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[evamovska]

EVA MOVSKA / ( Madden-Kumar wedding )

Attendence was expected, especially for a Movska. A joyous ocassion, the eldest daughter of the Movska clan, might even be caught genuinly enjoying herself at. Accompanied by her family ( @zedechemist ) and @archer-brooks.

[evamovska]

rob a bank with, hide a body with, rat out to the cops - zed, easton, archer

"If I was to ever be involved in any criminal activity, I'd never drag my cousin down with me. I would trust him to hide a body, however." Archer would never get that kind of trust back, "And Mr. Madden — would look good in orange, perhaps." @zedechemist @easton-m @archer-brooks

[evamovska]

Her eyes widened at the impact. Was he not well paid enough to be able to afford a decent coffee machine? He still carried the Movska name like a badge of honor, surely enough benefits came with that, among other things like questionable morals and lack of any principals.

Eva was one phone text away from having that old thing replaced with a shiny new one. At least this way, she wouldn't have to endure the taste of plain, brown water.

"Would that be poisonous?" a brow arched at the coffee now dripping into her cup.

He is fine, кузен.

Words that failed to reassure her, much like any other words that left her cousin's mouth. He might have been older, perhaps even wiser on a good day, but unreliable when it came to predicting a good outcome out of a terrible situation. He simply did not think that far into the future, nor did he posess any psychic abilities — at least none that she was aware of.

So, another look shot. A stone cold expression that surely got the point across.

The door swung open and a blonde head of hair peaked from the corner.

"Дядя Зед, я вернулся! Я покупал столько еды — " he paused, when blue eyes met his mother. It was safe to say, Zed wouldn't see a dime in return, from the sight of the three heavy bags the kid was carrying. Chinese for the whole apartment building.

Sasha joined his uncle's side.

"Пожалуйста, мама — " eyes big and blue and pleading, " — Can I stay here for the night?"

Zed hasn't determined if Eva intends for that to be a dry jab, or some twisted kind of compliment. Because he doesn't know what his sister is doing on a good day, and he fails to even consider her existence on a bad day.

An ocean's a perfectly fine line to keep. Eva can have all the conversations she likes with Vanya, and Zed will continue to shrug off the updates. It's enough to know that she's alive.

When he sees her opt for caffeine. His fist hits the side of the coffee machine with a thunk. It's broken, and it requires a certain touch to begin spewing coffee into a cup.

"It's right outside the window." If she took a peek, maybe she'll catch him ordering kung pao, and attempting mandarin. "He is fine, кузен."

Both their eyes then wander to the door opening.

[evamovska]

A mean right hook — because nobody suspected women like her knew how to fight back. Would she even be where she was — among the vulturs, without a bit of an ugly fight? Dirty, nasty —

Silence pulled them in. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer. "I should be getting home." a single rational throught ripped through the haze. Eva hopped off the desk, bare feet light on the floor. The world spun for a moment, and her hand reeached for Archer — grounding.

Vulnerablity was a rarity she couldn't afford — not even now. Especially now, when her mind was foggy and wrapped up in comfortable memories, of the warmth of a laughter she'd been missing, a sound she couldnt trust.

Not even her own.

But they did laugh, for as long as the glasses kept coming. As long as they kept them full, the bottle close by for a refil that would come quicker than the sense of reality.

Game over. For now.

"I cannot be seen drunk with you. What would our dear journalists say?"

Nothing the two of them couldn't poof out of existence. Yet neither of them needed the extra salt in the wound.

Archer had been called worse things than greedy. And he could be. Had been very greedy when he was younger. Trying to fill holes inside himself. Not caring what he did it with. So long as the emptiness wasn't so noticable. Contact paper over wrecked walls.

But the sound of their glasses touching rang through the office. Church bells after hearing the town isn't going to get sacked and burned. At least for today.

It had been a dreadful place that someone like him had no business being in. But that had been the whole point. To be somewhere he didn't have to be himself. He had been flippant and immature but charming enough (and rich enough) that those things got turned into charming and fun. Eva had been stronger than him. Maybe they had been built out of similar things but her construction had been sturdier. Or at least had appeared like it. She'd steadied them and he'd made sure they lived life.

"I'm lucky I didn't get a lot of things." Archer agreed his own mouth quirking up into a grin. His own green eyes travelled down to her right hand as well. Remembering the meaty sound of a fist on a face. "I'm sure my robust immune system didn't hurt."

He hate for them to argue right now too. So when her eyes found his he added, "But it's got nothing on that mean right hook of yours."

Like tiny green blades of grass after a forest fire. It made perfect sense to Archer suddenly why green had always been associated with hope.

His own glass was empty, but he held it in his hands, watching her reach for her also empty glass. He glanced at the bottle they had put a more than hefty dent in. "Refill? Or should we think about being respectable people and stopping?"

[evamovska]

where,  — Jack's apartment closed  — @cmplexities

In signature Movska fashion — Eva felt very little pity for those around her. So her features remained almost indifferent when she answered Jack's cry for help. Put against her uncle — she would choose him, of course, even if he no longer wore the Movska name.

Catastrophe surely brew behind the door to his apartment. When it swung open, her eyes met his with a fine prosecco bottle in hand.

"You said it was an emergency."

[evamovska]

Both. She'd call him greedy (and her face almost did), if she wasn't eager herself to put this behind them. Like riding a bike too fast down the hill — hoping you wouldn't crash into a brick wall.

She would never know, unless she took the chance; click her glass with his. And she did, the glasses touched and the crystal sound etched a deal made into the air around them.

Stumble Inn. It should've been named Her Worst Nightmare, because not only was it disgusting, but it was swallowing up her best friend. The only person intolerable enough to tolerate her. They used to laugh at the concept — how similiar they were. Only difference was that he was cooler, back then — outgoing and witty, and dare she even say — funny. He was a daredevil and she was the mediator pulling him away at the slightest sign of agitation.

"You're lucky, you didn't get hepatitis." lips stretched into a smirk.

Green eyes narrowed to her right hand. "I'd like to say it's thanks to me, but I fear you might argue with me on that one." she could still feel the pain in her knuckles, still hear the crack of the cheek bone that got smashed beneath her hand.

"And I'd hate to argue right now." her eyes met his. Something very fragile and genuine was forming from the ashes they've left, and Eva wished she knew how to cradle it. How to nurse it back to life.

Her hand reached for her glass once more, only to find it empty.

Archer looked at Eva, at that very important question. A toast or a promise. He was silent for a long moment before he finally answered. The way he wanted to answer. Not letting all the warnings in the back of his mind make him amend the offer. "Why can't it be both?"

To watch her look at him and actually feel like she saw them. The two of them. The him in context with her. Until this moment, for all the years in-between, every time she'd looked at him he had seen her thoughts reflected there. Distaste. Disinterest. Distrust. But not now.

And with each drink another choice was made. To make this moment last a little longer. To let themselves slip back to other days and other nights sitting around and talking about anything, everything. Didn't matter. A soft blanket of whiskey wrapped around his brain. As they sat with each other in his office.

Archer was on one of the chairs he had for guests, seated low to look up at Eva on his desk. Eyes drifting down to her nails picking away at the wood. Like she was intent to leave a mark he would see in the morning. Proof that she was there. That they were here. His tie loose and two buttons undone.

He didn't reminisce often, not too many people to reminisce too. So when she brought up the dive that she'd pulled him out of he grinned. "Stumble Inn." He said into his glass. He shook his head, "God that place was horrible. Smelled like dried vomit and hepatitis."

[evamovska]

She was used to it — her brother brushing her concerns away with a simple "I'm fine" or some kind of a ridiculous joke, that to Eva was absolutely humorless. Not to mention — a lie.

She knew when he was lying.

Not because he was a bad liar (there was no such thing in the Movska gene) , and not because she deciphers faces and behaviors for a living, but because she was his sister.

He spoke. When has she not provided their father with a seemingly good distraction in favor of her siblings? There was a breathy, airy scoff and a small shake of her head. Her back was still turned to her brother. He didn't trust her it seemed, but Eva wouldn't trust herself either, if she was in his shoes. Keeping things from her father wasn't something she did usually. Her siblings were lucky when she did. Because despite it all — she never wished to see them suffer, not even from the consequences of their own actions. If she could shelter them from that too — she would.

"And what are you going to do with your life?" she sounded like their mother — a line straight out of her memoirs. She did not only resemble her physically, but they had the same approach when it came to Lev. Never soft, nor tender yet she'd offer guidance and solace, when something truly mattered, when he was inconsolable.

Sometimes, he wonders if Eva knows about Henry. The big fucking secret, that her nephew isn't really her nephew at all. A borrowed baby from the family money bro who pours over their accounts almost fucking daily.

At least, he does look at Lev's. Swears it's the equivalent to the comic strips in the paper.

There's a reason Lev hasn't said shit about the whole you're gonna be an auntie thing. First and foremost, he'd never fucking say auntie. Secondly, it isn't her first time (or so she thinks, he thinks). So, it makes sense to just not be all uppity about it, right?

Right.

So here he is, at her place with a bottle of water in one hand and inflatable bat in the other (don't ask, we don't have an answer), just talking about a different controversial thing: leaving the media. "I need like three fucking letters of recommendation and a suit jacket that doesn't look pretentious and fucking itchy." He points the bat at her. "You gotta keep Pops off my ass about this one."

@evamovska

[evamovska]

A sigh escaped her; long, and implying exhaustion. She wouldn't complain — not outwardly at least, and not to her cousin. Who would even consider, how tiring all of this was? Taking care of them — her family, as much as she loved them, she couldn't tolerate their sense of recklesness.

"Like brother, like sister." Final words on the matter and a look. Zed and Vanya had a certain affinity to using their fists as weapons, while Eva always chose a more verbal approach — If only her own siblings, were more like her.

Eva moved past him, helping herself to a cup of coffee, if there even was any left. "On his own?" her brows furrowed in slowly. She did not mean to accuse him of endangering her child, yet her tone implied otherwise. How long has he been gone for? Motherly instincts that had long caught rust poked at her insides. Sasha was an easy target, if anyone liked to get a piece of Movska flesh.

"Are you using my child to run your errands?" her arms had crossed over her chest, back leaned against the counter, when the door swung open with a creak.

Zed dismisses the remark. Cleaned, whilst somewhat the truth, is a stretch; he's moved things out of a child's reach. It simply looks tidier at eye level and souther.

He's not much better at looking interested when he learns what Eva's implying — and he doesn't poke the bear. Not this time. Not about Vanya, or black eyes. The chemist's heard enough about it as it is.

"Good." It's curt. Because much about he and Vanya were. Eva's a step up — but only because she's right in front of him.

Their eyes meet, and then they quickly part; a conversation had, understood and ended, in a few moments.

Sasha. Ah.

Zed starts to make space on the coffee table — anticipating the smaller of Movska's arrival (hopefully, with food in hand): "He is picking lunch — just outside." A careful head nod towards the window, to hear the bustle of Chinatown outside.

[evamovska]

That comment earned her a genuine laugh, that again out of Eva's mouth sounded nothing like a typical ha-ha. "I'd assume there are certain people that have fetishes involving body hair." It was part of her job — to know what people did not want to be known — a dirty secret, a crime — she could make it her life mission to know everything about everyone — everyone important enough.

"I'm sure you know there are all kinds of psychopaths lurking around. Perhaps, you could auction a strand of your hair next time, and see for yourself." Laure was a beautiful woman — there would certainly be wealthy admirers willing to pay for a single perfect curl.

To some it would be hard to believe that a copy of a poem book, even if said copy was Dickinson's, would ever be sold for twenty two thousands. To some, but not to her — Eva would pay even a milion, if the woman's cold, dead hands came as an accessory.

"Then why did you give it up?" she asked. Laure could've easily gone with offering a pair of expensive shoes, or god forbid — a toenail.

Laure can read between the lines that Eva is drawing out for her, and she finds herself even more curious at what she's trying to do. Clearly create some kind of issue when it comes to this movie star, but for what purpose? The trophy wife that stands at his side is the only thing she can think of, but she shares none of her suspicions with Eva at the moment.

"Yes, violence often has precursors, ones that society is all to willing to ignore if a person is rich and powerful enough." She doesn't condemn it, but simply states it for exactly what it is. She would be a hypocrite considering that power structure is something she thrives on for her work in both sectors. "Men like that, I'm sure there are other signs if you look hard enough. People tend to talk about that sort of thing."

That's all she has to say on the topic, uncaring mostly of this random celebrity beyond how he ties in with a family like the Movskas. "Sentimental it may be, it hardly seems hygenic," Laure says, making a face. "And despite what the movies want to tell us, I'm quite certain the mustache doesn't remain in one piece like that." Beyond the plethora of other reasons why it was such an odd selection to put up, but then again, she expected nothing less from Lee.

But there's a pleased hum and smile on her lips when Eva mentions the book of poems she had picked up at the auction. "I'm certainly glad it's going to a good home, and between you and me, that copy cost me twice as much as what you bid for it, but it went towards a good cause."

[evamovska]

She could see reason. She wasn't entirely blinded by the grudge she was holding against her former friend. Leave or be left. It's the survival instinct that kicked in, for her too, when she was found faced with a lifetime with a parasite of a man. A ring on her finger that felt so tight — as if it was wrapped around her throat. Hurt or be hurt. Be the frozen statue entrapped in flesh and blood or —

Clearly, she did fail somewhere along the way.

When he was no longer there, when all that was left of her friend was uncertainty and gone — she did grieve, so perhaps her heart was no longer as solid, as some may have thought. Perhaps it has begun to thaw.

She wondered — if roles were reversed, if she was the one to leave — would he cradle any hope? Even when he moved closer — the gentleness with which he approached her, even when he was less weapons and more exposed wound, Eva still waited for something to signal fallacy. "Is that a toast or a promise?" the words escape her before she had the chance to figure out their meaning, and now she looked worse than he did. She looked hopeful — and that, was one step closer to looking weak.

But there was no one else — no other eyes were on her, but his and she looked at him, unabashedly and saw — her friend. Not an enemy, not a wound that was sloppily stapled, not ten years of grief shoved down deeper. She almost wished he would return to the way he looked at her before, because this — now —

What was she supposed to do from here?

The drink turned several, and still no clarity was gained, only numbness — like partial anaesthesia.

She was sat down on the desk, fingers still chipping away at the wood — digits that were used to always clicking away on her phone, almost like muscle memory. Blonde locks had descended from the high of her formal work hairstyle and her eyes were now staring into — whatever was on the wall behind him.

"I do remember that actually — " she spoke, " — when I dragged you from that disgusting place." her nose wrinckled in sheer disgust at the memory of it. That smell — she remembered it so well, "What was it called again?"

Green on green his eyes speak to hers. He was a lawyer. He was a Republican political apparatchik, they both were. His eyebrows twitched up just a little as if to ask why that would be surprising at all? She had known him well enough to know exactly when he was full of shit. He paused then asked, "Don't you? Doesn't everyone?" Because lying was a survival tactic. Especially in the professional jungle they inhabited. But he knew the answer even as he asked it.

To be happy was a dangerous beast. Happiness was a weapon that others could wield against you. It was better to find small moments of enjoyment, of being busy, of victory, fleeting things that couldn't be used against you later. This fragile moment, a bubble on a breeze. If it was blown in the wrong direction it would break and be gone.

He heard her take the glass rather than looking down. Watching to see if she did in fact dissolve into the wind, into the past, where this moment belonged. A moment built of so many other moments. Packed against a sticky bar they had no business being in, laughing at something that probably wasn't funny to anyone but them.

Archer lifted his own drink to his mouth and thought about the question. "Someone in the campaign that wants to keep me happy with them." No names. Because that's not the way you kept secrets. But he figured she would be able to figure it out if she put her mind to it.

His gaze had been on her hand, watching her fingers pick at his desk. And again they came up to Eva's at the question, a sly grin. And the answer was never. Never. A rather impressive word to be able to use and mean it. People threw around the words always and never. But rarely meant them. He meant them, "Never." The light tone of voice had not prepared him for what she said next.

-The most awful crime.-

-You can count of me to be there.-

He had to look down. Not trusting his eyes. Not trusting his face. Not knowing just how raw and ripped open he must look. He carefully walked out from behind the desk, letting all that air stand between them again. Green eyes back on hers as he lifts his glass to hers, and touches them together very gently, "To keeping each other's secrets...." He paused then added softly, "And to being there."

[evamovska]

The drink in her hand had definitelly loosened her usual rigid demeanour, and in it's wake now stretched a pleasant smile. Kind even — to the ones that were bold enough to let their eyes linger.

Unfamiliar territory — and she was on her own for once. No one attached to her arm or even in a five meter radios, bringing her drinks or offering dull compliments that lacked any life — like carnations on a coffin.

"For once — I'd say I prefer it." she turned to meet the other. Lara — despite being on the opposing side, was far from being her enemy. "The youngest other person in here just turned 77."

closed: @evamovska

Tired wasn't the word to describe what she was. Eva wasn't exactly a friend, but she was a familiar face and that alone felt good enough in a place like this. When she approached, it was only to step in line beside her without actually looking.

"We've got to stop running into each other like this."

[evamovska]

She wanted to say that no — she didn't need anyone's protection, that she would rather die, than ever find herself in a situation where she didn't have the upper hand. Daya knew who she was — she knew Eva could handle herself perfectly. Movska wasn't the one with a fractured arm.

Her mind couldn't wrap around the idea of Daya not being selfish, when she had every right to be. She had every right to focus on herself and put herself before others. Eva would certainly do that, if roles had been reversed — save herself.

In a way she did, differnt reason entirely, some months ago.

She leaned in slowly, eyes still on her friend, "You cannot possible say that." she'd call this absolutely foolishness, "It's your arm today. What if it's your head tomorrow? Do you have absolutely no regard for your life?"

Spare her the selfless act — Eva would sacrifice whoever was needed, if that would mean Daya would be safe.

"And does he know that?" she asked, untrusting of the plan Daya had come up with and it's execution. "Has he agreed to this?" somehow Eva couldn't believe a horrible man like Nick, would settle down for anything less than his own arrangement. Would he truly let Daya nagotiate?

Daya doesn't even begin to try and understand the relationship the Movskas have with each other. She sees the family through her friend's eyes, sees the cracks they leave in her, but also the pride she has when she talks about them. Despite the exasperation and frustration, she stands by their side. It's a trait she admires in her and one she tries to emulate on occasion.

"Maybe it wasn't, but I'm glad he was at least able to do what I wish I could have," she replies with a shrug. It's not the first time she's wished violence on Nick before, but there's a different kind of rage when confronted with Nicholas turning his ire on anyone else. And it seems like he's learned that one of the easiest ways to provoke a reaction out of Daya was to go after someone she cares about. If Zed hadn't been there, it would have been Daya who reacted and that would have been an even poorer ending.

But she mentions none of that when Eva's attention is drawn to her wrist and immediately, Daya looks around to make sure no one has noticed.

"I'm smart enough to know that he's one of the most powerful men in the world, and he knows who I love," Daya responds evenly, meeting Eva's eyes. "I don't care what he does to me, as long as he leaves other people alone." It's what she tells herself to get through each day, knowing that she would rather die than let someone else take her place. "Besides, it's just until the twins turn 18. Four more years. It'll go by in a flash," she lies, a tight smile on her face.

[evamovska]

"Is that so?" every word that left his mouth was now going to be picked apart; probed from every angle. Every word she now connected to what had previously happened between them, and if he wasn't an entirely different person before her now, she wouldn't trouble her mind this way. She wouldn't tire herself with trying to understand if he really did regret what he did. If what he had said back then were words he didn't believe in.

She stayed and he looked pleased — not the way a politician did, when they were satisfied with her work, not the way a distant relative would at an appropriate christmas present. She was known for having a good taste and for actually, listening to people and their wants and needs. He looked like he was cut out of a picture frame — one of their many summers, sand stuck to their toes, and in between their hair and through the pain of his burnt nose — he was pleased, and calm — not the kind of calm he was in his job, but the kind that meant that he was almost — happy.

Her eyes remained on him, as her hand found one of the glasses. A smile that matched his own played on her lips.

"And who was the one to authorize that, then?" she was already taking a sip, not at all opposed to the idea of drowning a bit of the tension in good liquor. It was far better, than when she was downing vodka shots with her cousin after a very dreadful funeral. One hand remained on the desk — the no man land — fingers picking at the wood slightly.

"When have I ever done such thing?" a playful raise of her brow. She took another sip, larger than the last one — the light tone of her voice replaced with something a bit more quiet. "Even if you were to do the most awful crime — " a beat — green on green. "You can count on me to keep your secret. You can count on me to be there."

It meant something that he'd never blocked her number. Never deleted it either. An answered call and silence. Because he couldn't be the first one to talk. But that shared silence. All the things left unsaid. A pair of endlessly stubborn fools. A moment never acknowledged between the two of them. A secret that each kept from the other.

"I say a lot of things I don't really believe." Archer replied simply. He was a lawyer after all. And a crisis manager. "But I also don't have to believe in things for them to still be true."

Green eyes watched her move away from the wall. Back towards his desk and the chairs. Having the desk between them again making things a little less raw. But his own thoughts were still whirring, still wondering if they could do this. Sit across from each other; turning the clock back years to something that might truly no longer exist.

A ghost of a smile on his lips as Eva said she wasn't much of a drinker. Readying himself for the rough lash of a verbal reprimand and she would be gone again. But she slipped off her jacket and their eyes met. And he didn't know what was in his eyes but something melted with just that tiny touch of warmth from her. It was a rare thing, to live in the sun of Eva. The ghost of the smile became real, small, quiet as he nodded his head.

He left his tie loose and unlocked the lowest drawer, taking out two glasses and a respectable single malt. The heavy bottom of the glasses made a thick noise on the desk as he placed them down.

The comment caught him off guard and he laughed. A genuine sound as he opened the bottle and poured them each a few fingers worth. "What is allowed and what is permitted are vastly different things in the RNC." He glanced up at her as he set the glass in front of her, "You going to tell on me, Ms. Movska?"

[evamovska]

A co worker was running late — it only bought her more time on finishing up her emails. Eva was always seen with her phone in her hand, staying in the loop, making sure nothing was going to escape her. Busy, is what she's always been, even at a cocktail bar, even with a very familiar figure moving towards her and demanding her attention.

"That's awfully long." she replied — distracted, eyes still on the screen, voice dry. She was a perfect multi tasker, of course. Everything that came out of the other woman's lips was registreted and could be repeated.

A moment passed, before she put the phone down and reached for her glass of champagne. "Well, that must be one handsome date, if you're here thirty minutes early." red lips curled into a smirk.

This was precisely why she never showed up to things on time: she couldn't keep herself entertained! It had taken her exactly five minutes to get bored of 'people watching'. Whoever had come up with the activity had to have been severely disturbed in January's opinion. Her eyes scanned the customers of the cocktail bar until they landed on another lonesome person. January's steps were quick and confident as she practically marched over to the other person. The wave of her hand could barely be counted as a greeting but it gave her the opening she had wanted: "How does this sound? I pay for your next drink, any drink you want, and you keep me company for..." January lifted her wrist to check the time on her watch. "Twenty-seven minutes? Assuming my date isn't running late, of course."

[evamovska]

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

"Yes, I have. I don't think there's anyone who hasn't."

[evamovska]

03: Do you regret anything?

"No. Maybe. There's absolutely nothing that I regret."

[evamovska]

This was where their difference laid — Eva would never trust anyone more than she trusted her family. They might have questionable morals, but they looked after each other. What she and her husband had was never love at first sight — Eva simply didn't believe that love worked that way. Falling in love — it was a pathlogyical condition. She certainly married him for a reason beyond that.

She nodded, in understanding. Because she did — understand. Yenna was a very different person than her, and Eva respcted her decision to stay in touch with Theo. "Just don't let him hurt you again." she looked up at her.

Thoughts circled to every wall street man she knew, and a chuckle rolled off her tongue — a natural reaction to the image that popped into her head. "To no men for now." Eva's glass clicked with her own.

Her phone vibrated in the corner of the table, a brief glance at the screen was enough to know who it was. "Yes — I just recieved the dress I'd be wearing. " she stood up and reached for her blazer, "I hope to see you there. Do you already have a date?"

"No.", Yenna finds herself protesting, "He's Theo.", she adds, "Not like he used to be, but he's still Theo. The Theo I ran away with, the Theo I immediately fell for when I first saw him. The Theo that pushed me through the hardest times in my life. We may be divorced, but he's still my family. He's more family to me than my parents ever will be." This statement makes her down the rest of her wine, and she carefully takes the bottle and pours herself a second.

"Wall Street.", Yenna snorts, "I like my men with personality and without coke." Not that she has never done coke before. But, not that that counts. "I think I'm fine without a man for now." She sighs then, deeply, "Maybe we should stop talking about them altogether. Maybe we should." No more Archer, no more Theo.

"Are you going to attend the MET?"