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[johnathanparsons]

The annoying pain that continued to linger within his torn knee had kept him up for most of the previous night. What he didn’t realize is not only was his ACL torn to shreds, but the very flesh surrounding his entire knee joint had been twisted in an irregular fashion that made him look like an undesirable gimp. The repair and physical therapy was only half of the problem. It was the psychological haunting of being weakened by the French bastard that irritated him the most. 

How could I have been so careless as to not see that tricky move coming? Really?

He had rolled it around in his mind for quite some time, but he knew that if he kept at it, he would eventually drive himself insane with the constant recurring thought. 

The room was quiet after the nurse had just recently left from checking on the IV bag and making sure that the concoction of saline and other pain killers had not run out yet. He was glad to be alone, or at least for now. He felt he was able to vent in his silence, without the constant check-ups, which he realized how much he detested. And there was no way in hell he was going to have them help him to the rest room. He would deal with the pain in hobbling to the door compared to pressing the red assistance button next to his bed for the ten-step escort. 

Suddenly, there was a light knocking on the door. He gave a stern command for whoever it was to come in. Well, the few minutes of silence would have to suffice for now. 

His eyes widened as he saw who walked through the entryway. She was beautiful from top to bottom, and appeared to come straight out of a Cosmopolitan magazine, or some other modeling source. Though his amazement was halted the moment he heard her accent. His gut began to churn and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t really know what to say next. 

He should have expected he would run into them at some point. Their presence in London was well aware of by the Rutherfords, and though Andrew demanded absolute compliance with the alliance, a part of Johnathan was wary to the fact of sharing the same room with one of them. 

He tried readjusting himself by using what strength he had in his forearms to push himself up and have his back rest higher on the inclined bed. His eyes never left her face, more so just curious as to why she was here, and less to the fact of not trusting her. He didn’t know her as well as he would have liked to before their chance encounter, but he was sure he would soon find out. And what little he did gather on the Russian’s reputation, was that she may very well be just as ruthless, or even more so than the others she was most definitely involved with. Parsons wouldn’t play coy, he knew she was involved with the Russian mob, but it was her purpose that truly made him curious. If he was going to bind his fate with such a ravenous beast as the Russians, he needed to know he could trust them first, if he could trust them at all. 

“Well, I do hope if you saw the other guy, you would have ended his pathetic existence already and have been done with it,” he said to her with a flat tone in his speech, looking back out the window near his bed, the rain starting to come down hard, rapping at the glass. 

“And usually I would prefer a phone call over a direct visit, but I think we both knew this “chance encounter” was bound to happen at some point.” His gaze glided back to her, revealing an uncomplacent affect. 

“Now, what did you really come her to discuss? And don’t tell me those flowers were meant for me? I’d rather drown myself in a bowl of acid than receive sympathy from someone that can’t begin to understand the very meaning.”

@johnathanparsons

Good will and curiosity was what brought Sveta into the hospital that day. From what she was told – and from having witnessed the actual fight – Jonathan was still in here, taking his time to recover. Understandable, and wise: whatever past Jonathan and Théo shared, their conflict had come to a climax in Lara’s ring. It had bloomed into a bloody war which was far from over, no. It had just begun. Quite the spectacle to Sveta, quite the nasty business for the men involved. Nevertheless, she had been extremely impressed with the performance and jumped on the opportunity to visit Mr Parsons, whom she was ever so curious about.

The Rutherfords had allied themselves with the Russians for a reason. Sveta was keen on finding out just how much of their dirty work this family expected her and her associates to do.

In her hands, she held a bouquet of pink peoenies and baby’s breath. These were her preferred flowers, and not knowing Jonathan in the slightest, she opted to this combination in hopes he would find it as endearing as she did. Politely, she knocked on the door to his room, then entered. Would he know who she was? Or was she as much of an enigma to him as he was to her?

Quietly, Sveta closed the door behind her. “You should see the other guy,” she joked, though, honestly? It was anything but a joke. Théo’s fate rather delighted her, and the Vorshevsky made no effort in hiding it when she approached the bed in which Jonathan lay. “I hope you don’t mind my spontaneous visit. I thought it only appropriate to come by and check on you myself.”

[johnathanparsons]

adricnaamaro‌:

The party had barely even started and Adriana could already feel herself buzzing with anticipation for what was to come. Sure, some of the invited guests weren’t exactly the people Adriana would choose to spend her time with, but this night wasn’t about her, it was about her best friend. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” Adriana called over to Lara, who was pretending to be engrossed in whatever conversation she was having with some random business person or other to offer Adriana much of a response. The Vixen made a mental note to bring her friend a drink back as she weaved her way through the crowd of people. A few people called out to her, but Adriana’s mind was focused on one thing and one thing only: alcohol.

Approaching the bar, Adriana offered the bartender a smile as she ordered herself a double shot and a margarita on the rocks with very strict instructions to be very generous with the tequila. 

She’d barely even noticed the familiar face that had been sitting next to her until she had heard them speak. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Adriana smiled as she looked over at his glass and chuckled. “Are you plying yourself with alcohol in an effort to hate everyone less, too?”

It had been a good amount of time since the two had crossed paths, but he knew that they were bound to meet at some point, with Adriana always somewhere inside of Lara’s adventures around London.

“It never occurred to me until now how much I despise keeping up appearances. Or maybe it was just seeing how sarcastically Lara was able to pull her’s off while in front of those god-forsaken people.” He sipped on the Kentucky bourbon whiskey that just arrived. 

“Sometimes I honestly wonder how she does it. Acting all appreciative and gracious when we both know she is just about ready to smash some glass and get the real show started,” he said as he gave a look back into the crowd and saw Lara still in conversation with a variety of apparently notable individuals.

He took another sip from his glass. “Well, here’s to keeping up appearances,” he said as he brought his glass to her’s, ready for the two to clink together. “To the celebration of our constant avoidance. May it be everlasting!” He gave a smirk in Adriana’s direction, sharing in the jest and partaking again of the extremely rich and tasteful whiskey. 

“But enough about my excuse for drinking myself to death. How has the lovely Ms. Amaro been as of late? I hope Lara hasn’t been getting you into too much trouble now?” 

Open Starter

[johnathanparsons]

lararutherford‌:

“Well look what we have here. Johnathan Parsons doesn’t clean up so badly after all!”

There was always comfort to be found in having a man like him around. Lara suspected he knew as much. During an event where she’d had to bite the bullet and invite people she would’ve rather avoided—dangerous ones, at that—it was good to know that if anything went wrong, she had a certifiable tank to back her up. Both Johnathan and Adrian had offered her peace of mind tonight, and for that, she was immensely grateful.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him as she finally let him out of the hug. “It’s been too long, you’re right about that. I think I’m going to use that as an excuse to avoid other people and catch up with you.” Solid. “Fancy a drink, or are you staying clean until after your fight?”

His smile remained sincere as she talked with him. Just to be able to catch up, even for a moment, was all he could hope for. 

He gave a small laugh at her avoiding comment. “What? Is the great and famous Lara Rutherford actually not in the mood to socialize with her benevolent guests?” The sarcastic jest floated in the air from his tongue, which produced another chuckle.

He understood that this was hers and hers alone, but he also understood the Lara he always knew. How she would act any part she needed to get through another painful moment within the crowd. Funny, she reminded him a lot of himself, with the feeling of disgust rather than joy to be shaking hand after hand and greeting each “grateful guest” with a so called “warm embrace” as you try your damn best to give the most humble speech you can possibly muster. With all of this, Lara was an expert. And he was thrilled to see what she was going to do next. 

“When have you ever known me to be clean?” He smiled again at her, reveling in the moment that felt ages past due.

 “It would be my honor to have a drink with the grandest of hostesses known to all of London.”

He leaned in a bit closer to her ear after he quickly looked around the room, eyeing if anyone was listening. “Besides, I need something to get me loose before the big fight.”  

He looked over to the bar and turned back to Lara. “What would you recommend to drink? I’m feeling rather adventurous, maybe I’ll even try something new this time?” His smile never faded as he looked back at her, just feeling relieved to see familiar faces again. No... to see family again, meant all the world to him. 

[johnathanparsons]

theodorechaussard‌:

Théo took a deep breath as he approached his opponent, and without reservation launched himself into a quick succession of blows to try to catch the older man off guard. His fists flew in his fury, the scent of the blood and sweat in the air filling his nostrils and making it all the more real that this could end with the long-awaited death of Parsons. Or himself. 

Before Théo knew it Johnathan switched from the defensive, driving Théo back with blows that held more power than he’d been expecting. The Frenchman tucked his elbows in to attempt to protect his ribs as Johnathan landed a solid blow, sucking the oxygen from his lungs. A sharp crack echoed from one of the blows to his rib cage, and a very sharp stab of pain streaked across his chest as he struggled to regain his breath. He continue to play defensive, the blows deflecting off his arms when possible until he could regain the ability to fucking breathe. Once the diaphragm in his body surged open, and the sweet release of oxygen flooded through him, Théo figure it was time to get serious. The two continued to trade blows, moving around the ring and each other, each caught up in the dance of violence that men thrived on. When the moment presented itself, the taller of the two men seized it. With a combination of moves taught to him by Oliver, Théo caught the Johnathan’s arm by the wrist when he’d thrown his next punch. Seizing the man’s elbow with his left hand, the frenchman stepped to the right of his opponent and Johnathan’s wrist back, and his elbow up.  The move forced the older man backwards as Théo attempted to force him off his feet- but Johnathan was much more experienced, and faster, than Théo had anticipated. While his grip on the man’s arm was firm, it also left exposed his own rib cage- something that was not missed by Johnathan. Parsons delivered several fast, and hard, blows to Théo’s ribcage until the he had no choice but to let go or risk his chest cavity collapsing. Forced to defend himself, Théo saw an opportunity and took it. He placed his foot firmly on Johnathan’s knee, and shoved with as much strength as he could muster, pushing the knee cap not only backwards, but inwards, at an angle it was certainly not made to move in. The result was instantaneous.  A sickening pop echoed, and the crowd groaned, as Johnathan’s knee bent out backwards, hyperextending far beyond its normal limits. Following it up quickly, Théo landed a solid, crushing hammer-first strike to Johnathan’s nose and felt the cartilage give way beneath his hand. His final blow was nothing more than an open-palmed strike to the center of the brit’s chest, while stepping on his left foot. The blow pushed him off balance, and backwards, leaving him with only his mangled leg to catch his fall.

Johnathan felt the increased adrenaline pump through his body as the two continued to exchange blow after blow, hoping to find the other tired first, allowing for one to move in for a closer, and deadlier, kill. 

Parsons felt he had gained the advantage after the few blows he managed to impact against the Frenchman’s chest and side, feeling the crackling release of the ribs protecting his vital organs. The feeling of success overwhelmed him, knowing that he had weakened Chaussard, but what he didn’t expect from him was how fast he was willing to fight back after the mighty blow. 

Johnathan was partly amazed when the young man started going back on the offensive as he saw Chaussard getting closer to him again. The Frenchman grabbed onto Parsons’ elbow, and unsure of what the Commandant planned to do, he decided to start throwing back as many blows again with his fists and feet as he could, only hoping to push back the whirlwind that had grabbed a hold of him. Nothing had prevailed. The force of Chaussard grabbing onto him had forced Johnathan back, which did not put him in a good position while on the defensive. The strength and resilience that Théo held after the brutal hay-maker and straight punches to the chest surprised Johnathan, earlier believing that the Frenchmen would at least stagger back after the blows, allowing Johnathan to go in again for the final offensive, but that was not the case at all. 

For what felt like minutes, Parsons was trying to defend himself as best he could while trying to escape from Théo’s grip on him. Whatever fancy shit the Frenchman decided to use here was not enthusing the Rutherford at all. He had grown tired of the young man’s trickery, and decided to find any way out possible. And just like that, he saw his exit. While Chaussard was busy controlling Johnathan through the Frenchman’s grip on his elbow, he decided to aim back at Théo’s chest and the side of his ribs, hoping to further crush and dent the already broken bones. 

The strategy appeared to work at first, but Johnathan caught Théo looking down at Parsons’ legs in the desperate way that the Rutherford knew all too well.

Shit.

Without time to react or defend himself in anyway, Parsons took a merciless blow to the knee as he felt the knee cap pop out and be forced deeper into the crevice of the bone and cartilage that lied beneath it. The pain was agonizing as the man’s leg bent out in a way that no one’s should ever be. And to make things worse, the power of the attack had forced Johnathan to lean back and only be supported by the now practically broken leg, the pain even more excruciating as he felt the bone crackle and crunch between his femur and knee cap, lodged so tight in a place unimaginable as to how it even got there. 

There was no stop to the agony that started to blind him with nothing but absolute rage from the pain. He started to see red all around him from the blown blood vessels in his eyes, while he could see the Frenchman coming in again for a second mighty strike. Parsons was too distracted by the convulsing muscles in his broken leg that he forgot to protect his face as he saw Théo’s fist rush into his face and break his nose. The cartilage and bone gave way and formed a large open gash that now leaked with blood. 

The pain was becoming too much with the leg, and he knew he wasn’t going to make it unless he forced himself to fight through it. 

He looked back at Théo, seeing the man’s face, and instantly remembered another face. The face of Jai was now stained across the audience around them. The memory before the match came flooding back in, and the Rutherford was ready to strike. If he was going to die here, he wasn’t going to without taking the bloody Frenchman with him. And so, he took what was left of his strength and anger, and aimed it right back at Chaussard. The more he convinced himself that Jai’s death was Théo’s fault, the better he could manage, the more rage was built up inside him, and therefore, the greater amount of power he was willing to use against the little cunt. 

In the Rutherford’s rage and pain fueled-frenzy, he kept seeing flashes of Jai’s mangled body lying on the floor beneath him, and Chaussard standing right over it. It was enough... it had to be enough. 

Alright, let’s end this...

Parsons suddenly screamed what may have been some kind of war cry or just a pure reaction to the amount of pain that he felt as he forced his bum leg to drag forward. He had waited for Théo to come in close again, as Parsons was in no shape at all to be moving around too much. Just the mere drag of his leg closer to his opponent made him feel less sure if it was going to snap off all together, then he would REALLY be in trouble. 

He waited for what felt like a second, and then his moment came. As the Frenchman lunged forward to try and finish him off, Parsons pushed the flying fist out of his way with one single side motion of his hand, and at the same time grabbing the man’s wrist and bending it forward. When the other fist came flying at him with such speed and intensity, Johnathan decided to use the already locked arm to his advantage. He bent down, feeling the intensity of the pain in his leg burst with the motion, and pulled Théo’s arm with him, forcing the Frenchman to bend down toward Parsons, with the previous fist missing its target entirely. Parsons saw his next move and with a shattering scream of agony as he lifted himself back up to both his feet, he rammed the top of his skull into the bottom of Chaussard’s jaw. 

Parsons did not waist any time to send a second blow toward his opponent. With the previous attack leaving just enough distraction for him to get closer, he caught the Frenchman off guard as he threw one straight punch to the man’s gut, forcing the air to be kicked out again, and with the Commandant bowing near him from the assault, Johnathan took all the force that was left in his body, all the rage, all the pain, and all the vengeance, and decided to grab the Frenchman’s neck and force his head down as Parsons brought his good knee up and slammed it into his opponents face. 

The blow was severe, but he felt that it wasn’t enough. If he was going to finish this, he was going to make sure it was permanent.

The Rutherford, blind with a mix of pain and anger, pulled back his arm while grabbing onto Chaussard’s throat, and rushed his fist into the man’s pretty little face. The result was more beautiful than he could have imagined. 

Johnathan stared at Théo’s staggering body as the Frenchman leaned backwards, and fell right onto the corner post that was nearest to him. The thick, wooden post with its pointed tip smashed into Chaussard’s head, piercing into his temple, and causing an overwhelming amount of blunt force trauma to the rest of his skull. The Frenchman’s body slumped down from the post and slammed against the pit’s floor. The crowd was so silent that a needle could be heard dropped on the floor. There was nothing more left to warrant than a lifeless body that lied before the Rutherford.

Parsons made the mistake of letting him go once, allowing him to live. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. And if the little cunt did pull through, Johnathan would be waiting for him, eager to end his pathetic waste of existence. 

The pain returned as the fight finally drew to its close, and Johnathan hobbled his way over to the ring’s railing where he grabbed onto it tight. The feeling in his broken leg had never left, and he was worried it would never be the same again, but at least he knew that he was finally able to beat the living shit out of the still body that bled on the floor. 

He exited the ring with help from one of the security and looked back one last time at Théo’s body lying on the floor, as still as a rock. 

For Jai, you fucking piece of shit.

Death Smiles On Us All, All a Man Can Do is Smile Back || Théodore vs. Johnathan || The Underground Ring

[johnathanparsons]

He had a feeling that Lara would give him an opportunity to fight in the ring. He’d been waiting too long to let out the hate he felt since Jai’s death, as well as the overall stress and torment that had been building up throughout what seemed like weeks. 

When he had been called, he entered through the secret passage that led down into the depths and found himself in a place of absolute ecstasy. All his life he had fought his way through tough situations, literally, but seeing what lied before him just put a smile on his face. It was the perfect excuse to let out the carnal nature he had so delicately been able to hide during the event, and quite frankly, he was dying to use someone as a punching bag. 

The air was damp, and the surrounding scene was like he walked into a hidden bunker, all prepped and ready for quite the show. He could see all the exclusive members circled around the fighting pit, some sitting, others standing and placing their bets. The sound of mumbled shouts and loud laughter filled the room as everyone prepared for the fight. 

Johnathan removed his suit jacket and laid it over a railing that was just above the venue seating. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt and rolled up his cuffs. The feeling of excitement began to flow through his veins, the adrenaline and heart beat increasing with every closer step he made to the ring. 

The shouts began to grow louder as he got closer to the crowd. He looked back at Jessica, and blew a kiss so swiftly with his hand rising into the air as if he let it float up toward her. 

For good luck.

Part of him wanted to just tear off his shirt and become the animal he had been known for in his past, but he decided to hold back the crazy until he absolutely needed to reveal it. 

He stepped into the ring, still hearing the shouting overwhelm the arena. He turned his back to the ring to look at Lara one more time before the fight. He gave her a nod as a thank you, and then looked to Jess one last time before the fight. 

I’ll be fine, don’t worry.

With his back still turned to the opposite side of the ring, he heard the opponents name shouted from the other side. His heart skipped a beat as the name repeated its self over in his head. The anger returned and began to boil from the inside. He turned around to find Chaussard standing just across from him. 

So the little cunt thinks he can take me on?

He quickly looked back to Lara, understanding the bait she had allowed for him to bite into. The referee then raised both hands and signaled to both fighters to confirm that they were ready. Parsons stared back at Chaussard, grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils. The mad bull was awake once more, and he was going to tear the fucking flesh from this waste of humanity. 

Johnathan confirmed that he was ready with a nod. His fists both clenched so tight he could choke someone, the white knuckles practically suffocating for blood. He didn’t care if Théo had no part in Jai’s death, he didn’t care if the little bitch was here just for pleasantries. The bastard had escaped from Parson’s clutches and left the Rutherford’s without a bargaining chip before they could discuss a deal. 

The vision of Jai’s mangled and tattered body flashed before his eyes. The rage fueled his psychotic nature once more... and he was ready to kill. He would show this fucking piece of shit that when he comes to the Rutherford home, he’s going to severely pay for the consequences of his actions. 

The bell rang and he slowly stepped forward, getting closer to the Frenchman. He was prepared to take whatever assault came from his opponent, but he didn’t care. He was able to dodge a few blows until he was hit multiple times, the feeling of vengeance as each punch to the gut and face riled him up more. 

For Parsons, the pain only made him more animalistic. He preferred it, getting hit to what seemed like a dozen or more blows, until finally he would wait for the right moment to lunge forward and counter with a solid straight hit or come from the side, his leg or fist leading first, whichever felt more suitable in the moment. 

He took another hit to the side. He was done being patient. The prick was going to feel every bit of carnal anger that had been so carefully controlled and contained... until now. 

Johnathan saw his moment, and the timing was perfect. He first caught Chaussard with a punch to the side, coming around and hitting him hard in the ribs, then immediately his other fist came rushing into his gut, hoping to knock the air out of his lungs, giving Parsons time to come in for another hit while the Frenchmen was distracted by the sudden loss of oxygen. He continued to hit back and forth with each fist, occasionally his knees or feet coming to push Chaussard back when he got too close, come failed, some succeeded. It felt as though John was doing well, and his confidence drove him into an insanity of blood-lust. 

Death Smiles On Us All, All a Man Can Do is Smile Back || Théodore vs. Johnathan || The Underground Ring

He could feel his palms start to sweat, the first sign that his body was pumping adrenaline into his veins. He’d been tapped for the next fight, and while he handed Maya his coat, he couldn’t keep his mind from reminding him how long it’d been since he’d been in a ring himself. Two months in the jail had seemed like a lifetime, and while it’d given him time to work out several times a day, the only one he’d had to spar with had been his shadow.

He went through several of the techniques he’d been working on with Noa, Oliver and Maya, running through the combinations of strikes and throws, knowing he would most likely have a height advantage, but not necessarily a weight advantage. The Russians he’d seen that evening hadn’t looked familiar enough for him to predict their fighting styles, and his familiarity with the Rutherfords went just about as far. He’d have to rely on the Krav Maga he’d been taught, and pray the man across from him wasn’t an MMA champion. He stepped into the ring, sliding between the ropes as he unbuttoned his top two buttons and pulled out his cufflinks. He handed both to Maya, as well as his silver Commandant ring, quipping with a smirk, “Wouldn’t want it soiled with cheap blood, now would we?” He took a sip from a paper cup that was handed to him and handed the rest back- he had no desire to have a full stomach, enough water to wet his mouth was all he needed. The frenchman took a few moments to stretch his arms, give Maya a smile, and nod in the direction of the French crowd. He knew what happened tonight could possibly take away his ability to walk, much less take his life. He had no doubt Lara would let things go too far if she found it entertaining, as they had before in Porto Vehlo.  All that was left was to size up who he’d be fighting.  Théo heard it, before he had turned to see who it was. He heard the sharp intake of breath in the room, followed by the collection of jeers and moans. He didn’t let his doubt show on his face, but by the hushed whispering coming form the French, they weren’t liking his odds.  The room grew quiet as Théo turned to face his opponent, and the carefully constructed mask of calm shattered. Fury tinted the edges of the vision as he saw Jonathan Parsons enter the ring, the older man standing no more than twenty feet from him. Rage boiled from within, and Théo’s fists clenched in fury. He clamped his jaw shut to hold back the string of profanity-laden insults, both directed towards Johnathan and Lara, who he was certain was smiling smugly from where ever she was sitting. His anger and thirst for revenge threatened to consume him as he readied himself, ready to not stop until the brain matter and bone of Johnathan Parsons bled onto the mat- but he saw Oliver in the crowd, and he could hear his voice in his head, the instruction he’d repeated over and over- “Emotions and anger help some people fight better. It doesn’t help you.” And he took a steadying breath, bottling up the anger and putting it away, locking it in a box so he could quiet his mind.  The referee held his hand up, signaling for them to get ready. Strength and Honor. The referee’s hand fell. 

Théo moved forward.

[ @johnathanparsons ]

[johnathanparsons]

dev-daryani‌:

“Jog on,” Dev said to the woman who’d brushed against Johnathan, flippantly excusing her from the space he wanted with a dismissive lazy-wave of a gesture away from their fucking space, “Big boy shit to be discussed, go have a drink somewhere else.” 

Sometimes Parson’s confused him, when the thought about it; there were few monsters that made his own humbled. The man was a behemoth with a psychotic temper that even Dev respected, but sometimes when Parson’s opened his mouth he sounded like a massive French cunt. “Right, it’s nice,” whatever. 

“The Russians are making a statement. Have you met any of them yet?”

He looked to find the well-built fighter by his side, the sudden dismissal of the woman did not surprise him at all. Dev would be Dev, and no one was going to change that. You only hoped you didn’t get on his bad side. 

Johnathan was enthused to have another beast among the ranks, one in which he would actually enjoy watching. Much like how Johnathan enjoyed the routine check-ups he would receive from Adrian, he would kill to see Dev take someone down, and not even think twice about it. The man was brutal, but in this age, you had to be. If you ever showed a soft side, or even allowed yourself to be seen as lesser than, well... quite frankly you were fucked in the eyes of people like Dev Daryani. 

“Well Dev, I was asking the question to the lady before you so quickly ruined that interaction.” A small smirk had appeared on his face as he joked with the fighter. 

“I hear you’re going to fight tonight. I hope you are willing to clean up the mess this time. I know that Lara won’t be happy if she smells a rotting corpse within her establishment.” He sipped the Johnny Walker Blue Label as it just arrived, savoring the flavor as it simmered on his tongue. 

“And no. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting them as of yet. But I’m sure it will be inevitable. Don’t get me wrong Dev, I’m glad for the reinforcements, but I just hope Andrew has truly thought this through by bringing them here. They most definitely have a reputation for dismantling order wherever they go.” He took another sip from his drink and held it with both hands. He felt the cold single ice cube in the drink condensate onto his palms.

He cleared his throat with a quiet guttural groan and looked back at Dev. “Have you had the pleasure yourself?”  

Open Starter

[johnathanparsons]

jessica-reyes‌:

It felt selfish to be hurting around Johnathan, after all, Jai had been his friend for years. Jess hadn’t known him well enough to justify herself in comparison, even though it had been her home he’d been discarded in. So she did her best to swallow the nauseated feeling of fear and rage that gnawed at her incessantly. Especially as he looked to be in such high spirits. For all the grief that had come of the night, the smallest of silver linings was a better understanding of her partner. Before the murder, anytime she’d thought of his extracurricular activities, she’d struggled. Always trying to understand how he could be with her when he had that inside of him. She’d never been able to fully reconcile it until Jai. The sight of him… What they’d done to him… She knew at that moment had they been in front of her, she’d have been willing to use her teeth and fingernails if that’s all she had to kill. Not because she was scared, because she was angry. Because it would’ve felt right, if only for a moment to see them bleed. She hated to relate, but perhaps they were a little stronger for the understanding she finally had.

Lara’s party was loud and fast, she kept her eyes trained on whatever felt comfortable to avoid to panicked flittering of her lashes. The part of her, so keen for her own identity and aloofness had been compromised when her home had been violated. Now without him, the fear felt like drowning. She had struggled the line of Rutherford loyalty too long, the French had taken it upon themselves to choose for her. So be it. The next time one of them was haemorrhaging on her watch, she’d think twice about interfering. If they ignored her impartial standing, she would not continue to allow it to be exploited. Her hand gripped his a little harder at the thought before relaxing.

She felt his eyes on the side of her face, causing her to glance back at him in time to catch his gentle kiss. “I should hope not,” She teased softly, her voice light enough that her words remained only for him. Despite his kind words, it was more than likely that both his ex-wives were in attendance this evening. “I love you too.” She took her other hand, patting his knuckles softly before letting them fall. If this is where he wanted to be tonight, she’d support him. His world didn’t stop, not even for fallen friends, it would appear. All she could hope for was a night without trouble.

“I’ll come with you,” She offered, perhaps just a beat too quickly, not prepared to be stranded without him. Her face flushed, mostly irritated with herself and somewhat embarrassed. “I don’t mind. Besides, if one more politician tries to purr at me to talk to you, I might go crazy.”

He chuckled at her comment. “Well, you and me both. I think I’ve grown a bit tired of discussing politics for today, but who knows, maybe someone will actually spark my interest,” he said to her jokingly as he led her to the bar. 

The neat, modern set-up Lara gave to even the bar had given such a pronounced meaning behind the word, exclusive. The service, let alone the professionalism that he viewed from each of the staff members absolutely amazed him. Of all the drinking holes he’d been too, he would never have expected such refined class with a unique twist to make the event ever more memorable. 

He ordered two drinks for the two of them from the bartender which appeared suddenly before them, eager to take their order. He looked back at Jess, her face seemed to tell a different mood than his own. 

“Hey, if you would prefer that we left and went somewhere else, it’s no problem. I don’t want to make you feel you need to do anything for me.” His enthusiastic smile started to fade. “I understand that we BOTH have been through a lot, but I want you to know that all I want is for you to be comfortable.”

Of all the time they had spent together, he had always appreciated how she would stay strong in moments of hardship, even when he felt himself breaking. Yes, Jai’s death was a monumental blow, and it definitely would not make anything better in his life, but he had to be strong, if not for himself, for her. He could tell that something was bothering her, that maybe he was taking things too fast by coming to the party. But he had to distract himself, had to take his mind off the fact that one of his closest friends and allies had just been butchered by the one filth that he hated the most. And he WAS going to make them pay. But at least, for now, he needed to be strong and at least act like he was enjoying himself, when they both knew he was dying on the inside, just hoping for an excuse to rip someone’s throat out, only dreaming that it could be Laurent or Théo’s. 

An Eventful Party/ feat. Jessica

[johnathanparsons]

An Eventful Party/ feat. Jessica

Johnathan was grateful to be apart of Lara’s much anticipated festivities, as well as her new and spectacular business opening. He always had known that she was very special to Andrew and her siblings. And it greatly showed with everything around them. 

The ambiance and surroundings were just that... spectacular. The setting, the mood, even the staff, all placed into a strict, but pleasant pattern that weaved its way through the room like clock-work. He was impressed, but in all honestly he had expected as much from Lara. She was always known to be persistent and deliberate with her plans when she first devised them. He only had hoped he could have been here sooner to see it be built from the ground up. 

John and Jessica had just walked through the main doors to The Underground Bar together, their hands still clasped as they walked in. His thumb gently rubbed the top of her hand in his, as if he was silently saying thank you for being here with me. 

Since the news reached him about Jai’s death, he had been more than grateful to have Jess by his side more often than he was used to. He loved seeing her face every morning, and enjoyed spending every second he could with her. And the fact that she agreed to come with him to this event made him even more relaxed. He felt as though he was a different man when he was with her. A man he would always hope to someday be, maybe could be. But the life he lived, the reality that constantly dawned on him told him otherwise. But he never would give anything else in the world than to be with her, even if it meant for just a wink. 

As the pair found themselves well within the room, he turned to her, smiled, and kissed her gently on the lips. “I know I say this all the time, but I truly mean it. I love you Jess. There’s no one I would rather have with me here more than you.” His hand gave her’s a gentle squeeze as he looked around again at all that was happening around them. 

“Well, Lara certainly does know how to throw a party,” he said to Jess while still looking to see if he could spot any familiar faces. He then looked back at her, his eyes showing such endearing. “Would you like a drink love? I’d be happy to grab some from the bar for the both of us?” 

[johnathanparsons]

Open Starter

Johnathan Parsons was eager to step through the doors of The Underground Bar and see the Rutherford children’s faces again. It had been too long since he was last able to see them, and it felt appropriate, especially with his elevated anxieties around the French, to allow himself to find some peace in his life, if only for a little while. 

There were only a few people in his life he truly loved and enjoyed the company of, and lately he realized the circle of people he can trust had started to shrink. But he was GOING to enjoy himself, one way or another. 

As he walked through the main doors to the bar, he realized just how much work and effort went into this place. The modern, but classy feel to the place warmed him up from the inside. As he looked around, he saw many familiar faces, as well as unfamiliar ones. But he wouldn’t allow himself to revert back to a crazed bloodhound, eager to sniff out danger at the first sign of trouble. He would try his best to restrain that natural instinct, and actually enjoy the festivities, at least for once in his life. At least... for Lara. 

He spotted the bar and made a straight line to it, gently moving past people who were busy in chatter, too busy to worry about a fifty-two year-old alcoholic that needed his fifth drink for the day or he would die of thirst, or something like that. 

He ordered the scotch and waited for the drink as someone nudged by his shoulder and placed themselves up to the bar. His first thought was to ignore them, as he was much too focused on his drink. But he reminded himself that he was here for enjoyment too. 

“Quite a lovely place to set up for an establishment such as this, don’t you think?” he said to the person, his eyes still focused on his drink being prepared. 

[johnathanparsons]

There couldn’t have been more perfect of a time for the event. Johnathan was growing tired of his elevated stress levels, while still juggling the inevitable threat of the French menace, AND constantly trying to stay on both Melissa and Andrew’s good side, not that he intended to always play the good little angel, but he would most definitely try his best to restrain himself, especially for Lara. 

It was possibly one of the few events he actually truly enjoyed to attend. Seeing her face, conversing with their dark jokes again, all of it would immediately bring him back onto his footing, and give him the break from the cruel razor of life just for a little while. 

Her speech was wonderful. He actually found himself clapping after she was finished, a trait he usually did not partake in. He gave a quiet chuckle at her lipped words to Damon, the two still to this day among the few of his closest allies and family. 

When the floor began to clear again, he decided to approach Lara before someone else caught her attention. He smiled as he walked up to her, the joy already floating up into his heart. 

“Lara, my dear, I think you really have something truly marvelous here.” He gently embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And a very happy birthday to you. How are you? I felt as though it has been eons since we last saw each other?” The smile on his face never ceased. Seeing the Rutherford children was one of the few times where he actually felt somewhat relaxed, instead of constantly looking over his shoulder for a possible stab to the back.

It was remarkably difficult to remain sincere when she hated at least half of the people present. The things one did for money.

Once most of the guests had gathered on the main floor—or at least the ones of import, anyway—the hostess took it as her cue to finally welcome them with the expected speech. It would be a night of forced smiles and rehearsed pleasantries, but she’d been doing both for long enough that it came as second nature these days. The Rutherford could manage the crowd so long as things went off without a hitch. So long as people remembered her night for the right reasons. This wasn’t about a bloody birthday party.

“I will say: getting to this point has been an exceptionally challenging experience. I’m not like my brother,” she said, before glancing at him and mouthing ‘thank God’; it was enough to earn a chuckle from those listening. Time to wrap this shit up. Nobody liked anyone who spoke for too long… “This is my first real business pursuit on my own, and it doesn’t come as easily to me as it does the others in my family. These past few months have been difficult, eye-opening, and certainly hard work, which is why it’s humbling to see so many of you here to support my efforts…or drink all of my champagne. When I say thank you, I mean it.” Sort of. Christ. Lara definitely needed another drink. “So please, do me one last kindness and enjoy yourselves. Hopefully, there will be plenty more occasions for the same in the future.”

[johnathanparsons]

yourstruly-rachael‌:

Rachael angled her body to cut Jonathan off. It didn’t matter if she was the only on in the house or not, Jonathan was not welcome there today, and with the way that he was speaking, she was starting to think that she would never welcome him into the home. She knew that Jonathan was looking for Sarah, anticipating that she had lied to him about Sarah not being there. Rachael was many things, but she knew better than to let Sarah witness this discussion that she had been anticipating since Johnathan got back to London. 

She flinched as Jonathan raised his voice, but she only felt anger as Johnathan had called Sarah his daughter. Rachael was the one raising the child, the one who had carried Sarah. Birthed Sarah. Rachael was there every sleepless night that Sarah had needed her, and been there for every big moment in her daughter’s life. He could not take that away from her. His words were bitter and spiteful, but she could not allow him to make her feel inferior any longer. 

Yes. Sarah is safe, and I’d be damned to tell you where. You can threaten me all you want, but unless you have forgotten, I have primary custody. Her whereabouts are my responsibility. Not yours.” Rachael may not have been privy to all of Jonathan’s work for the Rutherfords, but she was done being intimidated by him, and she would not let hi take he child away from her. 

“Honestly, Johnathan, I don’t care who or what you are, but if your work put Sarah in harms way, there is no fucking way I am going to let her anywhere near you.” She could feel the rage start to boil up inside of her at the thought of Jonathan threatening her, and furthermore Jonathan putting Sarah in danger soley because of who he was and what he did. Who the hell did he think he was? Coming into her home, threatening her and her children? He had no right to be there, and no right to be demanding anything from Rachael. “You better hope I don’t get a restraining order. You lost your right to her when you decided to but her in danger by being related to you. I’m not naive, I know what happens when you are a part of a mob, the rivals don’t just go after you, but the people you love. You have lost your right to demand anything with regards to Sarah” Rachael snarled. She would not let any harm come to Sarah because of that man.

Rachael scoffed as Jonathan spoke, “You are a pathetic, diluted excuse for a man with an oversized ego and narcissistic tendencies. You have never been more than Andrew’s pet and never will be.” Her mouth tasted of bile, and she felt her rage slipping out. She didn’t care about the broken glass on the floor, or any other damage that Jonathan might resort to, all she cared about was keeping Sarah, and by extention Lochlan, safe. 

“Get out of my house,” she sneered through gritted teeth. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

It would have been more than easy for him to continue to escalate with her, the room an erupting volcano of fiery comments and disdain for one another. The attack on his reputation and the lowering of his power to Andrew’s mere lapdog only infuriated him further. 

The blood vessels in his eyes became shot with a bright red, and he felt as a bull about to charge at the red cape, with no reasoning behind his actions, but only pure rage and fury. He gripped his fists, ready to punch a wall, or possibly his ex-wife, but he tried to maintain control as best he could. The show of anger obviously was not going to get anywhere with her, and this was her house. But most of all, he was not about to start something he would dearly regret. 

It felt harder than ever to control what he currently felt. Rachel’s voice shouting at him blindly like a rabid dog didn’t help either, but he stayed quiet, trying to push back the heat that burned in is chest, as well as the tight feeling in his throat before he was about to do something rash. 

What he wanted to say was go fuck yourself, but he knew that would only result in more fighting. He knew his past was filled with mistakes and regrets, both as a husband and a father. The disconnection he had with Sarah only increased his anxieties and fears of never seeing her again, his own flesh and blood, but it also was a constant tick annoying him to the point of pure disgust toward Rachel. 

He gritted his teeth, with fists still clenched, and took a deep inhale, and exhaled. The fury that he felt was still there, but it was slightly less than what he had felt seconds ago. He knew he had to get out of this place before things got worse. He didn’t need the police or the neighbors giving unnecessary attention to a situation that would only place him as the bad guy. For years he had tried to find ways to control his anger, his constant need to pummel through tough situations, but this one was harder than he had imagined. 

He couldn’t say anything else, for her sake and his. He would NOT allow himself to become anymore heated over her putrid comments. All he could do was leave, just get away. 

He walked with a calm pace to the door, turned the handle, and slammed it shut behind him. Despite the glass lamp that still lay shattered on the floor, the rest of the house he left untouched, but the same could not be said for his steering wheel as he let out what he tried to contain in front of Rachel. The busted leather and metal ripped and bent. His knuckles and fingers cut, bruised, and bleeding. It felt wonderful. 

Our Child feat. Rachel

[johnathanparsons]

lin-melissa‌:

Melissa stayed silent as Johnathan began his proposition with a disclaimer – there was really no need for her to comment when Johnathan already judged himself for her. Besides, whatever he had planned deemed serious enough to call for a meeting; Melissa might as well give him the benefit of a doubt.

She paid careful attention as he spoke about a woman he suspected to be a French ally. Yet, when she awaited for the facts to support his sentiments, Melissa instead got a pregnant pause, with Johnathan looking at her expectantly for a verdict she could not give. What answer could she have given when there was no question raised?

What had followed her response – which was no response – didn’t enlighten her further. Silenced before she could bring up the flaw of his pitch, Melissa leaned back on her seat and took a sip of her wine, losing interest immediately at everything else he had to say. When Johnathan properly asked for her thoughts, the woman let out a deep sigh, making no effort to hide how underwhelmed she was with what he had presented before her. 

“I’m disappointed that you would assume I’d waste Adrian’s or even Divya’s time looking into what is basically a hunch of yours,” Melissa laid out flatly. She considered her next course of action. It would be too easy to criticize him for his shortcomings – a lack of confidence and conviction when he explained the situation were already red flags. However, Johnathan did behave in a professional manner, tried his best even if it fell short. Melissa could at least do the same.

“Okay, take me through this again,” Melissa said, tilting her head to the side for her hand to support as she mapped out the questions in her head. “This girl Rebekah –  what makes you suspect she’s a French ally? How important could she be that you must find out?” If they were going to spend resources on the girl, then the probability best be in their favor. “Next, you’d need to find the girl to even have the chance to deceive her. How will you fish her out?”

“Lastly, if she really is who you think she is, what makes you think she doesn’t know who you are? What is even the point of your so-called deception?”

The feeling of stupidity and defeat did not sit well with him. He knew that there would be some sort of argument or struggle for Melissa to understand the reasoning behind his curiosity, but he would not allow himself to dig a deeper grave by not even discussing the matter with her first. He had learned this during their time together as husband and wife, and now even as they continued to work together as partners within the Rutherford Organization. He had learned all of her body language and mannerisms, and could immediately tell she was displeased.

There was never a moment when they were together that it did not make him feel uncomfortable inside, knowing that the woman sitting across from him used to be his one and only love. But he had to constantly destroy these discomforts with the reminder of the positions they both held and each’s importance in order to maintain stability to the entire organization. 

He sat straight up and placed his arms onto the table before him as he fiddled with an olive he picked up from the bowl it was in. 

“I don’t expect you to understand fully why I feel this as an importance,” he said to her, glancing at the olive and back to her patient and unimpressed gaze. 

“I had the feeling first when she had engaged me in conversation. It was subtle at first, but I think I can say that I have been able to develop an instinct for the questionable.” His delivery was meant with more purpose this time, only hoping that she would level with him and understand that the world he saw every day was a dark and vile place. A place where it would be difficult to trust anyone. 

He felt Melissa lacked the confidence and push to investigate even the most minor of occurrences, but at the same time he couldn’t blame her for feeling how she did, with the way he had slapped the idea on the table as if it was a slab of cold meat, the smell nothing more than just that... meat, and nothing more. 

“And we both know that there was a rather unusual French presence at that party. It was only inevitable before one had recognized me and had the guts to even start a conversation. I’ll give her that much, she’s got confidence. But that can also get one killed.” His gaze followed again back into the eyes of Melissa, expecting no reaction at all, but maybe he could at least pull her into the direction he was intending for. 

“And I wouldn’t need to find her. After all, she gave me a number to reach her at before she had left. All I would have to do is act as the bait. Therefore my dear, the deception lies in the fact of my false gullibility.” He gently reclined back into the chair and popped the olive into his mouth, satisfied with his acknowledgment to her doubts. 

Rutherford’s Meet Again feat. Melissa

[johnathanparsons]

Johnathan Parsons attending Lara Rutherford’s 29th birthday party at The Underground.

--Friday, August 30th, 2019 --Escorting: Jessica Reyes

[johnathanparsons]

theodorechaussard‌:

He was practically shaking with the enormity of his anger, with the thirst of his revenge searing through his veins. The faces of his friends flashed through his mind, accompanied by the images of their bodies on the floor, bleeding out, the splatters of their crimson blood across his suit.

Having never felt such rage before, Théo was nearly lost to it. It threatened to devour him, yet words about etiquette and respect from Nicholas St. Clair himself echoed in the back of his mind, quelling the rage just enough for Théo to, shakily, regain control. While by no means calm, Théo managed to sit down in his chair, his jaw clenching as he spat through his own teeth, “Fuck. You.” “I should have figured you’d have me chained up before coming into a room with me, just like you disarmed us before massacring the lot of us in Porto. Un homme sans couilles n'est pas vraiment un homme.”  He exhaled heavily, pushing the smoke away from him. “Tell me what you want, Parsons,” He demanded, his words sharp with venom in his voice, “Then get the fuck out.”

As he tried to keep a professional appearance on the outside, within him he was reveling in the Frenchman’s grief. 

He held his cigar out to his side, not even caring that the dim ember-ash were falling onto the floor below him. Sloppy, but intentional. He waited for Théo to calm himself, seeing as how the man slowly sat down, as if he was ready to strike again at the first sign of foul play. 

Johnathan tapped at the cigar again before he took another puff. The enormous amount of joy never ceasing as the feeling fluttered in his chest. The feeling of absolute and complete control of the one person he had despised since he made that fatal mistake in allowing him to live all those years ago. 

“Now, now Théodore, I thought we said we were going to be POLITE.” He gazed back into the young man’s eyes, seeing how his comment did not enthuse his guest in the slightest. 

“And really? Do you people always have to throw profanity and a man’s genitals into question when trying to insult them? Please. It’s just in poor taste.” It dissatisfied Johnathan that he was forced to learn French, but in his early days, and especially now, it was important for him to understand everything the French were up to, even if that included learning their own revolting language. He almost had the sensation to take out his handkerchief and wipe the bitter taste from his tongue just thinking about it. 

“Well, now that you mention it... there is something I’ve been needing to discuss with you. It involves your commanding region of London. Westminster I believe?” Johnathan paused, allowing for the Frenchman to catch on, slowly reeling in the hook he had him on. 

“You see Théodore, you are in a prime location that we just can’t tolerate being in control of an absolute buffoon such as yourself. Let alone a Frenchman.” He took another puff of his cigar, holding in the smoke before he let it drift out of his nostrils and mouth. 

“To make it plain and simple for you dim-witted low-lives, either YOU move your boundary line out of Westminster, leaving it ALL back in our hands, or... we kill you. And leave you as a message to not trifle with us.” The temptation to strangle the man before him was enticing. To end the pathetic waste of existence before him was definitely on Johnathan’s bucket-list, but he had to keep his composure if he was going to try and not only satisfy a possible gain of territory from the French, but also an appeasement in the eyes of Melissa.   

The Collision of the Galaxies

[johnathanparsons]

jessica-reyes‌:

“No. Thank you,” she focused on snapping her gloves into place to suppress the irritation at his offer. “This place might not look like much, but it’s mine.” She’s sure he meant it kindly, that it wasn’t supposed to be patronising, but he wasn’t the first man with money to sniff around her. She’d never been a fan of the ‘pretty woman’ fantasy game. In college it had been tempting, but now? She knew how liberating it was to know no one could take any aspect of her life back to punish her, she’d earned it. She wondered briefly if he had too, was he some rich mob boy or had he been hungry, angry and desperate too like most of the boys she saw rallied up by the Kings?

She almost laughed at him, instead, she leaned back shaking her head in transparent disbelief. “I’m a nurse, you know I’m not pouring you a drink right now. You’re lucky I didn’t knock the last one out of your hands,” She warned softly, giving him a meaningful side-eye as she opened the fresh suture kit, wiping down the needle and tweezers with alcohol swabs to be extra cautious. Out the corner of her eye, she watched him palm the painkillers before swallowing them. “You’re a less difficult patient than I thought you’d be,” She praised, half on autopilot as she fiddled. “Sounds like you’ve had a lot of practice though,” Jess teased.

The exhale was loud and bloody, but she hadn’t gotten twisted up at the sight since she was a girl. College had knocked that right out of her. She took the now red rag from him, almost tossing it into the sink before thinking better of it and the mess she’d make if she missed; instead just leaving it in a heap on her kitchen table. “You’re not out of the woods yet, Handsome. That was the easy part.” She pulled her seat nice and close, sitting face to face as she reached up towards his face. “I’m going to put it back into shape. I want you to take a deep breath and on three exhale out of your mouth.” Her fingers settled onto his nose, finding it’s proper placement. One. Two. Three–– and with an unsettling crunch, she leans back to see the damage. Her hands reached for the rag again, putting it back against his nose. “Blow again. One more should do it.”

She placed it back down carelessly and returned to grip his nose before counting upwards again. One. Two. Three–– this time the crackling pain leads to something worthwhile, though his nose was swollen it was noticeably straighter. The split of his nose started to bleed again, but sutures should be pretty steady sailing. “See–– very good. Years of being a tough guy paid off for you, huh?” She smiled, grabbing a clean gauze instead of the cloth to place pressure on it.

“You know you’re lucky they didn’t kill you in there right?” She asked finally, tearing open new alcohol swabs. “What were you thinking was going to happen? You beat them up and go home? You were in a King’s bar.” She wasn’t sure if she was scolding, or simply trying to understand what demented idea would possess him to think that fight was a good idea. Even if he’d won, the rest of the bar would’ve turned on him. She wouldn’t be there to patch him up the next time he felt like getting toothy with a couple of gangbangers.

The lingering pain was almost blinding at first, but thankfully it began to settle as he readjusted his sight to the woman in front of him. His focus gazed from her lips trying to say something to him, and back to her eyes. He must have looked like a complete fool at first, but tried his best to bring himself together, holding onto whatever non-lucid feeling he could. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I only was-,” he interrupted himself as he saw what would become another baffling comment if he had continued. “My apologies again for all of this. You really didn’t need to help me back there.” His posture now a bit slumped forward with his forearms supporting his upper body against the table. He was still in awe of how fast and coordinated she was. She would be a valuable ally in anyone’s eyes, and not just because of her medical expertise, but also due to how she held herself. He knew she could hold her own if it came to it, be it an ugly confrontation, or some other traumatizing incident. Johnathan needed more people in his life that could be like that. People he could trust to do what others couldn’t, and stay by his side through it all. He saw that in her now. But it was so strange, at first she was just a random stranger that had crossed paths with him in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now... it felt, different. 

He decided to try his footing again, this time taking it slower, allowing his knees to gently bend and straighten, the joints and tendons crackling from the injuries he had endeavored. Only a few grunts left his breath as he finally made it to his full height, the pain now returning, but not as strong as before. Thank God for pain-killers. 

“Being a tough guy had nothing to do with it,” he said to her as he pushed the chair out from behind him and held onto the back rest of the chair with his dominant hand. “And you’re right. It was stupid luck that saved me back there. No... it was YOU who saved me.” For a moment he half-choked. Was Johnathan Parsons actually giving due credit to someone who deserved it? And especially in spite of his current embarrassment for even making the dumb-ass mistake in walking in that bar in the first place?

“So... thank you, again. For everything. I guess I’ll just have to try and stay away from those Cavado bars.” He chuckled, but it hurt with every exhaled laugh he gave, the blood still bitter in his mouth. “Don’t know how long that’ll last though. I hear they got some damn good liqour that I’ve been needing to try,” he said while slightly hobbling to the door. 

He stopped suddenly in front of the door, his hand practically on the handle. 

What are you doing you idiot. You can’t do this. Not now.

Bullocks.

He turned around and looked at her one last time. “I... would you-,” he paused with his eyes looking around the room as if he was at a loss for words. He cleared his throat, making the coagulated blood push up from the back of his throat to the back of his tongue, leaving a taste that was extremely unsettling. “I owe you for what you did to help me. You didn’t need to do anything. You could have just allowed me to die in that bar. But you didn’t. That action deserves something. YOU deserve something.” He walked towards the table, with his one leg being less supported than the other, and pulled out a receipt he had received from the bar and flipped it over to the blank side. He grabbed a pen from the table and wrote his cell number down onto the paper and slid it toward her. 

“I hope you don’t find this odd, but... would you like to grab a drink or a cup of coffee sometime? I would very much like to see you again.” His smile returned, resembling what he could of a respectable individual, despite the cuts and gashes on his face. 

Making sure he did not overstay his welcome, he headed back toward the door, and this time, intended to leave. His eyes meeting hers one last time before he departed. “And if you would rather not, at least let me know if there is anything I can do for YOU. Maybe I can repay the favor you have so graciously bestowed upon me.”

He turned his head back to the door and closed it as he walked back down the steps. He was thankful his cell was not destroyed during the fight as he pulled it out to call for a ride. He knew he would be getting a mouthful from both Melissa and Andrew when he got back, but he was far too content at the moment to even care. 

FLASHBACK - the night we met.

[johnathanparsons]

yourstruly-rachael‌:

Rachael rolled her eyes. She did not have time for ridiculous, smart ass remarks from Johnathan. She was the one with the power in this situation and the both of them knew it, so as far as Rachael was concerned, Johnathan better watch himself. Rachael had been dreading this visit, this encounter since Johnathan moved back to London, and honestly, no amount of Xanax would be able to save her from the impending conversation. Since Rachael had learned of the more…questionable aspects of Andrew and Johnathan’s operation, she had been screening his calls, and trying to keep Sarah from contacting her father. Rachael wanted Sarah to have no part of the unsavory parts of Johnathan’s job, and truthfully, Rachael no longer trusted Johnathan around her children, even if they were his own flesh and blood. 

“I’m sorry that I don’t live in some modern, polished, upscale penthouse, but I am raising two children.” She had no issue having furniture that was more family friendly, and to be frank, she almost preferred it, it help keep the home cozy. When she and Johnathan were together, she felt as if she had to present some house that barely looked lived in, and now that it was her and the kids, she felt as if she could better express herself in her home. “You have ten minutes,” her voice stern, “so you better get to it.” Rachael brushed off the adulterous slander. At least I am not a murder. She figured she better keep her composure for as long as possible, because she could be in this battle for the long haul. 

“Safe,” she tiptoed around the question, giving no specifics about Sarah’s location. Her eyes darted to Johnathan’s wandering gaze. It was as if he has lost a part of him and he was desperately seeking to put himself back together. “I’m sorry, but my children will not be fraternizing with cold blooded mobsters, biological or not,” she replied cooly. She could feel her stomach churn and her heart start to pound, worried that Johnathan might do something to her in order to get to Sarah.

His eyes widened with the building rage bubbling inside his chest. “Oh Rachel, you should really learn the word sarcasm some time. You do it enough yourself, I merely thought that you would of caught on by now,” he said to her while not even making eye contact and walking on slightly past her, his eyes wandering around the house, hoping if he could see any sign that his daughter was still here. 

“And I don’t give a damn about this house. I give a damn about how you raise my daughter!” He didn’t realize how loud his voice had become and tried to restrain what he could of himself, in case they were about to make a scene in front of Sarah. His use of my instead of our daughter was strictly intended to plunge yet another jab at Rachel’s cold, unforgiving heart, but it was all he could do to keep himself from the temptation of breaking every object in sight. 

“Safe? You really think I will be satisfied with you just telling me that she is safe? Safe WHERE Rachel?! Do you really want to play this game with me?” His voice, returning to its previous heightened volume now started to ring off the walls of the room. He was tired of being stonewalled by his own ex-wife. And her excuse for his professional involvement with the organization keeping him away from Sarah only infuriated him further. 

He looked at her with utter disgust. “And is that REALLY what you think of me? A MOBSTER?! Some run of the mill little bitch who just causes anarchy and chaos wherever he goes? Fuck no!” He paused and tried to walk off the anger that was now at his throat, nearly spilling out of his mouth with each disgruntled comment he aimed at her. His hands grabbed at his hips as he walked around the room trying to formulate the convictions that were just slapped on his character. He spun around and pointed his finger at her face. “You had better hope that you have not done something permanent. Because I swear to God Rachel, if you even think about trying to keep Sarah from me forever I will hunt her down myself. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO WHAT IS JUST AS WELL MINE!!” He grabbed the nearest object he could find, sitting on a small corner table, and threw it on the ground with such violence that the glass pieces nicked him in the face, while the rest lay shattered on the floor of the previously small lamp. 

He started to laugh almost as if he was spinning into a hysteria. “You really think I’m just some mobster huh? Well hon, you couldn’t be more wrong. I am so much more than that. I am order, I am control, and anyone that gets in my fucking way is going to understand what a life of pain and misery really means.” He kicked the glass shards that lay before his feet, purposefully trying to make more of a mess than already had been done. 

“So Rachel, I’m going to ask you again.... where’s... my...daughter.”

Our Child feat. Rachel

[johnathanparsons]

@lin-melissa. [text]

Melissa: You've piqued my interest.

Melissa: Territory would be best. Out of our larger ones, preferably.

Melissa: His car seems nice, too.

Melissa: If your meeting will be a business negotiation, act appropriately.

Johnathan: Seems fair enough for a bargain. I'll see what we can choke out of him. And I do mean that metaphorically... as long as the bastard is willing to play nice.

Johnathan: I'll update you once I'm out. Maybe I'll even drive his car back... or wreck it... depends how I'll feel when it's over.