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A workplace in the city was a constant fodder to the thought that he needed a different job — or the drive for one, anyway, as he could hardly tolerate the people, especially the tourists who gawked like they'd never seen a vending machine or the inside of a fridge in a convenience store before. Amenities may have been few and far in his exposure when he was younger, but he found himself running on thin ice with his tolerance of it, had it existed to start with. Arguably, Las Vegas was the worst place for a business of his to be — smack dab in a hub of people and humdrum, and no escape from the frequent vexation that was inspired by all their inanity. For someone who was trying to avoid adding to his already impressive criminal record, he was hanging onto that last shred every damn day.

Eyes snapped shut when a body collided with his, jaw clenching and nostrils aflame with the vain effort that the screaming muscles in his body didn't automatically warp into an act of hostility. By the skin of his teeth, Boris remained an unmoving pillar, six feet of all hell set to break loose and his own jaw while he was at it, snapping, "Hands. Off. Me."

Russet hues transformed into a nonplussed slant when he opened his eyes, the voice recognizable enough. "Whatever." His dismissal of the explanation was deft, as he wasn't interested in engaging with sympathies. Thick brows furrowed, the buzz of the lights flickering vaguely disturbing, and he turned his head away from his newfound companion's face. "You are like the Vitelli boy, no awareness for your surroundings. Sure you're not related?" The humor was off-kilter, if sincere at all, opening one of the refrigerator doors to fish out a bottle of juice from the kids' section, and a second as an afterthought.

when: late night, sometime in june

where: downtown, not far from kitty's jazz club

with his guitar hanging from his back, he makes his way down the streets of downtown vegas. he's just gotten off his shift at the club, and he's just not ready to return home, not yet at least. he lights up a cigarette as he continues to walk, admiring the various neon lights all over the place. it's one of those things that never gets old to him. definitely makes him look like a tourist, but he doesn't mind too much.

he makes his way into a nearby convenience store, in search of some snacks and maybe another carton of smokes. he is running low, after all. stepping backwards after grabbing a bag of twizzlers, he ends up bumping into someone by accident and nearly knocks them on their ass while he's at it. shit.

"fuck, my bad!" he exclaims as he goes to steady them. "i can be oblivious sometimes, sorry about that."

@boneyardstarters

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𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊, 𝖎'𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖊. pinterest ♡ stats

trigger warnings: mentions of the soviet union, pregnancy-related death, child loss, arson, mentions of the military, alcoholism, cancer

HEY, i think i just saw BORIS ROGALNIKOV walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY-EIGHT YEAR OLD is working as a/an OWNER OF THE PHANTOM OF THE PYRO FIREWORKS + DIRTY CITIZEN FOR THE VITELLI FAMILY and lives in A THREE-BEDROOM HOME IN SEARCHLIGHT, NV. given they are QUICK-WITTED but MERCURIAL, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that HE WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR ELIANO VITELLI’S DEATH and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to ANY OTHER WAY BY WE THE KINGS and you’ll know why they’re called THE FLAMMABLE MAN.  ☾ .⭒˚ young norman reedus. cis man + he/him. heterosexual + aries. 

born in voronezh, a business district, his childhood was spent in poverty in the soviet union. he lost his mother in his early teens and his father became an inattentive alcoholic. he became independent young, and he was always molded with a short temperament

he married young to his sweetheart from high school and inherited his father's fireworks factory in the event of his death. having grown up around the factory and with an extreme pyromania, he was thrilled to take over the business. it was a promising beginning, with the newlywed couple already expecting twins

unfortunately, during childbirth, his wife suffered complications and passed away. faced with raising nikolas and sofiya alone, he struggled with being a single parent, though it was more to do with his own balk against authority than financial stability

a series of bad decisions was made, as predicted: someone in high authority wanted him to use his factory toward making weapons, he disagreed, they argued, they left, they kept trying. he got tired of it, sabotaged his own factory, and the fallout wasn't pretty. fast forward to the loss of his children, and a guy with nothing left to lose

humans can be as dangerous as loaded guns, or at least, that's what an american recruiter thought when they saw him. boris was acquired by the military for a lump sum and a ticket out of his troubled past, and he agreed. he was brought into a specialized unit as an explosives expert, the kind with a codename and all. he was by far not the friendliest but a valuable asset. but like everything else in his life... it got ugly. before you could blink, it was over, and he doesn't talk about it much

free and clear when there was no more means or reason to keep him on, he was let out in his late twenties. like everything else that sucks the life right out of the atmosphere, he was basically a brooding husk — nothing to see here

a pretty unthinkable thing happened: he got lucky. he met someone who made him feel alive again, for a minute or two. when tessa walked into his life, his jaw was on the floor. no, really, she was a bombshell of a woman, no pun intended, and knew how to take care of her own. the connection was instant and stronger than he could say he'd ever felt. at least, not in a long time. it spoke to the part of him that still had a little bit of humanity left

he adopted her daughter, who is now of college age, when they married. they themselves only bore one child together, a son. daemon was the picturesque at the center of a second chance, and the coupling had a happy ever after

happy ever afters don't last. never in his story. at thirty-five, she was gone. brain cancer stole her in less than a year. in the wink of an eye, boris was a single father once again, and a five year old to look after. he'd always been angry at the world and he could only get angrier still

when you're backed into a corner, you go back to old habits. it's hard to say that he ever left them at all, fire burns with as much passion as anger. when asked for a favor from the vitelli family, he actually did agree — there was still a mouth to feed, after all, and a college tuition to pay for, and starting fires fills a hole in the void that's become of him

not incredibly social nor friendly, probably in fact the most spiteful and hateful person i have ever written in my many years. there are some redeemable qualities if you dig really, really deep, but good luck on getting there. you can most likely find him at a bar or at his own fireworks business. secret soft spot for horses. creative insults but not the kind that would come out of homestuck like cyrek's...... one might call them sick burns...... okay sorry that he's the worst in advance though

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He didn't come for the ladies, the gents, or the nonbinaries. Far as he was concerned, although he had a motorcycle parked out front, he got better service at the Glitter Gulch's bar, which was generally empty in favor of the patrons ogling the dancers and likely too cowardly to approach the object of their romantic interest in their day-to-day lives. The socially awkward recluses, the overworked businesspeople, and the occasional person bumping a line of coke in the corner. It rescued him from the hustle and bustle of the Mean-Eyed Cat Bar's happy hours, unless he was desperate. Whenever he had a night to himself, after a favor well done from the nondescript letters in the mail, he'd sit there with a glass of Black Russian, half coffee and half vodka, to take the edge off. He had no interest in the dancers, whatsoever, though there was the occasional blonde that reminded him of her — haunting, he could turn a corner and still fucking see her face sometimes. Not as she was in the end, but as she was before. Beautiful, someone who could've been effortlessly classy had life laid out cards differently for her. Tessa had a dark side about her that had captivated his own, two broken people identifying one another.

That was fucking gone now, wasn't it? Thoughts like those were why he needed the drink for a good night's sleep later. A night cap, or what have you.

A cigarette in one hand lazily, he wasn't expecting the customer next to him to try for a conversation. There was never a time in Boris' life that he didn't present with a resting bitch face and a foul attitude — he'd been that way well before the military and all the other bullshit chewed him up and spat him out on the pavement, no, he was hardwired with a foul temper and a biting tongue. For whatever reason that the universe thought they could beat it the fuck out of him, they'd only made it immensely worse, volatility bound to secret through his pores. He regarded the woman with a blank expression as she spoke, inhaling a drag from his cigarette and scrunching up his brows with an air of disdain. "I don't work here." Blunt, to the point, and unapologetic. She was probably trying to get the scoop on one of the working persons for the Vitellis in the establishment. "But if you came here, you'd know that." Blowing the smoke slightly away from her, he fixed his stern expression on his drink. "The fuck do you want to know?"

location: glitter gulch lounge. date: anytime in june. cap: none.

Jasmine couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing, sure she got sent there for a simple story on the exotic dancers but they were just the prettiest things in the world to the woman and not only that but by god talented as all get out. She wasn't stupid by any means, she knew why her editor had sent her out of everyone on staff but that doesn't mean she can't think of the people as works of art and she might as well be looking at a 'Starry Night'.

Jotting down some notes in her little book that she always kept with her when she was doing a story she smiled sweetly at the person next to her and looked back down at the dancer on stage, watching them for a moment before she looked back at the person next to her. "Hi- um I know this is very very forward but I was writing a paper about the dancers and I wanted to get a couple quotes- you're name doesn't have to be added to it!" she rambled with another blinding grin, looking back at the little notepad once more, fidgeting with her fingers and clicking her tongue softly.

@boneyardstarters

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"Oh, fuck off." It leaned toward a knee-jerk remark, and usually did the trick of keeping people off his hide; he couldn't entirely cast the Vitelli family away with puerile hostility, but he didn't wholly care to make conversation with them either. A tch was formed, russet eyes easily finding another object of interest and marching on past the Vitelli kid — he really couldn't give less of a shit that he was slurping soda on the street corner. Do his job, keep his head down, that was about all Boris could do these days — and the less he socialized, the better, as far as he was concerned. Of course, that was a hell of a lot easier when fucking hotel guests ( construction workers? ) weren't dying in elevators on Vitelli-established properties, wasn't it? The rough and smoke-stained vibrato of his voice was like tires over gravel, grumbling cantankerously, "Think I'm here for you? I'd watch my fucking back for the people who actually have it out for you."

Location: Pump n Snack Gas Station Date: June 10th, 1996 Cap:♾️ @boneyardstarters

Ira stopped while he was walking, lifting the soda can he had just bought a moment ago at the gas station. He cracked it open and let the small fizz run over the top of the can. Bringing it to his lips he slurped the fizz up and glances around, spotting someone coming right at him, “Aw, shit.” He muttered, “Here we go.” Taking a drink, he held his left arm out toward the other, putting a barrier up between him and them.

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"I thought you'd never ask." Because if there was one aspect of the evening that Charlotte wasn't missing out on, it was dancing the night away — these boots were made for walking, but they were also made for dancing until you dropped or broke an ankle straight down the middle. Plus, they had downed about one too many glasses of champagne and they were feeling exceptionally warm and fuzzy given the occasion. In fact, they had probably spent most of the time between stuffing their face grooving out to the unique tastes of the couple's wedding playlist, if unfamiliar with the shock rock to their appeal as opposed to Charlotte's love of country and Dolly Parton. "Let's boogie — do ya know how to dance to this song? 'Cause I feel like I'm doin' everything totally wrong when I've never heard of it." On stage, she could make anything work in her favor — but generally, the upbeat music wasn't far from the stuff she listened to ( no crooning cowboys over their broken hearts in her house, she didn't care about men's feelings, excuse you ) and taking the free hand of her companion, sticking out her tongue between her teeth when she yanked her closer on the floor. If there was one thing that never squicked Charlotte out, it was laying her hands on anybody, and she was delighted that everyone else was matching her energy for the night, her girlfriend included. "Oh, wait, let's put this shit down, I paid way too much for this dress to get it all sticky with that cider. Time-out!" Speaking toward the glass of apple cider she took from Reina's hand, she left it on the table she had been seated at. "Ohh, you're the fun police, huh? I'm one'a the bride's friends. Charlotte. Lottie's fine, anything else makes me sound like a stuffy librarian, and I'm not gonna be remembered as that kind'a girl, ya'know?"

reina + ??? : june 10, mid-evening @ the neon museum @boneyardstarters

happiness burst out of the green witch in golden ribbons ever since she first arrived at the venue. she was perfectly content not enjoying the night with the company of alcohol - lyonet, however, had a couple qualms about it. still, the strawberry blonde knew better than to push her luck, which reina was very grateful for. all she thought her brother deserved was a stress-free, stupidly happy day he could remember forever as something his family didn't inadvertently fuck up. after checking in on lyonet a few times, she finally departed from her sister's side and made her way to where the drinks were being served. moments later, she was shimmying onto the dance floor with an apple cider in her hand and sunshine in her eyes. she melted into the music, though she couldn't say it was what she typically listened to, finding it slightly more difficult to perform her rather boring dance moves that included hopping around and swaying her hips. she persisted, bouncing on her heels as she kept dancing until her eye caught someone lingering on the sidelines. "hey!" she exclaimed, fleeing the dance floor so she could join them where they were seated. "what are you doing over here? no one should be on their own at a wedding," smiling warmly, she nodded ahead. "and this just so happens to be my brother's wedding, which means i'm also in charge of making sure everyone has fun. wanna dance? or get some food?"

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"SORRY BUT I NEED THAT TAXI!!" The high-pitched velocity of the burlesque dancer's voice could have had the firepower to knock the pedestrian out of the way before she all but bodychecked the unassuming bystander out of her way, and assumed the biggest grin upon her face as she marched hurriedly toward the cab driver in her bright red, sparkling pair of heels. Fashionably late as always, she was aware that she would never hear the end of it from Stella Matthews ( or, no longer Stella Matthews, but Stella Fawn ) if she didn't make it to the rehearsal dinner on time. Though her hair was still a bees nest of fly-aways when she'd hurriedly stripped off her wig from her shift and sprinted the world's fastest makeup and hair styling, she was breathless when she collapsed into the seat, waving frenetically to the cab driver as she pulled the bottom of her dress into the car and scooted into the seat, "Thank ya so much, buster! You're my lifesaver."

Pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, she let out a breath. "Oh, ya don't eeeeeven know the half of it," Charlotte raised their hands, waving them about as they prattled on, "I cannot ever have a pet because I don't know where my keys are half the time, ya'know? I completely forgot about this thing I gotta go to until the last minute and I'm hopin' the bride-to-be doesn't wring my damn neck just 'cause it's not the day of, and when I was on the way back to my place, a bird shit on my wig, is that crazy? I mean, there's no respect for a well-kept wig anymore, I'm telling ya. Anyway —" As if they hadn't wasted five additional minutes rattling off their list of discrepancies for the day, and yet, the smile hadn't once wavered on Charlotte's face. How could they be demure when there was love in the air? "Can ya take me to the Neon Museum, pretty please? If ya can, drop me off as close to the entrance as possible, and I'll tip like, fifty percent."

@boneyardstarters : open starter !

location: leaning against his taxi cab outside, destination anywhere. cap: none!

The mid-day heat was starting to become oppressive as Frankie leaned against the hood of his taxi, a cigarette burned down halfway to the filter dangling from his fingers. (Customer curtesy: he smoked outside to avoid choking out his passenger, but sometimes Frankie felt like he’d rather that than deal with the afternoon sun…)

Today had been slow, and while he usually wasn’t the type to force small talk in his car, he couldn’t help the restless drum of his fingers against the hood of the cab with his free hand. Even having his mind drift to other matters, such as the fight happening that weekend, wasn’t enough to curb his boredom. Still, he managed to mask his restlessness as he took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze sliding from the street ahead of him toward the door off to his side that had just opened. Finally.

He straightened up, putting the cigarette out under his boot as he opened the back door to the cab for his approaching passenger. 

“Your day been well so far?” he asked, his tone a little too flat to be considered engaged, but it was at least somewhat friendly. “Where we headed today?”

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@honeysucklesunshine on june 10th, 1996 at the reception

It was a simple plan — Remus and Romulus make like Houdini after shuffling in with the rest of the guests, they bag as much free food from what was served as they can, and they get out of there before the couple notice them or start asking questions about where their cordial envelope full of cash is. Matters often got overcomplicated, however, not in the grandiose fuck-up that he wouldn't anticipate in a thousand, bajillion years, as he topped up his plate with some of the sides and called over to his companion at one of the farthest tables in the back, "Rosie, got any condiments on that table?" Better to be safe than sorry — no using names when they were already mooching off the newlyweds. He was moderately impatient in waiting for a response, dunking the ladle back into the Crockpot of feijoada, and marching in the direction of the shaded sanctuary from the blistering desert heat — nothing he couldn't handle, with the humid, marshy summers in the Ozark mountains, the dryness of it wasn't nearly as sweltering — and smiling at his companion — until he was narrowly granted mercy by a heeled shoe flying about five centimeters away from the side of his head and bouncing off of Remus' table instead, splattering a plate of skordalia mashed potatoes all over the front of his outfit — which, mind you, would have been exceptionally hilarious had he any time to react on it.

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It was like the drop of a pin that launched the entire ensemble of the party into sheer chaos — one minute, there were glasses clinking and muted laughter covering up the sound of poker chips and then, the atmosphere took on a sinister undertone like the cover of the night had swathed it up. Romulus had never seen anything quite like it, unbridled hysteria assuming monstrous creatures when they assumed it would be them next and they began to run amuck like gazelles did on the Sahara, nowhere to go when the cherry red and blueberry of cop car lights shone upon the doors and the officers were barring exits. Curious how any one of them could blend into the pandemonium as the unassuming, and the law would likely be none the wiser. Setting down his own drink somewhere, abandoned, he moved through the crowds like a shadow, peering over heads for a glimpse of the object of their attentions and fear — he could catch only the briefest glimmer in the rough of a gnarled finger like it were a witch's haggard claw, pointing downward. The blood spatter that reflected off the gold-wrapped inside of the elevator was a glaring deduction to its former opulence — a shame. One might say that he was insensitive to the plight of fright that was crooning through; accidents happened on heists, people got hurt. You get used to it, especially in a city that likely had more blood soaked into the streets than all the money that was stuffed into it. Accosted by a warbled plea to move, he craned his head to find someone manifesting to his front out of the blue, and couldn't help the inversion of a smirk batting at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna scram right when it's gettin' interesting?"

@boneyardstarters ; open starter ! date: may 25, 1996 location: riviera casino and hotel

if it had been up to him, he would have remained at home, tucked beneath the hush of dimmed lights and familiar walls, where the world could not touch him. home, where silence reigned, and no one could demand anything of him. but choices had a way of slipping through his fingers when certain voices called, and so he’d come, not out of desire, certainly not to belong, but to stop the nagging. couldn’t they see? he didn’t want to be seen. he only ever wanted to be left alone. the casino was too much from the moment he stepped inside; all grandeur, a theatre of indulgence that made his skin itch. too bright. too loud. too full of people who laughed too freely, like they’d never had to think about breathing. the drink that had been pressed into his hand earlier hung there still, cradled by tattooed fingers, as if it might anchor him. it didn’t. it only pooled bitterly in his stomach, unhelpful and vaguely nauseating, like everything else tonight. seokmin did not belong here. and the room knew it. it exhaled wealth in suits worth double his rent, expensive perfumes and trails of smoke that unfurled in lazy plumes of arrogance. he coughed. once. then again, harsher — lungs clenching like fists. peeling himself from his post along the wall, he moved through the crowd in search of a way out. a pocket of clean air — that was what he needed. a minute of stillness. but the path ahead? blocked. a figure stood still before him, likely oblivious; with no space to slip past. he stopped. swallowed. and spoke, “move,” the please was lodged somewhere in his chest, trapped beneath ribs that wouldn’t rise like they should. if he could have spared the air, he would have given it.

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NORMAN REEDUS as TRAVIS GOSSIP 2000 | dir. Davis Guggenheim

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A MUMU BLOG for the rest of the muses tortured by tya.

romulus doyle. intro. threads. boris rogalnikov. intro. threads. charlotte key. intro. threads.

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I am done endurin'. I'm going to kill him.

Bailey Bass as Claudia INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE | 1.06

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michael b. jordan via instagram

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@boneyardstarters in downtown las vegas, anytime after june

"I'm tellin' you, if you saw the body, though, didn't look like a fall," Romulus had happened to pull someone into his vortex a few feet away from the news stand, a lit cigarette delicately held away from the paper from which he was reading the headlines, "Freak accident — not so sure about that Weiss lady, either." It had taken a few years for Romulus to get his bearings of the new surroundings, but the family feud was a practically widespread knowledge; he had been snooping around of late, figuring out if there was any thread worth pulling on either side to change the tide of the luck that the heist team had been having. If they could convince one or the other to hire them on a job for a steal of a price, that wouldn't be such a steal as highway robbery, they could go anywhere they wanted. "But enough about that hogwash — Gotta say, I'm real interested in this cat adoption thing. Not sure they needed a celebrity guest to reel me in, I've been thinking I need another low-maintenance companion around the place. What say you?"

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Romulus and Remus had been passing one another the better part of the evening, two trains passing in the night — when one cycled out, the other cycled in, narrowly missing. Any other time, they would have been bickering and pushing each other around throughout the festivities. After chatting with a few of the milling-about patrons relishing in the free stuff, he was making his rounds when he noticed the peculiar sight of a person balancing... what seemed to be most of their belongings on their forehead, whilst rummaging in their pockets. After a beat, he figured that the other was probably inebriated — as were most of the guests when they were getting to this hour of the night. Hopefully, they'd be wrapping up that damn game soon, because he wouldn't be leaving any time without Remus at his side ( it was a pact, of sorts. They left Eureka Springs together, and they were in the mouth of a lion's den right now. ) "You have something else in those pockets to add to the stack you've got going?" he asked cheekily, unable to help himself. Hands in the pockets of his satin red pants, he cocked his head, pretending to be temporarily fascinated by the magician's act. "You've probably been too busy with that, but," he hazarded a glance over his shoulder, "Any clue who's in the lead for those high stakes? Looks like the money they're putting up's climbing by the minute, but the game sure isn't moving any faster."

Location: Riviera Casino and Hotel Date: May 25, 1996 Event: Poker Night Cap:♾️ @boneyardstarters

Leaning back in his chair, he slid down it before resting his head over the back of it, listening closely to things, but his eyes were feeling strained from paying attention to everything and getting paranoid. Which wasn't helping his wanting to take another nap, tonight. Bringing a box of matches from his pocket, he placed it on his forehead, crossing his eyes as he watched it. Then he brought a pack of cigarettes up to stand on top of the matches, both now balanced on his forehead, “Hm.” He mumbled under his breath, roleplaying a little with himself about a 'stacking' championship. Rummage around in his pockets sightlessly some more, he found something else, an ornate lighter, and placed it on top of the cigarette pack, “Aaahh- Don't fall-don't...fallll-” His right hand hovered over it, as his left hand continued to dig around for more stuff to add to the stack.

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It was about time that Romulus made an effort to enmesh himself with the socialites and sybarites a little more — snoop around for who might be persuaded into taking up the services, or a little fallback and strings to pull should they find themselves in a similar predicament that had them crawling into the underbelly of the city of sins. The serpent of temptation had slithered his way through the people and crept his way through the double doors to the hotel lobby, subtly looking around the opulent parlour. The attire exuded the glamor of a fashion print magazine — the glimmering sequins off a wine red v-neck top and ascot to complement the satin dress pants. He hadn't realized how unassuming he must have looked when a voice spoken in his direction managed to capture his attention, and he gave a light shake of his head. "Politicians and the like jerking off their egos for everyone to see? I think it's like an average Saturday for Las Vegas," he spoke with an intonation besotted with mirth, a hand withdrawing from the closed-off position he had been poising with hands shoved into his pockets, offering a handshake, "Took it as an excuse to dress up myself, but I promise I'm not one of 'em. Romulus." The cheeky glimpse of humor tapered back a notch, giving her a once-over. "I'm guessing you're not one of the family, or you'd be so inclined to lie about how bored you are. No gambling for you?"

the lobby of the riviera casino and hotel, may 25th 1996 / @boneyardstarters

This kind of event was not Rika's idea of a good time. It wasn't her idea of a bad time either but she was nothing if not keenly aware that she was out of her depths in a space so flashy and luxurious and dedicated to... well, something she didn't really care all that much about, be it the gambling or the person in whose honour it was being held. But, alas, she was a morbidly curious young woman and, after so much of what happened during that awful weekend had passed by her, she found herself inexplicably drawn to the eye of the hurricane. Not that you'd figure any of that out from the way she was awkwardly stood in the hotel lobby, tugging awkwardly at the hem of her short dress. She'd been just about ready to slump hopelessly against the wall when another person seemed to exit, wearing what she assumed was look of exasperation familiar to what she felt herself. Or, perhaps, she was just projecting?

"This event's just kind of a lot, isn't it?" Rika offered, in what she hoped was a casual and friendly manner. If she sounded awkward or even nosy, then her acting skills were certainly at fault. "Did you come out here to take a break from it all too?"

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𝖚𝖑𝖞𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖘, 𝖎 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖆 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖜𝖆𝖞, 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞. pinterest ♡ stats

trigger warnings: light implications of neglect and family death/loss, heists?

HEY, i think i just saw ROMULUS DOYLE walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY-FIVE YEAR OLD is working as a/an BOUNCER AT GLITTER GULCH LOUNGE + A CO-LEADER OF A HEIST TEAM FOR HIRE ( ALIAS: GOLDIE ) and lives in MANOR SUITES. given they are ORGANIZED but INATTENTIVE, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that UNDER HIS REAL IDENTITY, HE HAS BEEN ASSUMED DECEASED FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to THE ECSTASY OF GOLD BY ENNIO MORRICONE and you’ll know why they’re called THE FISTFUL OF DOLLARS.  ☾ .⭒˚ michael b jordan. cis man. pansexual + libra.

a modest midwest upbringing, befitting of someone who was born with mischief coursing through his veins. darius hale was one of the middle children in a family of five, with two older siblings and two younger siblings. smack dab in the chaos, it was easy to get overlooked as he was neither the youngest, who were doted and spoiled by their hardworking parents, or shouldering the expectations of the eldest

still, it wasn't bad, and he didn't have much to complain about. growing up in eureka springs, arkansas, his father worked as a tax consultant and his mother worked at the infamous crescent hotel as part of its staff. after school was let out on most weekdays, he would follow her around from room to room while she worked, or wander the hotel

it was through this that he bumped into the son of another worker at the hotel, ( jamie blythe ). from their young age, they hit it off right away, and quickly derived they only lived a block away from each other in the small town. they were trouble from the start, and a handful of it, as he grew to view his new friend as closer to him than his own blood brothers. childhood best friends set out on all kinds of quests and adventures, the world was there oyster

well, maybe that was taken upon too literally. their friendship didn't break as they progressed into adolescence, and they struggled to mesh themselves with other peers for their bizarre interests. there was nothing they loved more than exploring and discovering the secrets that the town contained, like the underground tunnels. and as most adolescents do, his relationship with family was in dire straits with the woes of teenage angst

boredom spawned the childhood friends' decision on a random tuesday to shoplift the latest trend in sneakers, and lo and behold, they discovered they had talent in teamwork when they put their heads together. jokes were made. nothing really came to fruition while they were ridiculous kids with too much time on their hands

he graduated high school and received his diploma, and like most in his family, he stuck around and took up a job at the hotel himself. life was a boring cycle and a mundane routine, until the joke resurfaced. it wasn't so much of a joke anymore. nor was it for anything more than being adrenaline junkies — and so, the first heist was hatched as an idea. it took some time, and planning, to carefully recruit a couple people they thought they could trust not to tip off the law

a few heists and bank robberies down the road, they were getting good at the game. a little too good. the law were starting to catch on, and their egos may have been a hair too cocky, their schemes with less and less time stretching between them. a little more than five years ago, a robbery of theirs was botched, and darius' partner in crime fumbled the bag when emptying the account of an incredibly important person

there was no time to look back — the team of four had to get out of dodge, wanted across state lines. they ( darius and jamie ) found themselves changing their names, cleverly to romulus and remus, along with the rest of their crew, and manufacturing new identities. leaving no trace of themselves behind, besides a newspaper clipping run under their original names claiming their deaths, they started fresh in the heart of las vegas

now, for all the work that goes into romulus' star talent of cracking safes, the brains aren't all there. this isn't the brightest tool in the shed, this one's a himbo. and as much as he loves money, he loves his sense of fashion more, and staying on top of the latest stylish trends. worst road rage driver and a hyperfixation on reading up on the medieval times, and would work at a renaissance fair if he could!!! he should also probably not be trusted with a pet, but he is the owner of a gerbil, olga

understandably, he's not in touch with his family who presume he is not of the living. however, he keeps tabs on them and after his second-eldest sibling passed away in military service, he sends an undisclosed envelope with money each month back home to arkansas. it's certainly different to live in the desert than the ozarks. the team's services are still available — if only to the highest bidder

[outlcws]

"You twins?"

MICHAEL B. JORDAN as STACK and SMOKE Sinners (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler