noa-halevy

[noa-halevy]

10 DEATHS FOR 10 YEARS [5 of 6]:

So this wraps up the ones for now. This doesn’t make ten, but it’ll be the reason ten happens eventually. Now you can react to anything and everything that’s happened. I’ll contact players individually about anything ambiguous, including the French chat about what this means, but until then, enjoy. Also this is messy because it’s late and I can’t bring myself to edit it anymore, so sorry about that. 

Date: May 12th, 2022. Warnings: This is what happens when you don’t plot mob violence. I’ll do it.

Everybody hated hospitals.

They couldn’t all relate to the reasons why she hated them more than most, though.

The last time Noa Halévy had been at St. Catherine’s, she’d been fighting for her life courtesy of Lara’s right hand; a recovery that’d been easier on her physically than it had mentally, as it turned out. For all the injuries she’d endured across her tenure in the French Organization—even when Aviv had stolen her engagement ring, and the finger along with it—none of them had been quite as strenuous to process as Hallowe’en. The one that’d almost taken her away from her family, and the one that had taken Varden’s son away from his.  

And that was precisely what made being there so difficult.

Not reliving the pain of her stabbing, or the devastation of Ludovic giving his life to save hers, or the trauma that’d come with almost being hanged by Medea fucking Barrett.

It was because she attached that feeling of guilt to here above anywhere else; the place where she’d spent weeks hurting herself far more than some assassin ever could with the knowledge that it was her fault Gabriel was dead. It was attached to the smell of sterile halls and antiseptic air, and the sound of staff calling to each other whenever something went wrong. To the sound of stressed relatives pacing outside hospital rooms, and even to the chocolate fucking doughnuts in the cafeteria that she both loved and felt nauseous at the sight of. It was all interlinked. All hurt, and guilt, and disappointment in herself.

Even if Gabriel hadn’t been compelled to shout out to her when he’d realised that she was in trouble, the situation never would’ve presented itself at all if she hadn’t made the decision to attack Lara Rutherford.

The fact Varden had never assigned her blame mattered little.  

Noa did.

It was her fault.  

Being here was hard for her, even if she wouldn’t say a fucking word about it. Because Noa was good like that. People had grown to expect it of her; to be positive, and carefree, and without a single damn stress in the world. The woman was the type to comfort others whilst they dealt with their pain—her husband and Valérie, on this occasion—rather than giving herself a moment to process her own. The type to hide the fact she ever experienced any at all when she sometimes felt like one of the few who inspired hope that things could get better, even when life presented every hurdle to make one assume the opposite.  

Noa hadn’t said a word about how she’d left Yves’ room to cry when Varden first came to see him.  

Taking a breather away from them all was, perhaps for the first time she could recall, the one thing that kept her sane right now.

It should’ve been a time for family to comfort each other, a time to find support in their unity. But when she wasn’t reliving the agony of the past, she was trying to figure out a way to deal with almost losing her brother in the present. There was some solace to be found in the fact the doctors said he was doing well. That the surgery had been successful, and he was, for the most part, out of the woods. Yet her mind was straying to places uncharacteristically morbid for her, and Noa couldn’t stop it.  

Who was going to be next? Dan? Her sister?  

It was never going to stop, and they’d all just convinced themselves it was life in the meantime.

Noa looked at the doughnut in her hand. Then toward the entrance of the hospital.  

Was there time to make a run for it, and answer questions later?

As much as she’d wished the answer was yes, apparently, the day had something else planned.

At first, the familiarity of the woman had almost passed her by for being so consumed with her own thoughts. The tall brunette walked with such grace and purpose, she drew the attention of many around her, Noa included. But it wasn’t until she noticed her warm smile—one that faded in an instant as their eyes met awkwardly across the expanse of the main foyer—that the realisation fully set in. The familiarity was not pleasant at all. In fact, it left a rather uncomfortable lump in her throat.  

Eva Abramovic.

Or Giroud, now, wasn’t it?

Launceston had been tormented by Konstantin’s favourite assassin for years before she’d stepped back from the role. A decision she wished to share with a retired French counterpart who happened to mean a great deal to three men Noa cared a lot about, apparently. And that seemed like a little too much of a coincidence for her liking. What other reason would she have for showing her face in London if it wasn’t for Marcel? And what would Marcel be doing in a city he overtly despised if not visiting one of those three that just so happened to be lying in a hospital bed upstairs?

Perhaps she was jumping to conclusions, but Noa had learnt the hard way that sometimes making those leaps saved lives. It was better to look stupid than delay pointing out a potential problem.

And when the woman in question started to take longer strides—almost as if recognising her gave reason to rush—Noa realised that they definitely had one of those on their hands.  

The woman traded the shitty fucking trauma doughnut for an attempt to pull her phone out of her pocket. Catching up to her would prove a struggle given her pace, but at the very least, Noa could call ahead and warn her family to be on the lookout. Warn them that even if Eva was there for other reasons unbeknownst to them, it was better to be safe than sorry so far as former Russian assassins were concerned.

Particularly ones with a fondness for Konstantin Vorshevsky.  

But nobody answered. Not Dan, as she made her way across the foyer. Not Varden, as she stabbed the lift button repeatedly to try and beat her to the top floor. Not Valérie, as she stood inside of the thing, willing it to go faster with all her might. There was no way she had gotten there quickly enough to be the cause of the radio silence, but that didn’t curb the panic that settled nauseatingly in the pit of her stomach.  

Why would they not answer her unless something was wrong?

Noa couldn’t have wedged impatiently through a smaller gap in the doors if she’d tried.  

The floor that awaited her seemed dead. There had been plenty of people in the private wing earlier, and yet now, they all seemed to have disappeared into thin air like they’d sensed the trouble looming, too. Even the admin station was empty of anybody who could’ve helped. And if hospitals weren’t already uneasy enough places to be, one that felt close to deserted to the woman stood in it was worse.

She was running, then. Rounding the corner so quickly she’d almost crashed into the opposite wall.

Still, nobody was answering.

What the fuck were they doing? What the fuck was going on?

And then she reached the hallway that led to Yves’ room.  

Instead of being greeted with the familiar host of security hovering around his door—significant enough it could only be worthy of a number—the sight was far more chilling. The two permanent guards were there, all right, but they were both lying lifeless on the floor in a puddle of blood large enough that the assumption of death was immediate. It was creeping and expanding around them insidiously. Enough for her to realise that whatever, whoever, had been responsible for it was recent.

The door was shut. The only commotion she could hear from behind it was jubilant laughter.  

None of it made any sense.

If her heart had pounded any harder, she was sure it would’ve burst right out of her fucking ribcage; maybe somewhere close to where Medea had plunged the knife that she sometimes wished had killed her. And if she’d been smarter, perhaps she would’ve thought a little harder about what she was running blindly into, instead of thinking only of reaching the people she loved before somebody else got the chance.

Noa had done herself a disservice.  

Eva wasn’t the only assassin in the building. But of the two women, she was the only one acting like it.

And it wouldn’t take long for her to pay the price for that sloppiness.

Even though she hadn’t been anywhere near close enough to the door to reach out for it, when she’d felt the horrifically familiar feeling of a knife plunging into her back, as if in utter desperation, Noa had outstretched a hand toward the room full of people as if by some miracle she could get to them. As if willing it hard enough would summon her husband to the door to save her just like he always did.  

But nobody came. Not when she outstretched a hand, nor when she fell to her knees.  

It must’ve been shock because it wasn’t the pain that stopped her from screaming out to them.

Mostly because she realised she didn’t feel much at all.  

Life hadn’t left her yet, but she reasoned it would do so fairly quickly. Eva stepped around her—careful to avoid the bloody puddles from the other two, of course—as if she was nothing but a mild inconvenience blocking the way to her true reason for being there. Perhaps, had her mind not been so preoccupied with concern for her husband, for the person she loved more than anything, she might’ve found room to be annoyed about the attitude. Instead, all she could do was watch. Reach a hand forward in an attempt to drag a body flagging helplessly as blood streamed from a wound delivered with such expert precision, Noa wasn’t sure that being in a hospital could’ve saved her, even if they showed up right then.

Eva opened the door, but her whine was too pitiful to attract any attention.  

Laurent’s voice sounded above the others as she showed her face, and Noa was flooded with fleeting relief as she realised that he knew immediately that she was a problem.  

But it didn’t matter. And the relief was only fleeting because it was too late.

The Russian had been quick with a blade, but even more so with a gun.  

It must’ve been Laurent she targeted first. The sound that followed was definitely a body hitting the floor, though.

Meaningless protests, and a flurry of silenced gunshots, and desperation, and struggle all battled to be the loudest in the room. And yet the most haunting sound of all was the growing silence that accompanied each new person she undoubtedly hit.   

There was a second gun, she was sure.

Marcel must’ve been in on it. How else would she have known they were there?

Noa could feel her vision fading to black. The inviting kind that felt a little like sleep, she realised, as opposed to the empty sort she’d woken up from many times before. But before it could take her—filled with thoughts of a daughter she would never see age, and a husband she would never know for sure made it out of there—the pained yell of the latter seemed to snap her back to consciousness in an instant. Noa had wanted to close her eyes, but she wanted to help him more. See him one last time.  

Tell him she loved him.

It felt as though her body was seizing up. Like she’d lost control of her limbs.  

But when she’d spotted the gun peering out from beneath one of the dead bodyguard’s jackets, the sound of her husband’s panic was just enough motivation to fight against it with all of her might. To edge herself with pathetic weakness just close enough to grab the thing.  

And then back again.  

Noa couldn’t see much, but she could see Laurent down. Varden, too.

Despite her immediate thought that Marcel had been involved, however, she was soon proven wrong as she realised his seemingly dead body was hunched over Varden, now struggling for breath, as though he was trying to protect him.

Eva was hit. Clutching at her side as the blood seeped through splayed fingers.  

Maybe it was a blessing that she never got close enough to the room to see her husband, because the way the Russian turned with eagerness to depart suggested she thought her job done. Maybe it was a small mercy on God’s part that she’d been deprived the sorrow of really taking a moment to consider that.  

It wasn’t fear that flashed in her enemy’s eyes as she spied Noa’s finger on the trigger.

In fact, for a moment, the Frenchwoman wondered if it was a relief similar to the one that’d crossed her mind not long before.

All she managed was one shot before the gun dropped from hands that had no business trying to wield it.

But one shot was all she needed to take one last life before hers was gone.  

[noa-halevy]

@Elaina. [text]

Elaina: What do you mean something happened??

Elaina: I'm at the airport, booking the flight back.

Elaina: Wtf is going on?????

Elaina: PICK UP

Elaina: ?????

Noa: Yves.

Noa: He's in surgery. It's too soon to know.

Noa: Someone stabbed him.

Noa: Val is not okay.

Noa: Dad has the kids. Dan is fucking LOSING IT, Elaina.

Noa: I literally don't know what the fuck to do. Like what the fuck am I suppose to do?

[noa-halevy]

@Elaina. [text]

Noa: Something happened.

Noa: ???

Noa: Answer your fucking phone, I don't want to text this.

Noa: You need to come home. Dan is going fucking crazy and I don't know what to do.

[noa-halevy]

jeanpalfroix​:

“If you weren’t already married, I’d marry you right here and now.”

God how he missed her. True he was practically conjoined with Élodie and Théo, but with Noa out of London it felt like something was missing. Well, Jean knew what was missing. The other voice who didn’t stop to think about things like reason or common sense, but was already one step ahead of him.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and flashed a small, metallic container in front of her face. “I’ve got the cocaine if you have the tequila.”

.

“That’s what they all tell me.”

Noa sat down on the edge of their table, pushing aside a few of the empty bottles in the middle until she finally managed to find a Patrón that wasn’t fucking empty. The night was young, but apparently all of their livers had already aged by fifty years. The only thing more alcoholic than being French, though? Being British and French. Noa was ready to be the last one standing.

“You know me. Where I go, tequila is sure to follow,” she said, her smile contrastingly innocent when compared with her intentions. “I think we should make a few up for Varden. He looks sufficiently uptight tonight. I promise he won’t say no if I ask.”

[noa-halevy]

theo-chaussard​:

“I mean Jean is pretty hot, I just have a rule where I refuse to date people who have kicked my ass,” Théo joked as he hugged her tight. “We’ve only been together for a month though, so I think it’s a little early to even think about wedding planning, but if it gets that far I promise that it’ll be in Paris and you’ll get at least three outfits. But that’s about as much as I can give you at the moment.” 

.

“That’s a terrible rule...” For a moment, she looked genuinely perturbed.  “And literally the reason I married my beautiful, beautiful husband.”

Then again, she’d also married him a whole four months after they’d first met, so she really was just shitting all over Théo’s rulebook, huh?

“I’ll take it. I’m also so hosting your kindle-free bachelorette party.”

[noa-halevy]

codeinescenecharlene​:

“I’m not too sure about the body-swapping, but the amount of bullshit I’ve had to deal with tonight feels like Thanksgiving with the family. But on steroids.” 

.

“What bullshit? Who we fighting?”

It made sense, she supposed. Hathaway was the kind of name that drew a lot of attention at an event like this; particularly when her sister and business partner had been nominated, but not her. Noa hoped they hadn’t been too harsh on her. Partly because Charlene was her preference when it came to the Hathasisters, partly because they didn’t need anybody around killing the vibe tonight, thanks very much. 

“Sounds like you need something stronger than alcohol. I’m happy to inform you, you’re in luck. It happens to be the only thing these people are any good at.”

[noa-halevy]

@jeanpalfroix​

“Jean Palfroix in a suit so hot I almost want to fuck him!”

Noa had sung the words in a tune so jarring (and characteristically tone-deaf) that it’d caught the attention of a table over; apparently less thrilled by her admission than she was, mind you. Forgoing the middle finger she would’ve liked to flash their way, she instead approached her favourite, beaming from ear-to-ear. Oh, she did miss this little shit when she was gone. 

“Cocaine or tequila first, good sir?” Like she’d give him any time to beat her to the punch... “Both you say? Cocaine instead of salt?! Fine. Twist my arm.”

[noa-halevy]

@theo-chaussard​

“I literally thought you were gay as fuck and pining for Jean. This is huge.”

Well, she was mostly kidding.

As soon as he was within grabby-hands proximity, Noa threw her arms around him from behind like a normal-sized child hanging off a normal-sized adult. Only she was the normal sized one, and he was the leaning tower of baguette. Paris was only an hour away, but with all the hassle it took to make the trip, she didn’t get to see them as often as she would’ve liked. Noa pressed a flurry of ‘I missed you’ kisses to his cheek.

“When’s the wedding, and how many outfit changes do I get as bridesmaid?”

[noa-halevy]

codeinescenecharlene​:

“I’m not feeling exactly festive tonight, so no. No alcohol for me tonight, thank you.” 

.

“Did you go all Freaky Friday with Théo or something? What the fuck?”

[noa-halevy]

@noademetz: Imagine your wife saying ‘pose’ and then doing this. Wtf. Who do you think you are? Still, immortalising this rare moment in which my man didn’t choose to look homeless. Varden Lefebvre who, bitch. ♥  

[noa-halevy]

@Elaina. [text]

Noa: You realise that if you win Most Beautiful Woman, I also win Most Beautiful Woman, right?

Noa: Especially because I'm the hotter one.

Noa: I want joint custody of the trophy.

[noa-halevy]

Noa Halévy attends The London Awards @ The Royal Albert Hall. Date: Friday, April 1st, 2022. Escorted By: Daniel de Metz. Wearing: Roberto Cavalli. (+ Miu Miu shoes, Schiaparelli bag.)

[noa-halevy]

Text @ Noa

Elaina: Happy Birthday, copycat.

Noa: It took two shots to get it right. 🥰

Noa: Happy birthday, loser. Love you. ♥

Noa: Did you get the cake I sent? Varden 2.0 better not have tried to take credit for that majestic bullshit. Dan, me, and the child will be in London in a few hours. 😘

[noa-halevy]

INSTAGRAM

elainahelevy: Thank you, Gods, for granting me a servant. @noa-halevy Happy birthday to the one who looks like me but isn’t me. Love you long time. 

[noa-halevy]

elainahalevyx​:

“Ugh, look, the ugly one has arrived.” 

.

“Don’t be jealous, flat ass. I am a sight to behold,” she shot back, giving her twin the middle finger as if deadly serious. Not that she could keep that up for very long, mind you... “You’re the one who took the forceps to the face because you were trying to stop me from bringing my blinding fucking light into the world.”

[noa-halevy]

jeanpalfroix​:

“Tell them to return it, we don’t want any of it here.”

Jean could barely keep a straight face as he was up and out of his seat to greet Noa with an affectionate hug. His embrace was tight, far tighter than he had given in years it felt like. Noa’s return was a giant fuck you to the ones who chased her out of London and for the night at least it felt like they truly had the band back together again.

“It’s good to see you again. How’s Paris?”

.

“Wow, bitch. I was just about to say you were my favourite and everything...”

Despite her feigned offence, she didn’t even hesitate to return the hug, flinging her arms around his neck in characteristically dramatic fashion, and peppering his face with kisses. Ugh, she had missed these people so fucking much. Yes, in spite of her best attempts to subdue the invasive thought akin to wondering what would happen if one drop kicked the neighbour’s kid, even Théodore Chaussard. Paris had done a number on her, all right.

“Grey, miserable,” she said with a pout, finally letting her hostage go from her vice grip. “Like London but with better bread.” Not wasting a moment, she grabbed a glass of what she assumed to be Rémy from one of the passing trays. “Did you miss me?”

[noa-halevy]

@mobscene-starters​

To say she’d been looking forward to this party for the last month was not overstating her excitement. Things had been tough for the French lately—extra frustrating when she and Dan were in Paris instead of home—but she refused to allow them to go into another New Year with their tails between their legs. They had suffered enough. Lost people that they never should’ve lost. But they did themselves no favours acting like victims when they should’ve been looking to the future.

Preferably, one with a lot fewer Russians in it.

Well, she was never one to not make an entrance...

“Coucou, ciao, ma kore. The party has fucking arrived.”