#int. inside

[benjaminvox]

FOR: @romanbaranovsky EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: Their Rich Tent.

It was the kind of awkward where he didn't know what step to take first. While he'd spent the last few weeks learning all he could, more so than before, about the Russians -- he was still left wondering if the decisions Melissa were making were the right moves, or the wrong ones. This tent was far beyond his wildest dreams, especially considering the tent that both Melissa and he had scored respectively.

His smirk was snaking, as he turned in the too-big space (of which he was thankful for) and shrugged. "You don't talk much, fine. Do you smoke, though?" the allusion to something different from a cigarette.

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @ayaz--ates WHEN: Post text messages. WHERE: The Arts Theatre Club, Central London.

The Arts Theatre Club was a place she frequented with the people from the London Advocate.

By the use of the word frequent, it was whenever they cullied her into doing so. Most of the time, she'd rather be at home with a book in hand, rather than trying to stop the overly loud, too busy conversations of a bar in Central London. But, to be frank, she didn't mind it here. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. Inside, the walls, a deep maroon, against vintage lamps and velvet seats. Posters of old productions...some of which were famous, others forgotten lined the walls.

In true Amélie fashion, she'd arrived thirty-five minutes early, tucked away in a booth that was furthest away from the rest of the crowd. In front of her, an untouched martini waited, and her back account had cried in response. London prices would be the death of them all, she thought, with a grimace. She'd picked this place because she was more comfortable here, than doing it at either one of their homes. In truth, she didn't want to sustain more loss at her place than she already had. It was becoming breeding ground for it.

And having this conversation with Ayaz was the last thing she'd wanted to do. But, to be true to herself, she had to followed through. She'd almost backed out twice, and on the ride here, her stomach had become a world class gymnast. And still, she stayed.

But that calm vanished, when she looked up to his figure moving towards her. Oh fuck, shit...she was now officially terrified. "Hey..." a sad smile gracing her lips. "Thanks for coming."

[maksimkurylenko]

FOR: @mishavorshevsky WHEN: September 24'. (Post Shooting.) WHERE: Building, unknown location in Haringey. For sale.

"I thought I'd give you a little preview." It wasn’t official yet, but after the last meeting, Maksim was pretty confident this space was his. He’d never had anything truly his own before, and as he surveyed the room that he prayed would be his upcoming salvation from the rut he'd found himself in recently — even with that thought on his mind, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

What the fuck would he call the place?

With arms spread wide, he walked through the open floor, a grin lighting his face. "So, what do you think?" His mind was already shaping the place—gritty, raw, a dive bar with live rock music. No frills, no gloss, just the kind of place you lose yourself in. It wouldn't be like Vorya: and not because he wanted to keep his balls intact. Yes, the man was terrified of his sister, and rightly so.

"I’m thinking the stage over there, and the bar over to the right." He moved through the space as if he already had the keys in his hand.

And soon, he would. Maksim could be persuasive when the time called for it.

[yinachens]

It was a rarity that Yina would accept such an offer, but there was a first time for everything. Her life had been an endless battle of never trusting anyone after her father's deciet, and maybe it was small moments like this that made her consider that life wasn't all that bad -- that some people were just, in fact...kind. It was that thought that saw the corner of her lip curl upwards as she gave a simple nod and headed through the door of the bakery. Instantly, she was hit with the fresh smell of treats: one's that she'd been kept from as a child.

To have a father who owned such a place must've been a wonder as a child.

Yina, on the outside, presented herself as an ice statue. Barely did she smile or laugh freely, and sometimes she wondered if it was because she feared that if she allowed herself to enjoy something too much, it might one day get taken away. A fate she knew all too well. Taking in Jazzy, she wondered if she was this lovely all of the time. Because if so, she was basically a personal fucking sunshine. "Your dad must be pretty cool, then." Yina commented, eyes searching for that particular person. Although, she didn't know who she was looking for.

"Nice to meet you Jazzy," Yina said, offering a real smile. "I'm Yina. I don't think there's any need to shorten it -- not one that would make any sense, at least." laughter slipping from between her lips. What a rare sight to behold.

Jazzy just stood there, her eyes focused on the woman across from her. She hoped she hadn't come off too strong, but she had always been someone extroverted. Friendly but sassy as people might call her. A dash of sugar and a dash of spice, kind of like cinnamon sugar, with hints of both. It was just who she was, she didn't care at all. Not to mention sometimes she did have a resting bitch face, hence where the spice comes from. So she hoped as she stood there, her face was more neutral.

As the other began to speak, Jazzy sighed internally realizing she did in fact come off without the resting bitch face but not too much of the sweetness either. "Yeah, if anything I'll just buy it. It's the least I could do," she suggested motioning towards the spilled beverage on the ground below. She didn't mind, plus she'd feel bad for the rest of the day of it didn't get remedied somehow.

Opening the door and motioning for the other to go through, she paused and answered, "Jasmine but everyone calls me Jazzy. Yours?"

[predninja]

Julikar is like a toddler: always needing to eat things that look slightly edible

[taruruchi]

hehe 😼😼😼

[jjcocker]

fixation mashinging. Id Say.

[keremdogulu]

A sigh broke through parted lips, tired, bored. "I didn’t realise you were so familiar with the position." Kerem gave Ayaz a once over, slowly, like he was all but shit-on-his shoe. “But seeing as you’ve all but watched, my people chained like dogs, and had little objection to the fact—I think your opinion on what I do, the choices I make, are of little consequence to me.”  

A journey begins with a single step. His father had said that to him once, when he’d been all but a young pup. Then, the prospect of leading had been something Kerem wanted, even when university came calling. But as he’d grown, he had to admit the burden he’d shouldered in the wake of the Rutherford's full control. 

Straightening himself, Kerem refocused. Konstantin’s offer—both opportunity and threat. It was like a ready waiting noose, and he was either climbing or descending the steps. With each choice he made, he was sure there was a fine line between life or death. 

Konstantin, tall, unmoved, all the while remaining sharp and cutting. In many ways, Ayaz had always been a thorn, but never without a purpose or a fucking reason. Kerem could admit that, but when his thoughts swung to Berat and the blame that had been lying upon his shoulders... it was enough to make him subtly grit his teeth. 

He had choices to make, big fucking boy choices.

Kerem didn't trust him. Never would, and even if the chance arose…it’d never be fully. He’d played his role for far too fucking long. Kissing Rutherford's feet, bending when they pushed—he’d done everything to survive and keep the survival of his people, just as his father taught him. But here, before Konstantin, it wasn’t just survival anymore. There was actually weight to his discussion. He wasn’t the leader…yet. But sometimes one had to take a risk in order to advance further in this game: and that was exactly what he was doing.

"I appreciate your... understanding," gesturing towards Ayaz, turning full attention back to Konstantin. “The situation with Haringey, I agree, needs to be resolved. I won’t waste your time. We currently have no loose ends within our own ranks. I’ll approach my people tomorrow, and have an answer for you by the next.” Side-eyeing Ayaz, he didn’t intend to keep the Russian boss waiting. Offers didn’t last a lifetime. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take him with me,” walking two short steps, until he stood before the man who’d blamed him for the death of his best friend. He could see it. Every time they saw each other.

If Ayaz was going to continue being a liability, then it had to be sorted out now, not in some alley when it was too late. “We’ll handle this ourselves." For the first time in years, he wasn’t just surviving. He was ready to lead. The two of them, once they got out of here, were going to have it out. “I think it’s time I showed him what happens when you bet on the wrong side.”

As the two men continued their exchange, the Russian took a metaphorical step back, eyes narrowed in careful observation. There were many ways to judge a man beyond his words alone. Konstantin hadn't been expecting him to lash out physically, but in spite of one of his men stepping forward as if ready to put an end to it, he raised a hand to stop him in his tracks. Better to let it unfold.

The Rutherford's errand boy fell silent for a moment, his head tipping back at an uncomfortable angle as he seemingly attempted to recover from the blow. There was no verbal acknowledgement of pain. Even his expression remained impossibly stoic as a small trickle of blood started to form near the bottom of his nose.

"You. You asked my opinion, you absolutely monumental cretin, and I know full well you can't even spell rhetorical."

"Posture a little harder, huh? I don't think the Russian has quite got the hint you're ready to bend over just yet. You're being too subtle."

Ayaz couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh after that; so humourless that even Konstantin switched his attention, this time. Kerem was right about one thing. It was judged by who he aligned with and who he trusted. And he was choosing this.

"Of course, I'll allow you time to consider your options," Konstantin finally interjected, idly adjusting the cufflink at his sleeve. "I am, however, gravely impatient when it comes to matters regarding Haringey, you understand. If you wish to take him with you as you depart, as it seems you may have more unresolved issues than I initially assumed, my men will be happy to assist you."

[sleeepydraws]

I legit haven't touched this since LAST YEAR, April 2024, and I'm only now riffing off it

These two have the best dynamic. Hands down.

[benjaminvox]

FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: Main Bar. Post initiation.

Not only was Melissa in a better mood for knowing her tent was among her more refine tasted, it'd unfortunately, been soured just as quickly when she'd spotted who her partner was: and while Benjamin couldn't pretend he'd been ecstatic when he'd found of whom he would room with -- it was better than the likes of the Italians.

Of whom, he hoped to never see again. Especially Giordana. It was sickening, the way he had a cane with him at all lines, tucked away so he could pretend at times that it didn't ache and groan with every passing hour that he was stood on it. And yet, in typical Benjamin fashion, he persevered: because, deep down, he knew Melissa was close by, undoubtedly watching him.

The perk, gratefully, was the free alcohol he'd been given with his new found status for the weekend. Was it possible that Giordana would find him, choke him out and take him room for the night? Maybe, if his room mate hadn't been Roman fucking Baranovsky. He grunted, downing the remainder of his drink, and turning to the bar.

"Can I get another please?" it was the presence to his life, though, that had him side-eyeing as his glass was quickly replaced. "So, what? Poor tent means..." he paused to sip his drink. "You wanna be my friend now?"

[cotilliond575]

Interiors of The Fernbank Museum of Natural History

[mrofontaine]

Olivier had to bite his tongue, something he'd never excelled at, though she had a way of making it sound like she was just stating the facts. Ophélie hadn’t been perfect, sure, but sloppy? He couldn’t agree with that, not with how hard she’d fought to carve out her place like he had. Maybe that was what'd brought them close in the first place. If she’d made a mistake, it wasn’t from negligence—but it wasn't his place to say anything. Olivier had learnt his lesson in the last three, almost four years. One slip could cost everything in their world, but she'd been beaten...was that not her punishment already served? Delphine wanted assurances, something he couldn't give her, not without lying. So he'd play his words, like a game of chess.

"She made a mistake," Delphine didn’t need to hear him defending Ophélie too strongly. It would only confirm her suspicions that he was too emotionally connected to it. But wasn't he when it came to all of them? Delphine, Elaina, Varden, Lisette, Yves, Jean, Ophélie...it would've been the same with any of them. And if it came down to those he'd slept with...well, they might have difficulty giving him jobs to attend. The list was...lengthy. "I've made...plenty. Some would say worse than Fee." And that was the fucking truth.

"I can talk to her, if you want? try to figure out a way so this won’t happen again." Not on his watch, at least. And the fact that he hoped to one day not be just a bodyguard anymore. "Maybe we double people up, just for now. Bring in some of the lower rank youths, put them with others...just so they have backup? London's a dangerous place before we even factor in our lifestyle."

Delphine was different these days — far different from the women he'd first began serving in Paris. Yes, she had power, yes, Olivier knew she’d use it if she felt it was necessary. She wasn’t like Aurélie; she didn’t believe in soft approaches or fucking second chances; it seemed. But he wasn’t afraid of that. He had gotten over that a couple of years ago. If Delphine wanted blood, she'd take it. "You didn't give me a chance before you subjected me to your judgement. I have ideas, albeit not always the brightest bulb in a box...but do with it what you will."

The whole time the man spoke, Delphine simply took mental notes of the conversation. The passion he was showing, which almost seemed entirely too emotional for her blood. There was no room for emotions in their business, especially for situations like this.

Her eyebrows raised as he confirmed her suspicion of the job being personal. Interesting. That could be a potential weak point to poke at in the future if she ever needed to use it.

"She fucked up. You know that, right?" She asked, seriously. "This wasn't just the fault of whoever attacked her. She was being sloppy." She'd said as much to Ophélie, albeit in a more even tone. Never kind, because kindness wasn't her strong suit, but enough not to rattle the woman further.

"How can I be assured this won't happen again? Not the attack, but the loss of what was ours?" If the people under her didn't fear her, then what kind of leader was she, really? Aurélie was kind, to a fault. Delphine was absolutely not. She was willing to do the hard thing, the difficult thing, the right thing. Even if it meant getting blood on her hands in the long run. "There are things you can assure me of, and then things that you cannot. This is one of them." The possibility of future punishment lingered between the lines.

[maksimkurylenko]

FOR: OPEN TO ALL. TAGS: @mobscene-starters WHEN: March, 2025. WHERE: Haringey, his bar. Unamed.

While some saw an empty shell when he'd brought the building, Maksim had a vision. This place had everything he'd needed in order to get it up and running. The bare bones were in tact, and the beauty of the architecture spoke for itself. This had been his own, something outside the shadow of his family: the one he'd always been cast in. Viktoriya's brother. Arkady's son.

He'd heard all the nicknames: the psychopath and the tyrant.

This, was his and his alone. A goal. One he'd been determined to see through. There'd been intention behind every design marker, the location and the clientele it'd bring.

Vastly different from his sister, Vika's. On purpose, as to not raise competition.

Turning, he spoke without facing them. "The contractors will be here soon, they've made great progress already. Can't believe we're a few weeks away from actually opening the fuckin' doors."

[sky-kiss]

/Bats eyelashes/ What if we backed ourselves into a corner and both had terrible daddy issues? Also, Haarlep.

In other news: were you aware that succubi and incubi have telepathy? That sucks for Raphael.

[eliapson]

Ophelia Thompson. 28 años. Directora de relaciones públicas en una prestigiosa firma londinense, con experiencia en manejo de crisis y construcción de reputaciones para figuras públicas y grandes corporaciones. Played by Tay.

🔗 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 • tag.

[blcssom]

closed for @thursdaygrl - plot in source !

"look, i know getting dumped sucks... but you were way too good for them anyway! honestly, you gotta look at this as cutting your losses." she perched on the edge of their bed, nudging her knee against theirs. "besides, you haven't been single in forever. now we may actually get to spend some time together."