leemalkovich

[leemalkovich]

"There's always the next exhibit, darling," he says. "Though I reckon, it isn't everyone's cuppa tea."

Dark, and raw, and black-and-white. His signature.

Lee's gaze follows her hand, and just where it points to. A gorgeous creature, wearing red and charming the room like it belonged to her. Admittedly however, he hadn't noticed the woman until now. "Aye — Perhaps I would walk up to her, and offer a glass of Echezeaux."

"Now you humor me, darling. Prince charming's eyeing you across the room — what happens next?"

A simple 'mm' slipped out, as she wondered whether she might have ever seen his work while traversing the city. She must have. "My old hood. Might have been too busy going through the divorce. Must have been why I missed your exhibit." A polite smile.

His candor struck a chord with her—a mark of what was to be good company, for the evening, she thought. Her brows raised at him along with the corners of her lips. "No, they don't. Okay, fine. Let's say you find the perfect prey–" With her free hand, she points out a sophisticated woman in crimson halfway across the room. "And she's perfect. Every bit of your type through and through. How do you woo her? C'mon. Entertain me," she pled, "Play-by-play, Malkovich."

@leemalkovich

[leemalkovich]

Ever so easily, Lee smiles. "I never claimed to be a poet."

Though some intellects would certainly champion the fact that photography is a form of poetry — as it's believed most art to also be. "Alas, I was not — but I do happen to have my Leica with me." A fine coincidence. "And I can very well guarantee dramatics."

"Apologies, darling," he teases back. "Next time, I'll try American Pie."

Elena turns toward him with the ease of someone who’s spent years being watched — but rarely seen. Her smile is subtle, enigmatic, the kind that leaves just enough room for interpretation. “You’d remember if you had,” she says, tone smooth as silk. “I don’t tend to forget the people who get that close to me — lens or otherwise.”

She lets her gaze travel briefly across the room, landing on one of the black-and-white portraits adorning the wall, then back to Lee with a knowing lift of her brow. “Though if you’re offering a session now, I hope you’re better behind the camera than with compliments.” A pause — then, drier, just teasing: “Or at least equally dramatic.”

A sip of her drink, calm and unbothered. “So — tell me, do you always open conversations like it’s Act One of a noir film?”

[leemalkovich]

Looking down at the man, Lee's gaze tracks the blood as it leaks and expands over the asphalt. In his world, there are plenty of reasons to end a life — and annoyance is damn well one of them. "Agree to disagree, darling."

"...Unspoken, perhaps. But I'm not quite the law-abiding man, either." Not that the confession was needed; the corpse laying between them is plenty evidence of such. Evidence, as well, that this is now a crime scene. "Walk with me?"

Away from here.

Levi tried to make sure that all of this was private, he hated and did not want anyone else to get involved. He thought that the streets would be empty since it was late and no one would be around but it seems like he was wrong. He did not expect to see Lee and also did not expect what the other did next. Levi was not shocked, this was not the first time he saw death. Growing up he had watched his brother, his father and grandfather take a life in front of him and he had gone numb to it. As much as he was annoyed with the other, he did not want them dead.

"He was really an annoying one but not that annoying to be killed," he sighed as he walked toward Lee and looked at him. "I am guessing he broke a law and paid the price," he added shrugging his shoulders.

[leemalkovich]

It's Lee's turn to study him in silence, then. Of course, Fatih had told a different version of that same story — a version where the husband (nameless, at the time) was entirely unaware, and that the original plan was to keep him as such.

This could very well be the truth, or a fabricated tale made for rewriting his past mistakes. If the Syndicate knew what their hitman had willingly shared with a federal agent, there would be no such thing as forgiveness.

"I didn't go to prison," Lee says, matter-of-fact. "I went somewhere far less... fun." Ten years of padded white walls, slanted doorframes, and more pills than he could memorize the colours and functions of.

The ambiance changes as the lights shift, and the current song fades into the next. A ballad — how fitting.

"Aye. You did help him, darling. If he hadn't gone to prison, he'd certainly be dead by now." If not by Lee's hand, then someone else's. By exposing himself, Fatih had also exposed the entirerty of the Syndicate — cracked open a case which could imply most, if not all of them. "Bloody interesting, since he nearly begged for my help." Beat. "Perhaps I'm hotter?"

There is a shift so subtle in the air that Selim is sure only a psychologist would notice it; crawling out from behind the mask of a man, something eerie and hollow settles between them. There were multiple paths he could take, most of them could get him killed, one would test a theory, and another would play to the imagination of the rumours circulating that he'd been involved in his ex-husband's crimes or at the very least, known of them.

He takes a breath, allows his genuine shock to mix with calculation and locks his gaze with Lee's. So it was the latter. "Really?" The agent questions as if someone admitting to being a murderer was common bar-side banter. "I guess...I understand your ex-wife pretty well in that regard." He lies. "I knew who I was marrying." He hadn't. "I knew how it would clash with my career but I...didn't care until the consequences of his actions caught up with him." A deep breath, followed by a shake of his head. "I can't say I found it charming though, more of a nuisance." He goes to speak but doesn't, a well-timed pause. "You know, I offered to help him? To help him avoid jail time but he declined. Let me ask you something - if your ex-wife was a federal agent and offered you help back then? Wouldn't you have taken it? To avoid prison?"

[leemalkovich]

Watching Levi come out of the darkness, Lee's gaze traces his every step — palpable silence settling as he drags the red-stained blade across the fabric of his shirt.

"Sorry, darling," he starts, "would you have liked him to continue on threatening you?" Once his weapon's clean, Lee pockets the knife again — and steps over the corpse as one would a pile of clothes on the ground. "Should I have let him live only to terrorize you longer?"

Levi tried to make sure that all of this was private, he hated and did not want anyone else to get involved. He thought that the streets would be empty since it was late and no one would be around but it seems like he was wrong. He did not expect to see Lee and also did not expect what the other did next. Levi was not shocked, this was not the first time he saw death. Growing up he had watched his brother, his father and grandfather take a life in front of him and he had gone numb to it. As much as he was annoyed with the other, he did not want them dead.

"He was really an annoying one but not that annoying to be killed," he sighed as he walked toward Lee and looked at him. "I am guessing he broke a law and paid the price," he added shrugging his shoulders.

[leemalkovich]

"Dunno, mate," Lee shrugs. "Genetics, perhaps. I'm English, so I always reckoned I'd age like a glass of milk in a hot car."

Leaning against the bar, he studies Selim with quiet amusement. His madness battles the more reasonable voices in his head — the killer who embraces chaos claws away at the security provided through the image of a man who could more or less fit in.

Still, Lee can feel the man slipping away. There are plenty of stories of monsters who hide in plain sight —Bateman, Lecter, Bates—, yet Malkovich never found he had the talent to make the cut.

"We divorced only after I was arrested — not because of it, but because long distance made things impossibly hard." The way he shrugs and sips for more makes this no different than a conversation about the weather. "She always knew I was a murderer, aye. In fact, she found it quite charming."

Was he? He wondered. Flattering him? "I'm only being truthful, really. I think it's interesting though, from a genetic standpoint, how some people look their age while others don't. What do you think is the cause? Good genetics? Home environment? Life circumstance?" Personally, he'd argue that it was a bit of all of them but he waits for the other's reply before giving his own opinion; it was the best way to keep him talking. "Married and divorced? Yeah," He breathes a calculative laugh before continuing with an arched brow. "- no need to linger on that." He makes a mental note; scottish, late forties to mid-fifties, unmarried, innocent for now. He sighs mentally - he highly doubted that his ex-husband's affiliates would be so easily traced but he would admit to it being frustrating anyway. The agent chuckles. "So then, you walked away with busted nostrils instead of ear drums - understood."

[leemalkovich]

@elenaxserrano setting: some upscale bar

Only in New York City, would a man like himself find his way into a place like this. 

Alas, the killer in Lee Malkovich exists only in harmony with the photographer whose pictures are bought for small fortunes and hung up on walls as wide as they are tall. At this very venue, some of his work is distributed amongst the decor — framing the room in all their black and white glory.

"I've taken your photograph, have I not?" Lee asks her suddenly. Certainly, he would remember those eyes — that hair which cascades down like a waterfall. "...Bloody idiot if I haven't."

[leemalkovich]

In truth, Lee hadn't expected to steal her time in the way he seems to now. In the Syndicate, their paths had crossed only casually — different ends of differing business made it so that their paths seldom crossed.

"I'd be flattered if you would," Lee tells her. "As an artist, I'm well aware art speaks for itself — yet there's nothing like an enlightened voice guiding one through."

He slips his hands into his pockets, then. It's an ensemble of all black — black trousers, black shirt, black jacket, black boots. "I've got all the time in the world, darling." Beat. "Shall we?"

it was the voice that clicked—familiar in a way that coaxed her gaze upward, toward a man she knew all too well. not just from fleeting visits or idle conversation, but from ties deeper than most guessed: part of an organization that had, over the years, benefited her more than she'd admit, particularly in the realm of power.

her eyes swept over his tall frame, noting, as always, that even in heels, he still had more than a foot on her. with a quiet snap, she closed the leather-bound catalog she’d been reviewing and stepped out from behind the front desk, composed as ever. "i do have time to show you," she said, her french accent curling lightly around the words. there was the above-ground exhibit he surely hadn’t seen, and the stettheimer dollhouse. eccentric, overlooked, but impossible to forget. “though, it might take more than an hour.”

there was no rush in her tone. and no intention of sending him off quickly.

[leemalkovich]

Throughout the years, Lee had made most museums his home. A thirst for art kept him coming back, time and time again, lured by new exhibits and made loyal by tradition.

"In an hour, innit, darling?" Lee checks his watch. "I can be quick. Long legs, aye." The very same nuisance that made him stand out busy crowds, comes as an aid in moments like these. "Could make it even quicker, if you'll show me where the new pieces are. Reckon I've already seen everything else."

where: museum of the city of new york who: geneviève & open

it had been one of those days—the kind where if one thing went wrong, everything else decided to follow. geneviève kept her composure, of course. on the outside, calm and capable. on the inside, she was quietly imagining the demise of every imbecile she'd encountered. It was, admittedly, the most fun she’d had all day.

with most of the chaos finally untangled and less than an hour left until closing, she was at the front desk, shuffling through a few last sheets of paperwork. The door opened.

“we're closing soon,” she said without looking up. her tone was flat, purely informative. no warmth, no smile—just the faint trace of her french accent curling around the words.

[leemalkovich]

"Photography," Lee answers, though killing should earn itself an honorable mention. He wants to say it out loud; introduce her to the most impressive, thrilling side of himself. "I've works at a few galleries uptown."

Watching Kitty closely, he ponders on her question, silently considering what it would be like to take her as his muse. "Aye, I'd ought to get to know you first. As I've said, humans make romance what it is — and humans aren't, as I find, ever the same. "What do you find exciting? What do you crave?" He isn't asking her, necessarily — merely musing out loud. "What do your nights look like every night, and how would they look like next to me?"

"...I'll be honest, darling. I don't seek to make anyone fall head over heels for me — I seek someone who I would fall for. Whether they fancy me back or not, though I'd try my bloody best, isn't particularly urgent." Finally, he gives his wine a taste again. "They don't make yearning nowadays quite like they used to."

@kittykap

Her fingers drummed along her chin, as she pretended to think up a better nickname than Lee. "Lee's perfect by itself, too," she assured, watching his cliched gesture of a greeting with a smile, "A single syllable. Hard to forget." As he cared to elaborate, Kitty sunk herself deep into listening to him. Again, it was hard for her to resist being entranced by his accent.

"An artist in what medium?" she queried, squinting her eyes at him in suspicion. She could see many versions of an artist in him but which one exactly? "Well, write me off as a bit of a hopeless pessimist then because I like neither of those things." In fact, the type A personality shivered about it. "Maybe I've just never been swept off my feet by the right person yet. — How would you go about making someone like me fall head over heels?" Kitty tipped her glass in his direction before taking a quiet sip, curious as to what tactics he thought might work on her.

@leemalkovich

[leemalkovich]

Watching the commotion, Lee stops at the edge of the alleyway, his eyes following both men and their combat. Even in the dark, he recognizes both victim and attacker. His saving doctor, and Fatih's brother — jumped by one of the many hitmen under the Syndicate's rule.

Under Lee's rule. That mere fact alone is enough to call for a death sentence — as one who would answer to any member's orders, knows not enough about hierarchy as to respect it. The hitman attempts to run out of the alleyway, though Lee is already waiting — with his firm grip and a sharp knife, drawing bloody gashes across his throat.

As the man drops dead on the ground, Lee's gaze searches for Levi in the dark. "You can come out now, darling. He won't be bothering you, any longer."

starter for @leemalkovich

Levi was not really in a good mood nor was he really himself. He had been pushed to his breaking point especially after meeting with his older brother, well his older brother had found him in his clinic a few days back. They had an argument which was nothing new. His brother thought that Levi was wasting his talent and was doing everything he could to push and push. It had been a normal night at the clinic, he had helped a few families before closing up and heading home. The doctor was glad that he had taken time off work and just wanted to get into bed.

He sighed before he noticed someone walking behind him, Levi had a bad feeling and so he pretended to ignore them as he walked, leading them into ally way where no one would see them before they attacked and he attacked back. During the attack he saw the tattoo on the male's arm as he pointed their gun at them. "You are foolish to come after me and I know my brother sent you," he spoke his voice filled with rage. He lowered the gun down and toss it on the floor after making sure it was safe to do so. "Tell my brother he would have to try better," he added as he watched them pick it up and run off. The doctor closed his eyes and just stood there for a moment unaware of another person.

[leemalkovich]

Most of the ink on Lee's body had been done through his youth. London, nineteen-eighties and nineties, artwork chosen on a whim each time.

Fine lines of only black, never colour, are hidden under his leather jacket and shirt as he walks into the tattoo parlour. This time, also on a whim.

"'Ello, darling." The face that greets him doesn't seem unfamiliar. One of The Brotherhood's, perhaps? Definitely not one of his. "Oh, I haven't a bloody clue. Are tramp stamps still 'in'?"

status: open location: serenity's tattoo parlor, lower east side

Persistent mechanical buzzing coexisting along with humming chatters of various clients transported Serenity to a state of tranquility, some may have deemed that as an oddity, but to her? It was only an instance of serendipitous resolve. Nothing like zeroing in on her artistry, all while appeasing an individual's requests, to significantly mellow out the petite brunette ── no jumbling musings of another elitist to abase, no roaring clamor of the Big Apple merely a few steps outside of said establishment ── just how she liked it.

Soft chiming of the door's bell resonating throughout the locality triggers curls to minimally bounce, Serenity momentarily pausing careful ministrations to glance up from her work in progress, inaudibly assessing the newcomer's identity and purpose. A small, albeit soft smile tug at both corners of plush lips as she chirps airily, "how can I help you today?"

[leemalkovich]

"Oh, what a flatterer you are," he says. Half a century marks the bulk of Lee's time on Earth, and he finds that he looks his age. Though when comparing himself to the man before him —who he knows to be younger—, there are certain details which could raise reasonable doubt. His hair, for one, has yet to fade into any shade that isn't raven, the blackest black. "I was old enough to be married in the 90s, darling. And then divorced." Talk about a whirlwind. "But I reckon there's no reason to linger on that, aye?"

In the 90s, he'd been a Cambridge graduate; a punk; a convicted murderer who, declared insane, would spend many years at Broadmoor Hospital in place of prison.

"Alas, perhaps by always escaping to the bathroom to do unmentionable amounts of cocaine." Shrug. "Such was the time, innit."

Presence; heart stilling static; the glow of an eerie energy edges ever close; a relaxed breath leaves him as a voice answers his question from his left. Although his job often put him in nightmarish situations among people who would eat him alive if his cover was blown or his name was attached to their warrant, Selim would admit there was a certain thrill about being in a room full of people who didn't have his best interests at heart; it's where he thrived.

A look of astonishment flits through his face. "You were old enough to be partying in nightclubs in the nineties? I'm calling your bluff." There was a part of him that would've loved to see it as an adult, a time before social media took the fun out of life and people strived for genuine connection. Another part of him, the one that had been stuffed in lockers, teased for his effeminate nature, and eventually betrayed by the people that promised to love him unconditionally, hoped never to see such an era return. "Though it all makes sense now - being hard of hearing is the reason a lot of older generations have a difficult time hearing reason - How'd you escape it then? Busted ear drums?"

[leemalkovich]

"Do you, now?" Lee eyes him as he asks this question; almost as if trying to find a bluff. It isn't that he doesn't trust his own taste —quite the opposite, in fact— but that such taste could often be labeled too peculiar, or too macabre. Then, he laughs, "Tragically, darling, a fatal flaw of mine is I've got no interest in money. Never have, really. Though, it's certainly got its perks." Access to such beauty, which most people are often priced out of, is one of them.

Then, of the whiskey, "It's English." It makes for the perfect queue to refill both of their glasses, then. "What do your nights off typically look like then, darling, if not this?"

“Quite the view indeed,” Kell agreed, almost absentmindedly. His eyes had been on the paintings as soon as he stepped foot in the apartment, observing every pop of colour and every brushstroke, and he’d hardly been able to tear them away. Lee’s collection and general choices of decor were impressive and certainly something to behold.

“You know I’ve always seen you as a man of excellent taste,” Kell then said. “So of course I fancy it. It would be ridiculous of me not to. I’m trying not to envision each piece in the place I think it would look best in my apartment because I’d perhaps be tempted to make you an offer. But I’m not at work right now, so business deals are off the table.” I need just one night off and I’m glad you and I could spend it together with an excellent bottle of liquor; I don’t. Think I’ve had this one before.”

[leemalkovich]

When spotting a familiar figure across the Pink Flamingo dancefloor, Lee is faced with a plethora of no good, extremely risky, and undoubtedly bad choices. He's convinced by a lifetime of cruelty and a repertoire of alibis that he could drag the man out of here, into some alley or even his home — then drop whatever remains into some lake, or nearby river. Case closed.

Alternatively, he could play with his prey. Toss the pieces around like a beast who's not quite so hungry now — but perhaps soon. Too bored to walk away, and too lazy to chew him down to the bone.

"Aye," Lee shrugs. Leaning against the bar, he stares down at the man he recalls to be named Selim. He carries a certain beauty — he could give Fatih that. If he'd thrown it all away for a five or a six, then they'd have problems. "Welcome to a nightclub, darling. Though, it's a bloody spa day compared to the nineties. Not a single eardrum lived to tell the tale, I reckon."

where: up-to-player, a bar? club?, syndicate territory.

who: selim & open

Selim had made a promise to Fatih; he would pass his victims cases to another agent, close them, and move on but there was one thing that he couldn't quite get off his mind - the true reason that he life had fallen apart; Fatih's benefactor. How was it that an organization held power over the FBI? More importantly, what kind of person could pull such dangerous strings and not leave traces? Thankfully, figuring that out was the one thing that he knew he was good at - profiling. In a crowded room, knowing that his face was known among the members of his ex-husband's affiliations, he simply pretends that he doesn't notice; the eyes, the whispers, whatever it was that they were doing in a corner. Selim turns to the person nearest him, void of his usual anxiety; a character he'd slipped into for this purpose. "Do you come here often? I think I'm a little out of my element...is it always this loud?"

[leemalkovich]

@kellscarborough setting: lee's brooklyn loft

"Quite the view, innit?" Lee mentions off his place on the couch, nodding off not to the window, but one of the many paintings displayed on his wall. Through an analysis of this room alone, one could easily tell where his money is spent on. Rare books, rare artifacts, rare art. Not the expected interest, for a violent man such as he. "Reckoned you'd fancy it." Beat, as he sips his liquor. "Do you, darling?"

[leemalkovich]

"You'd like to spice me up, darling?" It might be low hanging fruit, yet Heath had been the one to offer them this close to the ground.

Between wine sips and the fidgeting with a different form of pleasure hidden behind the thick pocket of his trousers, Lee has to scoff at this. Right there, Heath declares — the very evidence of what keeps the Brotherhood, and the Syndicate, as two entirely different entities.

"I wish you bloody had," he admits, matter-of-fact. "No weapons? To my birthday party?" The horror. "Colour me offended."

"Celebrating, aye." No mystery, as displayed by partying persona. Finally, Lee pulls the forbidden baggie free. Then, an invitation. "Bathroom, darling?"

"funny - i always reckoned foreplay was supposed to spice shit up" heath admitted, there was no real bite behind it, if anything, he was impressed the other already knew where to press. his soft spots weren’t exactly common knowledge. but they were in new york city - would be naive to assume cocaine isn't everybody's guilty pleasure "i don't do samplers - of any kind" he added, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, sharp and unapologetic.

he took the glass anyway, some choices weren’t about want but because context mattered. and if you knew all the layers of the current circumstances that influenced his decision, you’d know this counted as diplomacy.

“celebratin' another year or just gettin’ through it?” he asked, the same question he'd muttered into his own mirror on his own birthday "didnt brin' a gift but reckon showin' up unnarmed count as thoughtful" joked