blndspots

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"i have more faith in you than you think," she replies lightly, truth hidden below a soft tone, her fingers still tangled in fur, "but let's not go crazy — toast was a low bar and you did clear it." her mouth tugs into a smirk but it softens a second later. "i'm just not used to being impressed and fed. dangerous combo." she shifts again on the couch, not restlessly but gently, like she's settling into something. her chin finds a resting spot against her arm draped over the back cushion, giving her a clear view of him in the kitchen. it's easier like this. easier to look without being looked at. his question still catches her off guard. the softness in the way he asks washes over her like gentle summer rain. her gaze falters, just for a second. then she winces. the flashes come unbidden — a burst of noise, a body crumpling, blood blooming where it shouldn't. simone's hand grabbing her arm. her own breath caught sharp and useless in her chest. it flickers through her expression before she can catch it. she shakes her head once, firm. not an answer. just a way to quiet the memory. "simone made sure we had good seats in the press section for the speech." it's all she says. no point for details she doesn't wish to recall. if she wonders about which row they were in exactly for too long, the images might come back and it doesn't feel like the moment to relive them. there's much nicer things to be looking at for the time being.  "i know," she says softly, when he tells her she's okay, gaze tracking him through the kitchen. it's unclear whether she believes it as a general statement but she knows she's okay for now. mostly thanks to him if you were to ask her, which is evident by the gratitude in the way she says it, a low hum of trust between the syllables. she watches him for another beat before she adds, "i just wanted you to know." it's a quiet thing, said more like a confession than a statement. like there's something she's offering him in that small admission. something she's not offering anyone else. a soft truth tucked between all the noise. something that seems to say because i trust you and because i want you to know all of me woven inbetween the lines. she lets the moment sit for a while, then quirks a brow. "now don't mess up the tacos. i already penciled you in as my personal chef." a beat, teasing smile resurfacing. "it's a really coveted spot."

There is a soft smile that remains on his lips and seems to never falter completely whenever she is around, "i'm not known for having a bad memory, ari" he teases back, the nickname rolling past his lips with ease just like it did so many times before in a distant past that they shared together only coming back now in a familiar way as if their friendship had known no pauses in between, "but, I think that's just a result of your career" the teasing tone remains, but in truth Conrad only thinks that is half of it, experience and knowledge gathered over the years to make the woman she is today, but he still remembers who she was before and how even back then he always sought her voice in the middle of all the noise that surrounded them.

He keeps on moving easily, the open plan of the kitchen and the living room makes it easier for them to continue their conversation, it carries his laughter through all the space. "Didn't known you had so little faith in me" he shakes his head, before casting his eyes down putting the batter on the fridge once it is done and moving to wash and cut up some of the needed ingredients, the recipe still fresh in his mind. Maybe, she had been to one who had forgotten. But, Conrad still remembers how he used to work every chance he got, just so he could bring enough food to the table instead of going around the neighborhood asking for some scraps, how even when they were able to have food, Conrad was the one who had to learn how to cook a decent meal otherwise both him and his little sisters would starve and there was nothing more that Conrad hated than to have to send them to bed on an empty stomach. He shakes his head, trying to leave all of those thoughts out of his head, it wouldn't do him well to keep dwelling on his sad past.

However, had that small movement not worked in order to make him forget about such things, the sudden change of theme could certainly get the job done. Just a few minutes ago they were joking around, his apartment filled only with sounds of him chopping some ingredients, a cat purring on her lap and Conrad scoffing in amusement at her words and suddenly Ariya was revealing something he had not been prepared to hear. He stops, completely, hands coming to rest at the counter as he looks straight up again, catching her figure sitting on the couch as he registers her words, the dots connecting carefully on his mind. Her text, the way she had reacted at the garage, the change in her behavior that had left him worried. It all made sense now and Conrad wished it didn't. He sees her looking back at him and for a moment he says nothing, hoping it's all just a little joke, even though he knows she would never joke about something like this, even when he knows her presence on that day made sense due to her job. He feels his heart beating on his throat, the thought of her being near to any kind of danger is enough to throw him off his balance and yet he waits until she finishes and listens and only then does he reply "how close were you to it?" it may sound like a dumb question, spoken in a soft tone even when his voice feels raw, but not as dumb as asking is she was okay - he knew the answer to that already - that was the kind of trauma that stuck with you, that made you lose your sleep, that made you paranoid. It was unnatural to see someone lose their life in such a violent way, Conrad knew that firsthand and he knew that wasn't just something he could fix for her. He wouldn't even try to, it was pointless - all he could do was help her navigate through it. "You're okay, now, Ari, I promise" he spoke the words that were so familiar to him, the same words he whispered to himself in the middle of the night when he woke up startled by another nightmare. He didn't want to bring back any more bad memories for her.

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simone's voice snaps ariya out of her stupor.  she blinks, forcing the world into focus just as her friend drops down beside her. her eyes immediately flick to the other woman's shoulder, the way she cradles it, the wince when she lets go. "you're hurt," she says, voice cracking under the strain of guilt and exertion, "fuck, i shouldn't have—" ariya doesn't finish the sentence. she doesn't quite seem to know how. i shouldn't have asked you to come? i shouldn't have left you alone? i shouldn't have followed that lead in the first place? all of it, probably.  even as she pushes herself upright with a hiss, brushing dirt off her clothes with a trembling hand, her focus stays glued to simone. "i'm sorry." her jaw tightens, frustration and guilt bleeding through every word. her lips part like she's going to continue but simone is already trying to deflect, flashlight shaking slightly in her hand as she makes a joke about dry cleaning. ariya huffs out something between a laugh and a breath of disbelief, too thin to be either. "you're impossible," she mutters, but the affection in her voice is genuine. grateful, even. the next time simone says her name it doesn't sound panicked. it lands somewhere between a nudge, a warning and a question all at the same time. ariya follows the beam of the flashlight to where it catches on something small and metallic in the dirt. she leans forward, wiping her hands on her hoodie despite grimacing at the burning sensation from her scraped palms, cautious not to contaminate any evidence with her own fresh blood. the chain comes up first, tarnished but unmistakable. and then the coin. her breath catches. for a second, everything else disappears. no flashlight, no injury, no night sounds rustling through the trees. she remembers that coin. not because it's special — just a plain piece of pocket change she found by the orphanage fence — but because she gave it to him like it meant everything. "it's lucky," she'd said, five years old and serious as a storm as she'd pressed it into her brother's palm the day he was adopted without her, "if you hang on to it, i'll find you again. i promise." when they reunited all those years later, it dangled from ravi's neck on a silver chain like he'd never let go of her. he'd worn it constantly, tucked under his shirts. always. now here it was, in the dirt, stained dark with what might be rust. or blood. ariya makes a sound — involuntary and quiet, like a gasp choked down halfway through. her hand comes up fast, pressing to her mouth momentarily as if she can stuff it back inside, fingers trembling around the recovered token. "…he never took this off," she murmurs finally — to simone, to herself, to no one at all. a beat passes before she blinks hard, sucking in a shaky breath. her eyes flick toward the path where the figure disappeared. this wasn't just another dead end. this was someone who'd been close enough to touch what ravi never let go of. and he'd gotten away. when she finally looks back at simone, behind the sheen of unshed tears threatening to spill, emotions seem to be burning — rage, heartbreak, purpose. "this beloned to my brother."

“One, two.. Three..” With a pained grunt, Simone lifts herself off of the ground, too concerned with the fact that her shoulder needs to be cradled to care about the dirt and dead plant bits stuck to her clothes. Her eyes squint at the newly disturbed bit of ground until she spies the likely cause of the abnormal pain: a good sized rock with a slightly rounded point. She’s tempted to reach down and take the rock with her, but one failed attempt at rolling the injured joint is all the discouragement she needs to abandon that idea. With a sigh, she jogs off in the general direction she saw her assailant and her friend go. 

She hears, but doesn’t see, the collision of bodies and subsequent thud of bodies hitting earth, and picks up her pace, calling out Ariya’s name with a panicked wobble. It’s another minute at least before she makes out the shadowed form of Ariya crumpled on the path. “Ariya!” Simone calls again, rushing and dropping to her side. “Are you okay?! Did they get away?” She fumbles with one hand to pull out her small flashlight, wincing as the action causes her to drop the support her shoulder still requires. 

The light illuminates the dark, first running over Ariya to make sure there’s no visible injuries. “I don’t see anything, though your dry cleaning bill might be a bitch later.” Her voice shakes with the last dregs of adrenaline. Holding the light close to her, she swings it first behind them, then in front, checking for movement more than anything else. Something shines though, in the dirt as the light passes over it. “Ari..” Her voice drops to a whisper as she nods toward the object, her eyes not leaving the shine.

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she doesn't move when his arms lock around her. doesn't pull away when his mouth finds the curve of her neck, even as her breath catches sharp and low. for a second, it almost works — the familiarity of him, the pull of something that once felt safe, or at least close enough to pass for it if only for a while. and yet, she's tired of reaching for something she can never quite hold. "a while," she admits when he asks for how long she's been thinking about this, voice soft and honest, "even though i really didn't want to." her hand grazes the hem of the blanket, fingers brushing it absently. "i kept telling myself we just needed a little more time. that maybe next week would be better. or the one after that." her throat tightens but she presses on. "but that space... it never got smaller. i was waiting for an opening i realized wasn't going to come." at the mention of her brother, her eyes flicker. she lets out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "he does say that," she hums, like she's turning the words over. like she wants to entertain the thought but finds herself unable to. "he also says just because something isn't broken doesn't mean it's right." a pause. "ravi believes people should be brave enough to ask for more. i guess some of that must've rubbed off." she doesn't say it unkindly, more so like she's holding her breath for an offer or an opening she knows won't come. still, there's no bitterness in her voice. just something soft, worn and gently fraying at the edge. when he pulls away and stands, the shift in temperature is immediate. physical. palpable. the chill runs through her like a thread pulled too tight. she watches his back for a moment — the stiff set of his shoulders, the cool tone he slips into like a second skin. she rises quietly, reaching for her pants and pulls them on with quiet, practiced movements. it feels strange to be getting dressed in silence like this — not the usual kind, not the soft, satisfied hush of worn-in routine, but something heavier. final. it makes her chest ache. she exhales through her nose at his next set of words. "i don't want the drink," she says after a beat, not looking at him, "not because i'm upset. just..." her voice trails off, then steadies again, quieter this time, "because i know what comes after the drink. another hour. another kiss. another night telling myself it's okay if this is all i ever get." her lips curve upwards, forming a smile that reads genuine, even if there's a heaviness to her gaze that betrays her. "i suppose maybe i'm just too demanding." it lands about as teasing as she means for it to. as teasing as she can manage. an attempt at lightening the mood as if it will make this any easier. "that sounds like me, doesn't it?"

'This isn't working... This. Us.'

He doesn't react as she reaches for him. As impassive to the palm that settles gingerly over his chest as he is to the eyes that implore him for understanding. The man seems to stare right through her as he runs her words over in his mind, as if she's relinquished already to being nothing more than a ghost in his bed.

It's only when Ariya's shoulders seem to sag and she turns away again that he reacts, arms snapping abruptly around her middle. He dips his head to find the curve where her neck meets her collarbone and sucks a kiss against the spot. It's a punishing thing; enough to leave a pink welt long after she's gone home. Teodósio weighs his options.

... Except she hasn't given him any, though he knows Ariya would argue otherwise. You can let me in, she'd tell him, in that tone of soft suggestion that seems to melt so many hearts around her with the stark exception of his own. He feels vaguely irritated by the prospect, even now. Mostly because he always plays his hand to keep ample choice in his cards, and he doesn't like this one. "How long have you been thinking about it?"

He doesn't know whether it's sick curiosity that compels him to ask, or whether he is merely doing it to buy time. It's true that that he'd seen it coming; that knowledge of it hadn't persuaded the slightest change in him. But it's also true that Teodósio doesn't actually want to lose her — even if there's a needling contradiction to that sentiment which he can't explain even to himself. Creature of habit, he thinks, if nothing more.

"What's that line your brother always says, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it'..." He'd always found it to be rather a trite saying, really, but right now it has its uses. Ariya wants into his heart, into something he isn't even sure exists. Not in that incorporeal way people like his girlfriend tend to imagine. "Why are you so convinced it's a better place to be than where you are now?" Here, real, tangible.

He releases her. A cool breeze from the window flutters in just then, slipping between them like a butter knife. Teodósio pulls to the edge of the bed and stands, expression turning impassive once more. "You didn't answer about that drink."

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ariya nods in agreement, despite the thought of laying low and waiting making her palms itch. sitting still, feeling unable to push for new developments in her pursuit of whatever justice she was seeking... the thought of inaction made something under her skin crawl. leon was right though, of course. pushing too far, too quickly, would end up sabotaging their plans and that would cost her far more than a few restless nights spent pacing around and fighting the urge to dig deeper. "i will," she therefore complies, giving a short nod, "and when the time is right i'll be ready to go back in. we'll be ready."

cautious. leon turned the word over in his mind, considering it. "that's going to end up slowing us down. if they're cautious, we don't want to make them suspicious of you." he knew what they did to people they were suspicious of, and watching them would have been the least of her worries. they couldn't manage even that and continue to make plans for the future of this nation. "if they are behind it, they could be watching for retaliation. but i think you're right... i think they're more worried about it than they're letting on." it could work to their advantage to have the families chasing their own shadows. it could also cost them their lives to try. "i think you should lay low for a while before we try it again... but we should try this again."

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"you're awfully smug for someone who looks like he lost a fight with a shipping crate," she mutters, eyes dragging briefly over the bruises on his knuckles, the sheen of sweat that hasn't quite dried. her tone is all disapproval but there's something sharper tucked just beneath it — curiosity, maybe. or concern she hasn't decided what to do with. she doesn't flinch when he circles back. just plants her feet, arms crossing as she turns slightly to face him, expression unreadable. "is that so? and do you know what happens to people who walk around here acting like they own the place?" she asks, head tilting ever so slightly, tone cool and even. "they get followed. or jumped. or worse." she observes the cigarette hanging from his lips and her next words land pointed, deliberate. "do you always bleed swagger when there's an audience or am i just lucky?" she turns like she might keep walking without sparing him another glance, like she's not going to give him the satisfaction of more attention. but then, quieter, more to herself, she finds herself huffing out a "it's a miracle you haven't gotten your face rearranged walking around like that." and her gaze finds him again for just a moment — not quite worried, not quite not.

Under the buzz of a flickering streetlamp, water slaps against concrete like slow applause. A sign of a good day's work -- his knuckles show it, too.

Somewhere close, a glass bottle shatters, sharp and sudden, followed by laughter that doesn't rise so much as hover. It's the kind of sound that makes you pick up your pace without meaning to. For Lucky, however, he walks home like he has all the time in the world.

That is, until -- a familiar face makes him reroute his steps. Little makes him hesitant, this deep into Row's End. He'll convince himself it's to prove a point, that it would be better than wondering if she made it home for the rest of the night.

She stops. He doesn't move.

It's the hardest hit he has taken all night -- like a slap he half expected but still resents. "Aw, well. Good to see you, too." Half a grin. The light above catches in the rings under his eyes and the sheen of sweat at his temple.

There's a curl to his lips like he's holding something back, instead his voice loosens into something dry. "Try walking with your head up. You've taken the scenic route after all." This had clearly been a mistake.

He sidesteps her, walks a few paces, then circles back with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a shift in energy. "Do you know what happens to people who don't pay attention around here?" Especially the face of the news. "So yeah, actually, I am just what you needed."

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everything about tonight had felt slightly different, tinged in a coat of something almost nostalgic, the kind of heaviness that only came if you already knew the ending. the seed of doubt had started small, something she'd been able to swallow down again and again, until it had grown too large to ignore. it had settled heavy in her chest and clawed its way up her throat until she could no longer hold back the words that had threatened to spill out of her for a while. her fingers reach for her discarded shirt, tugging it over her head, her hair slipping through the neckline just as she hears herself say it. "this isn't working." it registers as though the statement is spoken by someone else. her mind is still processing the fact that she's doing this right now. but it's unmistakably her voice, even if it sounds distant as she finally finds herself glancing at teo over her shoulder. "this. us." ariya shifts on the bed, the mattress giving way beneath her weight as she turns to face him fully. there's a storm gathering behind her eyes but her gaze is steady, fixed, unable to tear itself away now that she's looking at him. "i may be in here," she explains, vaguely gesturing at the bedding, "but i'm not where it matters." her hand instinctively reaches out, touch still gentle and familiar as it comes to rest against his chest, just over his heart. it beats steady beneath her fingers. too steady. her mouth twists into the semblance of a smile but it doesn't reach her eyes. it never quite does anymore. "i'm not in here." a pause. the way she looks at him seems to ask the question her mouth refuses to form: could i ever be? but she doesn't ask. maybe because she already knows. maybe because she can't bear to hear him confirm it. instead, she finds herself adding, voice even and quiet, "at least not all the way." and it isn't a question.

LOCATION — Teodósio's flat, Rowekamp University. DATE — circa 8 years ago. STARTER — Closed for @blndspots

Ariya's changed.

He's sensed it for a while, like most things when it comes to people, it hasn't happened overnight. Lately, no more surprises (he's always hated surprises anyway), less of that unbidden affection with which she used to accost him, less of the nagging, wheedling attempts to get to know what he's thinking, fewer notifications to clear from his phone, fewer date requests... And most notably, perhaps — the fact it's been a while since he's seen that terribly transparent twinkle in her eyes.

In a way, she's lasted longer than he'd assumed she would. They've been seeing each other for – six? seven? – months now (she'd know), and he's found a kind of stubborn determination beneath that dimpling smile that he hadn't given her credit for at first... Not until the weeks wore on and Ariya was still there, still hoping, still talking about a 'we' when he'd only ever thought of himself as an 'I'. An island belonging to no one.

One thing is still working for them, though. He still knows how to coax every sound he wants from her lips, and that crinkle in her brow that knits itself together at the behest of his fingers. Why trouble the waters?...

So when she moves to sit up, he lets her. Lets his wandering, noncommittal touch drop from between her shoulder blades without any protest or attempt to keep her.

"Want a drink?"

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"they acted like my persistence was cause for alarm." she pauses for a moment, running back the situation in her mind, trying to file through the details and micro-expressions in the building's staff she'd filed away. "they were surprised i showed up but didn't treat me like i'd expect them to treat a random clarion reporter." she seems content with that explanation, gaze moving back towards her partner in crime. "they were acting cautious. i don't think they were waiting for me specifically but they're certainly waiting for something, so your guess about the assassin seems like a pretty solid call. i guess the premier's passing has them on high alert." she chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before she sighs. "i suppose that means they're not behind it. or at least not looking to take the fall."

he flipped the idea over in his mind a few times, but it was difficult to make real sense of a situation you weren't in. "you think they were expecting you?" the thought has leon's lips drawn into a thin line... it's also not particularly unbelievable. it only made sense that they were constantly on guard for people that might want to bring them down—it's the only way to hold up a system that was getting ready to burst. "maybe they're looking out for another assassin," he said, frowning. "that's going to delay us."

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"bold of you to assume i wouldn't absolutely crush bedtime story delivery," she murmurs, fingers still drifting lazily through flea’s fur, "they'd be asleep in ten. i've got a very soothing narrator voice, in case you forgot." she's watching the way he moves around his kitchen like it's muscle memory. familiar. comfortable. and there's something about the ease of it, the domesticity, that settles into her chest a little too easily. when he calls out the idea of fish tacos, her brow lifts. "wow," she says, loud enough for her voice to carry, "look at you. ambitious." her voice is teasing as she speaks. "not a single piece of toast in sight. consider me impressed." she's still smiling when he answers her question — her real one, buried under layers of teasing. it surprises her a little but only because she's been conditioned to think anyone who looks and acts the way he does has probably broken a few hearts without meaning to. or maybe it's because she remembers the boy he used to be and it does something strange to her to realize the pieces of him that are still present. "guess that makes me special then," she says, light on the surface, despite the layer of warmth beneath it. she lets it hang for a second, a grin curving the corners of her mouth. "if the tacos are actually good, i might just hire you as a personal chef instead. hope your rates are reasonable." she shifts on the couch — carefully, so as not to disturb the purring cat curled up in her lap — just enough to get a better view of him. there's something oddly soothing about the way he moves. like he's not trying to fill the silence or fix anything. just letting her take up space in his apartment the same way he used to let her take up space beside him years ago. a memory edges in. the details are a little fuzzy but she recalls being old enough to be embarrassed by crying, yet not old enough to stop herself when it started. something had gone wrong at school. a group project turned disaster. she'd been the one blamed when it all fell apart. her parents weren't exactly receptive to excuses. he hadn't said anything when he found her curled up on the curb with her face hidden in her arms behind the grocery store he helped out at. just sat down beside her and held out a box of gummy candies she recognized from the store shelves inside. she hadn't meant to take them. but she had. one by one, sniffling as she chewed. eventually, the story came out in pieces and he just… listened. no pressure. no demands. just there. waiting for her to share on her own time, letting her shoulder press against his side. now, watching him move around the kitchen, she feels that same strange safety wrap around her. a thread that somehow withstood the strain of time, even after all these years. her voice is quieter when she finally speaks again. a little rough around the edges. "i was at the premier's speech that day," she murmurs, so quiet, someone else may have missed the words. not conrad, though. he'd always been tuned in to what she had to say. her gaze lingers on him. "after we ran into each other."

The softness in his smile remains even while he replies, "well, he has to take after someone and since I got him when he was only a kitten, I guess that could happen" no matter how much he tried to deny himself, the truth is that he had always cared about the cats in his apartment as soon as they started showing up. In fact, just now, maybe thanks to Ariya or maybe just looking at the orange cat sitting far from them, Conrad was already planning on speaking to his neighbor in the morning, at last he would accept his offer and keep Marigold for good.

And yet, her voice snaps him back away from his thoughts once more, eyes glancing at her smile before laughter bubbles up in his throat, "yeah, definitely" in fact, the woman sitting just in front of him had saved him from many things without even knowing just how much "I'll read them bedtime stories if you tuck them in and wish them goodnight" the teasing tone remains as he utters those words.

His fingers still remain on top of the small cat on her lap, absently petting his companion while the conversations goes on "don't try to fish compliments out of me, you know exactly why you deserve it" his tone is light and true, no need for further explanations when he is sure she knows just how much he still cares for her even after all the years have passed.

"You have so little faith on me" he replies getting up, legs carrying him to the open kitchen just a few steps away from the living room, which means that he can carry out his task while still being in contact with Ariya and the rest of their guests. The sound of cabinets opening fills the space for a while before he goes "what about some fish tacos, sounds good?" it was his mother's favorite and something Conrad used to make often, so he had years to perfect the recipe - he always got the fish the freshest every morning from the market, just as soon as it arrived and he had learned how to make his own crunchy taco batter - besides it was something easy and quick to cook, especially when he had nothing else prepared.

He opens the fridge and the next questions hits him, but he thinks nothing of it, doesn't read in between the lines only because the way in which it is done just feels like two friends catching up after long years apart. They knew nothing about each other's previous relationships. "If you don't count my mother and my two sisters, then it's close to none" he shrugs not really embarrassed about admitting any of that, he knows she would never judge him and yet he gives her a little snort "I had a girlfriend when I started university -" the university that never got him a degree because he had to drop-out "I used to cook for her sometimes but that's definitely not my signature move, but -" he stops for a second getting distracted with whatever else he is doing in the kitchen "if it tastes good enough that you think it might work, please let me know, I can't be a single dad forever"

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she doesn't move at first. her mind goes blank for a split second, registering the sound of simone's body hitting the ground, turning her head in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what's happening in the dark though for a second it feels like she's stuck in slow motion. a noise catches in her throat, equal parts panic and rage — but before she can say anything, simone's yelling snaps her into motion. she hesitates for half a breath, just long enough to feel the guilt carve something sharp beneath her ribs. she should've seen it coming. should have never let simone be the one in the dark. her feet are moving before the thought finishes. ariya chases after the figure, heart slamming, feet pounding the pavement in rhythm with the chaos in her chest. they're fast, too fast for her to catch up, but she sees the path they're taking, the curve in the trail up ahead. instinct kicks in. she veers left and takes the side route through the trees — the one etched into her bones from every run through the park she's taken trying to outrun her own thoughts. her lungs are burning as branches snag at her hoodie. no lights. just muscle memory, speed and the desperate need to get ahead of them. she bursts out the brush just as the hooded figure hits the bend — and crashes straight into them. the impact knocks them both sideways. ariya grabs at whatever she can — a sleeve, a jacket, anything — but the figure twists, shoves her off with enough force to send her skidding across the path. her palms drag through grit and her shoulder slams into the edge of the concrete. she gasps, air punching out of her lungs. by the time she forces herself upright, they're already gone. swallowed by the dark. ariya stays where she is for a second, shoulders rising and falling, breath ragged. her palm stings, warm blood sticky against the torn skin, but she barely registers the pain. "fuck," she mutters, the word low and raw. her eyes sting, not from tears of pain but pure, seething frustration. she had them. she had them. "fuck," she says again, louder this time, anger vibrating in her voice and seeping into her bones, the emotion burning bright enough for her to barely register something glinting near the edge of the path where the struggle happened.

Her own breath is caught, held hostage in her lungs as she watches Ariya step into the cone of street light. Watches as Ariya's stiff, tentative steps come to a stop and she circles around until Simone can see her eyes again. There's resolve there, that's good. A wild sort of readiness that she's only seen in people in a handful of situations-- none of which she'd seen happen to her friend.

Both women seem to be at a disadvantage here, waiting in the dark, one eye scanning the shadows while the other keeps tabs on the body in the light. But Simone can't fathom why they're here, what would bring Ariya to accept the demands listed on the notecard. It was reckless at best, downright dangerous at worst. And for the life of her, she can't think of any ongoing story or investigation that she knows of that would warrant this level of secrecy or danger. Unless..

Does it have something to do with the assassination or the presumed kidnapping? The thought helps release the breath she's been holding, a small puff of white floating from her lips. But if it did, why wouldn't she tell her? Why keep that a secret? Their field is competitive and full of egos but surely Ariya didn't think Simone would--

In a split second her world flashes, as something bulldozes into her left side at full force. She groans as she's knocked down, blinking back the sudden pain to both shoulders and her head. There's hot breath at her neck, and something-- hands, she realizes-- pinning her to the ground.

Before she can try to pull herself together enough to fight back, there's an angry rumble in her ear. No words, no message. Just uncontained anger. And the pressure is gone, and she's only vaguely aware of the rapid footsteps of someone running away.

With another groan, Simone rolls over and wills air back into her lungs "They're getting away!" She yells, awkwardly pulling herself up without using her shoulders. "Go!"

[blndspots]

"hm," she hums, like she's chewing on something — maybe his words, maybe her own. "you say that like you didn't just insult flea and flatter me in the same breath." her gaze flicks toward him with mock suspicion but it softens almost instantly. "dangerous combination. maybe he takes after you." she should call him out for the line about miss marigold sounding like someone he knows. she should and maybe if her pulse hadn't just done something ridiculous in her throat when he said it, she would. but instead, she lets it hang there — quiet and unspoken but acknowledged in the faint curve of her smile. the silence stretches a second too long before she tilts her head, all mock offense. "so you're admitting to having been saved from being a deadbeat, then? couldn't even keep your kids properly named — good thing you've got help now." her grin stretches just a little as she watches him accept the name scout like it's gospel. "see? you're a natural at this," she says, brushing her fingers through flea's fur again like she's known him forever. "they're gonna start expecting bedtime stories next." when he rises and crouches in front of her, her gaze tracks him all the way. it lands on his hand as he reaches for the cat, then drifts back to his face, her brows lifting when he says the words my dearest, dearest friend. "two 'dearests'? what did i do to earn that honor?" she teases, but there's no bite to it — just warmth. a quiet kind of gratitude folded neatly between the lines. his offer gives her pause. her head tilts just slightly, eyes searching his like she's weighing the intent behind it. and though she doesn't say anything about it, something flickers in her expression — quiet, touched, almost fond. not because he's offered to cook but because it feels like something more than that. a gesture. a kindness. an excuse to let her stay a little longer. "okay," she says simply, softly, before her lips curl into a grin, sly this time. "but if this turns into a conrad’s famous toast situation, i'm taking the cats and leaving." she lets the joke settle, flicks an absent look down at flea, then back up at him. her voice drops a note, settling on teasing but with just enough weight behind it to land. "be honest, though — how many girls have gotten the home-cooked meal treatment?" a beat. her smile remains playful, though something a little sharper seems to sparkle in her gaze. "should i be flattered? or worried about witnessing your signature move firsthand?"

A quiet rumble of laughter gets pushed so forcibly down his chest that all that is left is a lopsided grin on his lips. His efforts were not all in vain, he still managed to succeed in hiding his laughter, but failed at hiding his amusement when confronted with the monotonous tone of her voice and the sharp look on her eyes as if she disapproved of every single one of his choices.

The next words bouncing around in his mind get swallowed too and forgotten before he can embarrass himself and still he manages to reply "i'm actually not surprised at all" however what he doesn't say is that he thinks that it's actually impossible for anyone not to get attached to her, even with these years in between when they had last seen each other an now, he still finds it extremely difficult to drift away from her almost as if he is still looking for his bestfriend every morning when he arrives to school.

The huff that that follows is a contrast to her now soft smile, proof that the latest thought has already been discarded, "forgiving? that's a mean little fur ball you have there on your lap, but he already has you all wrapped around his paw" and yet, the truth is that even with every word, there is no way he feels anything but love for all those cats, "flea it is, i like it"

His gaze doesn't shift, however, even when she tilts her head to look at the cat farthest from them, this time the words leave his lips before he can give them a second thought "sounds like someone i know" sweet and pretty beyond anyone else he has ever met, but with an edge, an unstoppable force that he has always admired, the color rushing back to his face when he realizes what he just said, before quickly attempting at following another subject before she can think too much about what had just been said. "that's an awful compliment, ari, what kind of man am I, if I can't keep my family all together?" he speaks, not really all serious but also not really joking around, he knew what the kind of family he had wished for growing up and he knew the kind of man it took to make it work. "you would never, we are working things out first" he teases, a small smile coming back to his face before he gives her a serious look "and you're not bringing me back another stray" even though, he knows that if she did, his couch would have a small spot ready for another one.

This time he can't hold back the laughter, "okay, that's scout" it seems odd and honestly a bit funny to him, but he doesn't even question the reasoning behind it, whatever she offers him as a fundament seems good enough for him.

After that he gets up and walks slowly the few steps it takes to get to her before crouching down, touching little flea just on the side of his cheek before going "thank you, my dearest dearest friend, what do you think about me cooking something for the both of us instead of going out as a thank you? I promise I'm a good cook with years of expertise and that you won't regret it" in fact, he just wanted to keep her like this for a little longer, comfortable and at ease, in an environment Conrad was sure wouldn't spook her like the garage, if he could give her a few more minutes to collect herself that is what he was going to do.

[blndspots]

Mirrors

What is your muse’s least favorite thing about their appearance? Their favorite?

ariya's least favorite thing about her appearance is her eyes. not for the way they look but for what they give away. she can train her voice into neutrality, arrange her face into careful poise, but her eyes — her goddamn eyes — tend to betray her. they flash when she's angry, crinkle too easily when something makes her laugh and glaze over when grief creeps in. they give her away in moments she can least afford to be seen. in a world where image is everything, where survival sometimes hinges on what you don't show, her eyes are the one thing she's never fully managed to leash. her favorite thing, though, is her smile — but only when it's real. it's rare now, rarer than she would like to admit, but when it happens, it's unmistakable. it's not the polite, practiced thing she wears for cameras or careful conversations. it's something softer, wider, untamed. the kind of smile that scrunches her nose a little, that brings out the faintest dimple in her left cheek. when it surfaces, it reminds her that no matter how many walls she builds, no matter how heavy the world gets, there's still something inside of her that can light up without fear or grief seeping in — even if only for a moment.

[blndspots]

Death: What does your muse consider the worst way to die?

in ariya's mind, the worst way to die is quietly. forgotten. without anyone knowing who you really were, what you stood for or what you were fighting against. in silence. with your name erased. your story twisted or buried or rewritten by the very people who wanted you gone. she thinks about her brother sometimes when she has these thoughts. about how easily a person can disappear. about how grief, when unacknowledged, starts to feel like a second death. it's not the pain she fears. not the final breath or the blood or the how. it's the idea of vanishing without meaning. of dying with the truth still locked inside you, eternally unspoken. that's why she fights. why she speaks. why she digs. why she keeps going even when it's reckless. because if she goes down, whenever her time may be, she's damn well making sure the world remembers why.

[blndspots]

Tick-Tock: Does your muse ever feel that they’re not living up to their own potential?

Falling: What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?

Mindfulness: How does your muse practice self care? (honestly answer all three or just choose one if you prefer i just thought these were so interesting for ari and i'm curious)

putting this under a read more because it got long... like you know i love to yap...

Tick-Tock: Does your muse ever feel that they’re not living up to their own potential?

ariya feels like she's in a constant race against her own potential. she's always known she was smart — resourceful, determined, capable of pulling threads others didn't even know were loose — but that knowledge is a double-edged sword. it keeps her going but it also haunts her. there's this quiet, gnawing fear in the back of her mind that if she doesn't get justice, if she doesn't uncover the truth, if she doesn't do something meaningful with what she knows — then all of that potential is wasted. that it'll rot inside her. that she'll become just another byline in someone else's story. so, yes. she feels it all the time. when she hesitates. when she plays it safe. when she wonders if she's doing enough or if she's just good at looking like she is. and the worst part? she's never quite sure which it is.

Falling: What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?

for ariya? falling in love is terrifying. not because she doesn't want it — in fact, that's the problem. she wants it too much. it's the kind of want that feels dangerous when your life is built on secrets and ghosts and things you can't explain. real commitment means vulnerability. it means letting someone see her — not the composed journalist or the relentless seeker-of-truth but the girl who never stopped looking for her brother, who still wakes up some nights thinking she hears his voice, who refuses to stop seeking justice (or vengeance, depending on which way you want to look at it). it means risking someone walking away once they realize she's a little more wreckage than rescue. which is precisely why she approaches love like someone walking a tightrope: carefully, deliberately, always with a sense that one wrong move could make it all collapse. and yet… she still reaches for it, willing to hold on if she believes to have found it. because deep down, she wants to believe there's someone who will stay anyway, even after she unravels and let's them see all of her.

Mindfulness: How does your muse practice self care?

self-care has always been more of a survival tactic than a luxury for her. she doesn't practice it in the traditional, aesthetic ways — no spa days, no meditation apps. in fact, she hates meditating, despite the fact that her mother firmly believes it would be good for her. sitting with her own thoughts, mind spiraling on overdrive, drives her crazy. her version of self-care is often disguised as routine: brewing her own coffee in the mornings exactly how she likes it. curling up with a book she's already read twice just to feel the rhythm of familiar words. rewatching old newsreels and documentaries to remind herself why she does what she does. when she's especially frayed, she goes for a run — no destination, just motion — or plays music and audio books loud enough to drown out her own thoughts. and on rare, rare occasions, when she feels safe enough to let the weight of everything slide off her shoulders for a while, self-care is letting someone take care of her for once. that part still feels new. still feels like learning a new language.

[blndspots]

⋆ ⁺ ₊ ౨ৎ LET'S PLAY.

Send Ariya, Minho and Tatiana any questions your heart desires.

Spiders: Does your muse squish bugs or put them outside?

Snakes: Would your muse ever keep an unusual/exotic pet?

Blood: What’s the worst injury your muse has ever had?

Laugh Track: What is your muse's favorite genre for entertainment?

Mirrors: What is your muse’s least favorite thing about their appearance? Their favorite?

Tight Space: Does your muse have any phobias?

Tick-Tock: Does your muse ever feel that they’re not living up to their own potential?

Crowds: Where is your muse's home away from home?

Death: What does your muse consider the worst way to die?

Needles: Does your muse have a strong stomach?

Ghosts: Has your muse ever seen something they couldn’t explain? Do they believe in the paranormal?

Curses: Does your muse believe in good/bad luck? How about karma?

Deserted Islands: Name 3 things your muse couldn’t live without.

Unrequited: Has your muse ever had a one-sided love?

Falling: What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?

Number 13: Does your muse believe any superstitions?

Wannabe: When your muse was a child, what did they want to be when they grew up? If they aren't, what stopped them? If they are, how do they like it now?

Change: What was a turning point in your muse’s life?

Mindfulness: How does your muse practice self care?

Lucid: Describe the last dream your muse had. What about the last nightmare?

Enrichment: Does your muse have a hobby? Do they want a new one?

Elephant Graveyard: Is there a district or a place that your muse actively avoids? If so, why?

Gears: What's something that makes your muse explosively angry?

[blndspots]

"stiffened," she says after a pause, like she's running back the memory frame by frame. "not in a startled way. not like i surprised him. it was more… trained? like someone standing at attention." her arms cross, more thoughtful than defensive. "he didn't follow us into the meeting room or anything but the shift when they called him down... it was noteable." her brow furrows slightly. "he watched me go into that meeting room and watched me come out. didn't even try to hide it." she glances over at leon, expression unreadable. "it felt like, at the very least, he knew that i wasn't just there for banking the second they called for katashi."

she was right, whether or not anyone wanted to hear it. he had been prepared since the beginning to do what was necessary, but many others had grown complacent. it was easy to grow complacent. like a fungus, it thrived where it was needed least. "tell me more about this security guy. you think maybe he was a plant?" to what end, who knew? but it didn't bode well that someone had been paying attention to her entrance and her exit. the last thing he wanted was to wake up to another... well, it was best to leave that thought in the box. "what was his reaction to—" old habits died hard, he hesitated; "—him?"

[blndspots]

"fleabag," she repeats, flat and unimpressed, like she's been handed the tragic backstory of a villain in the making. her fingers don't stop moving, still brushing gently through the fur of the cat in her lap who's been purring like he owns the place. "incredible. and you're surprised he's attached to me now?" she doesn't look up right away, gaze lingering on the not-so-fleabag in question. a smile pulling at her mouth, enough to soften the line of her jaw. "you're lucky he's forgiving. not everyone would be, after that kind of slander. we're retiring that name, effective immediately." a beat. "he's small. dramatic. endearing. flea is better. it's cute. it suits him. pays homage to the origin story." her head tilts slightly toward miss marigold, her tone shifting just enough to let something warmer in. "she suits it," ariya says, softer now. "pretty but with that kind of face that says she'll cut you if you pet her wrong." then she finally lifts her eyes to conrad, chin angled as she regards him with a look that teeters between playful and pointed. "single dad energy's not a bad look on you, for the record." a pause, deliberate, something cheeky sparkling in her eyes that seems to insinuate there's unsaid meaning slumbering behind the statement. "but if you ever nickname another stray 'feabag,' i'm filing for custody." her gaze moves to the third cat, perched at the edge of the couch, observant as ever. "that one's scout," she decides, with a small nod and the faintest grin. a shrug follows, casual, like the name hadn't been chosen because the cat had followed her around earlier as she scouted out his place, like a quiet, judgmental second conscience. "it just feels right." she sinks a little deeper into the couch, posture unwinding in that quiet way that says she isn't in a rush. like she's forgotten they were supposed to leave. like this isn't the first time she's been here — at least it doesn't feel like it. not with him. there's something a little smug about the smile she flashes but it's softened by the warmth in her eyes when they settle on him again. "see? crisis averted. all your kids have names now. that's responsible parenting," she says, voice light, almost sweet, as she narrows her eyes at him in mock-judgment, "you're welcome."

The slightly humid towel sits above his shoulders just as he moves around the place, a small lingering smile brightening up his features as a result of the scene in front of him. Conrad did not get many visitors, any least not human ones and he figures that is exactly why these three cats, specifically, decided to stay around for as long as they had, it was peaceful - or at least he liked to think so - whenever he was working, they had all the place to themselves and even with him there, he knew they must think it was mostly their home instead of his and maybe they weren't entirely wrong.

He hadn't even thought how they would react if he brought someone home, even in the ride to his place the thought had not yet crossed his mind, not one bit concerned about what might happen and solely focused on the person beside him and maybe that is what the cats had picked up on too - his worry and ariya's state - so they had decided to behave, even going as far as sitting on her lap looking for pets.

He could hear the soft purrs even at a distance, as he sat down comfortably in one of the chairs in the living room, the laughter that echoed past his lips doing nothing to startle them "my kids? you're making me sound like a single dad here" the tone of his voice is more amused than anything, but underneath it peaks through a little bit of relief, the easiness in how she speaks is not lost on him, the teasing is back which means that she must be feeling a little bit better already, "you're really not going to let me get away with this are you?" he doesn't even know why he asks, knowing already just how convincing ariya can be and, above all, knowing that even if she wasn't, he would never be able to say no to her.

"That one actually has a name already, that's miss marigold" he says pointing at the orange one nearest to the window, her eyes looking back at them "and she actually has an owner, even though he already tried to offer her to me multiple times" the thought of it actually made Conrad more upset than anything else. Apparently the cat had been his daughter's cat and when she moved out, she decided to leave her behind and even if she was not necessarily neglected, it was obvious the man only took care of her out of obligation, "but I'm open for suggestions, I've been calling that one in your lap fleabag for months even though he is clean now" he shrugs before stopping again only to say it in the next breath "and don't call me a bad parent again, that nickname was a mere fact!"

[blndspots]

"maybe," she says, quieter now, the weight of his words lingering between them, "but pipe dream or not, it's the only one we've got." her arms cross, not defensively but to hold something steady in herself, like it helps her think straighter when everything else is uncertain. a sigh fights itself past her lips at his question. "no, nobody important in the room. just bank staff." she pauses then, like she's mulling something over. "although one of the security guys was watching me like he already knew what i was there for once they called katashi down." she glances sidelong at leon. "not just guard dog energy. like he knew something outside his job description." ariya shrugs. "could be nothing but that's the most i can say about anyone there."

"...i have no idea," he admitted, a breath of laughter escaping him. "it's probably a pipe dream." he didn't think he'd ever be in the same room as someone powerful enough to matter again. just because he had been reclaimed by his job didn't mean they were foolish enough to make the same mistakes twice. they had to count on something more concrete than simple incompetence. "if he found out before we got anything, they could end up using it against us. setting a trap." he fell silent, but they both knew the reality—they would be killed. anything to keep the status quo. "let's try to keep executions out of it for now. did you get a sense for anyone around him?"