He didn’t make a point to swear unnecessarily, but he was using her own words in reference to Le Ciel’s bouncer, and paired them with the ghost of a smile to ensure she knew the offer was well-meant.

[williamcohxn-blog]

the apple and its tree;

ALFRE WOODARD   as   DORIS COHEN (59) IDRIS ELBA   as   WILLIAM COHEN (42) ROSARIO DAWSON   as   MARGARET COHEN (36) LUPITA NYONG’O  as   HELEN COHEN (31) GUGU MBATHA-RAW   as   ADA COHEN (29) LETITIA WRIGHT   as   NORA COHEN (22)

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gattirose :

“What?” she hissed. “No!” she shrieked. The question, though meant well, bothered her greatly; if only for the fact that he even had to ask it at all. 

Figures he hadn’t caught sight of the guy. Why would she have ever expected him–or anyone– to do his job when it came to her!? Must have been another smoke break. Everyone was always taking smoke breaks when she needed help the most, weren’t they? Useless. Moronic! Absolutely and completely–

Luci paused and took a deep breath to quell the swirling anger within her mind, something a therapist advised her to do at some point, which was about the only useful thing that nimrod ever did despite the amount of money she’d thrown at him. 

This wasn’t William’s fault, she realized as her anger melted into a quiet distress that disconnected her shoulders from her neck, and unclenched her jaw. It never was. A few more breaths and she’d be back to the typical numbness that always set in at moments like this. 

“Just my pride. And my coin purse.” She spoke quietly. “Again.” 

      William waited patiently as she calmed down a bit, not in the mood to deal with the attitude that she’d initially thrown at him. He did his best ---this job was something he took little pride in, but still he’d do damn good work, but that work didn’t include being snapped at. Besides, there was no quitting now. He’d found a soft spot in him for the girls and women (and man) at Le Ciel et L’Enfer, and eager to lend an extra pair of eyes or a willing fist to anyone in need. Luci included, even with her... outbursts. 

      His arms had folded in the time it took her to give him a real answer, but after a moment, he dropped them again. Naturally, patrons loved to take their chances running out without paying ---he imagined it felt like some sort of victory for them, despite it being one of the vilest things Will could imagine. Still, Luci seemed to have drawn the short straw when it came to piggish clients. He’d have to have a word with Le Ciel’s own bouncer, if this kept up. 

      “How much?” Carefully, he refrained from adding on this time to the question, knowing that it wouldn’t do either of them any favours. 

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charlotte-leigh :

Her grin only widens as she sits across from him, and she leans forward to rest her cheek on her palm. She was grateful for his company, after half expecting him to turn her down in favor of remaining diligently at work. Even if he had, she couldn’t have blamed him – she remembered how the patrons could be when the dancers were on stage. The security at Moulin was lackluster compared to this place. 

“You can do more than watch me,” she raises an eyebrow, fingers tracing the rim of her glass, “you can even sit and chat with me.” Her laughter fills the space between them as she teases, happy to have someone to talk to. It was rare that she actually got the chance to sit and talk with anyone at L’Enfer on her visits, so this was a treat. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was handsome, either. 

“Busy night?” She nods towards the crowd as she brings her glass to her lips. “Anyone giving you any trouble? I could help. I’ll be the muscle.” 

      His expression was skeptical despite the smile, though that was at no fault of Charlotte’s. Will’s brow was nearly always furrowed, eyes narrowed, so much so that even when he did manage to relax his features a crease remained between his eyebrows and his crow’s feet were more pronounced than they were for most men of his age. The fact that his smile stayed put while she spoke was a testament not only to her charms, but to Will’s eagerness for a bit of friendly company. 

      “Lucky me,” he quipped without a trace of sarcasm. At the mention of trouble, though, his eyes darted very briefly to a figure at the bar who was a few too many drinks in, and could topple over and cause a scene at any moment. “Nah.” Not yet. Broad shoulders rose in a nonchalant shrug, and he suppressed a laugh with well-practiced composure. “You been trainin’, have you? Bet you’d give ‘em hell, if I asked.”

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pythcnidae :

Her smile widened at the thought of Will as a young man. She had heard the stories, of course - of the fighting, much more so than now. And then the war…well, he didn’t share too much about that and she did not exactly want to prod him about it. She had never been to London before but she imagined a place like on the postcards. “You should see me now, I am a mess - just very well kept together.” Toying with him with a giggle, she rolled her ankle around absent-mindedly as she leaned back, resting her arm behind her as support.

She hummed in response, lips pressed to one side. “Not exactly, my pockets could be fuller.” She shrugged as she continued smoking, turning to him. “Why have you stuck around so long, Will? With us here? I can’t imagine the pay is exactly high. You’re too patient.” She grinned at him leaning over to give him a little nudge.

      His London was nothing like the postcards; there were no cute boats sailing down the river, no pretty towers, no ornate buildings. Instead, there were back-alley surgeries, pickpockets galore, and Jack the Ripper. His family was rather well-to-do compared to many others, and HE was lucky that he’d managed to find his way out before murder or disease took him under. He was lucky now, too, to have a better life and to know the same for his sisters. It was hard to imagine Carmen a mess when he’d seen so many first hand, but she was right ---she hid whatever kind of mess she might endure rather well.

      “Higher than I had back then, I’ll tell you that.” There were plenty of other reasons he stuck around, but he only hinted at one of them. “’Sides, can’t leave you alone now, can I?” He quirked a brow down at her. “You’d have a man’s head on a spike ‘fore I’d be gone a week.”

[williamcohxn-blog]

what's your relationship with carmen moreno?

      Good God, that was the question of the (year? decade?) hour, wasn’t it? He’d love to give a proper answer, because that would mean he had a single fucking clue, himself. 

      “—We work together.”

[williamcohxn-blog]

What was your childhood like in your own words?

      “Who else’s words am I gonna use, aye?” He puffed on his cigarette a few times, and let his rebuff hang in the air for a long moment. It wasn’t a pretty picture to paint, nor one to remember. If only that would have been a sufficient answer. “Y’know, was a bit like life is now. Then again, not at all. Lots we didn’t have, yeah?” He took a deep breath, shrugged as if to shake off the sadness that was beginning to creep over him, then forced a smile that couldn’t quite reach his eyes. “Never lackin’ in love, though.”

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Which of your sisters is your favorite?? Which is the worst? It’s okay to answer they’ll never see this.

      Will thought for a moment, and a smile warmed his face. It was filled with longing and fueled by bittersweet memories. “Same answer, for both —the youngest, Nora.” She was twenty-two by now, and had told him in one of their letters that she was engaged, but he’d always remember her as the tyrant of a preteen that she’d been before he left for the war. She was an absolute demon then, but he had an incredible soft spot for her, and still did now that she’d grown into a woman. From the scathing wit that laced even her letters, he pitied the man who’d try to tell her what to do. 

      Then, as an afterthought, but no less true, “Love ‘em all to bits, though.”

[williamcohxn-blog]

What’s your favorite thing to eat?

      “Peppercorn steak,” he shot off without hesitation. It wasn’t something he got to eat often, but he remembered the taste well. It was the kind of thing that was good even when it wasn’t great, and spectacular when prepared by someone who knew what they were doing. “But I’ll always like a good bit of stew, yeah? Reminds me of home.”

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Do you have any regrets?

      Of course he had regrets. What kind of life would he have lived if he didn’t, at his age? But that didn’t mean he liked to think about them. “Yeah, sure.” His tone was dismissive, but his eyes were unmistakably pensive as he let his mind wander to the past. 

      The day he left for the war, when he left his mother alone with his sisters, and he never saw her again ---that was the worst of them. His girls had done everything they could have, got jobs in the factories and supported their mother as a united front, but he couldn’t shake the idea that maybe, just maybe if he’d stayed things could have been different. He knew a man who’d paid someone to break his leg just to avoid being sent away. It was fear that led to his decision, but for Will it would have been for his family, for something he loved. There were punishments for such things, if anyone ever found him out, but he would always regret not trying. He might have avoided some of the things he’d done in battle, too, that haunted him almost as relentlessly. It coudln’t have turned out any worse, at least.

      “Loads.”

[williamcohxn-blog]

You’re pretty too!!! How are you so pretty?

      This one caused a good, rumbling laugh to spread his smile wide and shake his chest. He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “Got it from my mum, yeah?”

[williamcohxn-blog]

i know you have osteoarthritis but u think you could still make use of those fingies

      “…” No comment. 

      He still hits things, he still does up his own buttons. Why stop there? It’s ONLY stage two, after all.