tatemerlot-blog

[tatemerlot-blog]

con’t [x]

“Of course he would be lost without you. Men can’t be left to their own devices.” Ava’s distaste is evident as they walk together. She’s less than thrilled about Frank Fontaine in general, god forbid he be a decent person, but Abigail seemed too sweet to be under that con man’s thumb. There was a silent backbone to Abigail, Ava could tell, and while she would usually feel threatened by that sly power, she’s more impressed than anything else. “Without you, I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to-” She pauses mid sentence, a member of wait staff rushing past with a precariously full tray full of wine glasses makes her freeze up. Can’t ever trust anyone, she reminds herself with another sip, so that’s the end of that.

As Abigail brings up the question of her plans, Ava is caught almost off guard. The actress wasn’t sure she would actually get an invitation, this being such an important and possibly illegal soiree and all. Part of her is glad she didn’t, while the attention seeking part is screaming in happiness that Abigail could be offering the opportunity, and it’s a good thing she went with her ‘trying-to-not-be-over-the-top-but-I’ll-still-show-up-everyone’ dress. Ava offers a coy smirk, and a raised eyebrow. 

“I certainly don’t, ma cherie. I was planning to go back to my flat and make a few calls-” (she was planning to make a call to one of her suitors, tell them to bring dinner, wine and a sturdy belt, but this sounds much more exciting) “-but I’d love to join you. I’m happy to tell off all of les pompes à lisier. If you’ll have me, of course.” 

Ava’s general distrust and distaste for chauvinistic pigs of men didn’t stop her from wanting to help Abigail. The actress knew how rough Cohen was with some of the workers down in the fort, she’s seen his temper first hand, and she’s spoken to Jasmine enough to know how Andrew is. Frank has to be an awful combination of the two especially with that mustache and leaving Abigail would weigh on her mind too much to really enjoy anything else. That, and Ava would die before turning down a party invitation. 

“As long as you think this dress is okay, I won’t have enough time to run home for a change.” She finishes off her flute before handing the empty glass to the nearest waiter walking past. “If that’s a yes, we should get back to the main room. Je promets d'arrêter de crier à tout le monde.” The redhead offers a soft smile for translation. 

“I promise I’ll stop yelling at everyone.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

con’t [x]

Hector had been right, and Ava is positively steaming as they both arrive. Fashion is never a highlight at these types of events, Ava knows that, but the fact that she wore blue at the last event (even if a different shade of blue) was outrageous. Those tabloids would be all over her for at least a week, and the thought almost dampens Ava’s entire evening.  However, her arm is looped through Hector’s as the throngs of people meld in from the entrance alongside the duo, and Ava prays to whoever is listening that maybe, just maybe, nobody got a photo of her outrageous fashion faux pas. It would be on her mind all night. Even if the dress Bella created was an absolute fashion must see. Hopefully, what the tabloids and fashion columns would talk about the couture sweetheart neckline, crystal covered, lace-up bodice, or the floor length, fluffed chiffon skirt, rather than the repeat color. The ensemble is eye catching, especially compared to the barely-considered competition. The actress smirks to herself, as being a showstopper is what she lives for, but the subtle reminder of ‘work first’ makes her tighten her grip on Hector’s arm.

This is less of a social event, more like an obnoxious fundraiser gala for Cohen and his newest production. As the stars, Ava and Hector were obviously supposed to be more for show rather than actual guests. They always arrived together and always left together. Drink together, mingle aimlessly together, and save each other from awful conversations. Ava gets hit on relentlessly, Hector manages to sneak her away. Hector gets badgered about what it’s like to work with Cohen, and Ava will whisk him away, drink already prepped in hand. They are experts at this stage, and tonight would be no different.

Hector looks dashing and even though they've been together this whole evening, as always, he still manages to make Ava blush. Her makeup does it's job, hides most of it, and the only give away is her soft smile. The duo spot Cohen mingling amongst the snobby elite and they're quick to turn their backs and make their way towards the bar instead. They would have to face Cohen and the ‘investors’ eventually, but right now, they need drinks. The bar is packed with patrons, another overly successful gala would ensure Cohen got his funding, but it made getting a good cocktail difficult. Unless, of course, your presence was as loud as the starlet’s.

“I can’t believe he’s doing another one of these events.” Ava sighed, barely putting up her hand before several bartenders dropped what they were doing to get the order. “2 shots of tequila, 1 Martini, extra dry, no olives. What about you mon cher?” She smiles and winks at Hector, her hand tugging at his lapel, as if to fix some invisible imperfection. 

“Drinks on the boss tonight, so let’s make them count, hm?”

[tatemerlot-blog]

“ trust me ” -human!Nick Valentine

This particular bar is very used to having Ava around, the bartender constantly making eyes with her, and sliding drinks her way when the glass is barely half empty. Ava is a consistent patron, a good tipper, and always finding conversations with the people around. As she makes her way in today, she spots the usual faces at the booths, a few scattered around the main bar, but her eyes stop on someone more unfamiliar. He seems to be a little more huddled around his drink than the other people in the bar, more observing than participating in the dulled chit chat around him. 

Ava pushes her hair back over her shoulder, slipping off her coat as she heads towards the bar. Her dress is an average one, by her standards. By other’s standards, too low cut, too tight, almost too over the top for an evening at the bar, but Ava’s here to impress and she’s not afraid of it. The deep blue glow being cast over the bar by the tall, ocean facing windows compliments the dark merlot color of her dress, and she’s glad this was what she chose after the rehearsal this evening.

The mysterious stranger will do, for tonight. The actress is looking for some good conversation, a light drink, and whatever the night will bring her.

She chooses a seat at the bar a few down from him, keeping him in her peripheral. Ava doesn’t want to be obvious, but she wants to make it clear she’s alone.

As she’s about to order ‘the usual’ from the bartender (was his name Henry? Or was it Tom who takes the Thursday night shifts?) when she’s almost startled by the stranger leaning over, seemingly motioning towards his drink, saying to trust him. Ava can’t tell if what he has in whiskey, or maybe bourbon, but her usual mixed martini suddenly sounds so dull in comparison.

She eyes it, acting as if she’s not sure if she can trust him, but the actress just flashes him a coy smile. Ava can feel the bartender hovering and waiting on her order, just a foot away, and so she motions to the strangers drink without ever taking her eyes from the his. The bartender is much less interesting then this stunner with the sharp eyes. “Alright, I’ll take one of whatever he’s got.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

con’t [x]

Ava Tate is never nervous. She’s faced enough people to know how to keep her calm, but Sander is actually beginning to make her nervous. The redhead can tell that artist’s spark is starting to catch hold, sending his ludicrous ideas spiraling near out of control, but who is she to tell him otherwise? Ava’s got enough of a buzz to kill any common sense that would have screamed otherwise, but she simply nods along.

His idea, in it’s entirety, isn’t ridiculous. It’s going to be public, it will probably get messy, but all in all, they could do well. It could bring people in, it could force a new perspective amongst a new crowd, but would Lamb go along with it? That woman reminds her of a strict mother, or maybe a nun with a ruler. Ava feels the chill run up her spine.

“oui, elle a très bien aimé...” She nods thoughtfully, trying to phrase her encouragement without sounding like a complete stick-in-the-mud. “I suppose it could work, Andrew does hate the idea of a censor over an artist. But would Lamb allow one of the productions amongst her...” What did she call them again? Her flock? Her children? “Her ‘family’.” She heavily quotes ‘family’. “If we can get her on board, you’ve got my support my darling. It seems like you’ve got some ideas already floating around in there.” Ava snickers, motioning to his head. “You’ve always got the best ones, and you’re obviously antsy to get this all going.”

She catches the eye of the bartender, waving for another round. 

“As long as we don’t make fun of the man, maybe we can even schmooze darling Andrew to come along. I don’t quite know how, but wouldn’t it be the event of a lifetime, after such a heated debate, to get them both in one space, again, over a masterpiece of yours? Darling, you’d make headlines for months.” 

[tatemerlot-blog]

con’t [x]

Ava is in the midst of fixing her hair as Hector gives his quick quip about Sander, and she makes no comment about it. She knows better than to argue with one of Sander’s disciples about what he notices and what he doesn’t. Sander comes to Ava when he needs a pretty face to stand around, to schmooze, or when he’s drunk and wants to gossip. She’s not at the butt end of his anger, his gross artistic endeavors and even though she’s pressed Hector before, he’s never broken. He won’t now, and so she won’t push him. She glances to him, her sharp green eyes trying to catch his, but he’s focused on his coffee, his mind a million miles away.

She thinks about bring him back, but it seems the coffee is doing the job for her. Ava smiles ever so slightly to herself, barely a curve of her lips, before going back to adjusting one curl that won’t sit right.

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot, I have to pick up my dress from Bella Mia’s tomorrow. Of course I’m attending. Mandatory.” She nearly spits ‘mandatory’ like it’s a curse. Ava hates it when Sander basically forces them to attend, prancing around like his prize show ponies is never at the top of Ava’s favorite things to do, but free booze, lots of attention, and a lot of Hector are on the list. So, of course, she’ll attend.

Her eyes flicker to catch his, offering a coy smile as she reaches for her lipstick, finally fixing that pesky curl. Of course she has offers. At least 4 offers have come her way, and Ava has simply denied all of them. She knew Hector would ask eventually. He was the only date she genuinely enjoyed being around, and she would have to play with him just a little bit. If only to tease.

“Well I’ve gotten a few offers that I’ve been musing on, but they all just seem positively dull. A bunch of those boring corporate boys, floating around money like it’s a prize. C’est la vie.” Her tone is light, every so slightly sarcastic, as she laughs, turning to grab the cigarettes by the door. She flips open the carton to offer one to Hector.

“However, in light of this perfectly delectable proposal, you’ll do, my darling. My dress will be dark blue.” 

He was the only date she ever wanted to go to these events with. Even if all they would do is drink, snicker behind people’s backs and lock heavy lidded eyes until it was acceptable to leave. It was her favorite kind of night. Even in his own way, Hector was a perfect gentleman, and her favorite date. 

“As long as we don’t have to try and sell some other idealistic vision of Sander’s like the last one, I think we’ll be able to actually have a good time. Mon dieu, that was painful.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

con’t [x]

Under dressed was an under statement. Ava usually is never seen with anyone dressed less than an 8, but this sweet treat was a positive 6. At best. But as he takes her hand, says his name was Nick, she can feel the work behind the gentle grip. The truth behind Apollo square she never dared question, or even worse, look in the face. She’s almost ashamed of the life she lives, compared to others. Almost. 

Of course Ava knows about Apollo Square, and the shady dealings that go on down there. She’s been at enough dinners, enough meetings, and enough sessions with a drunk Sander to hear about what Ryan and Fontaine were cooking down there. Whispers about the experiments, the orphanages, the poverty. The darkness that doesn’t only live in the shadows. The redhead lives in Mercury suites, and it’s a life in the lap of luxury. Plush pillows, fur coats, full theaters and seats of people that cheered and fed her exorbitant lifestyle. Drinks every night, a new beau, the heat, the world spins, she wakes up, and does it all over again. Ava has more than most in Rapture could imagine of, but wasn’t that the point of this whole utopia? Ava feels that guilt bite the back of her mind, a soft gnaw, almost like the beginnings of a bad migraine.

But Nick is so charming and pleasant, and she brushes off his little quip. “There’s no such thing as under dressed here, darling.” Ava barely drops his handshake before slyly looping her arm through his, more so to lead him down the carpet towards the event. The actress leans in ever so slightly as he speaks. He seemed too sweet, to soft, to be living in a place like the Square. If he was from there, what was he doing around a place like this? She almost felt bad leading him into a party with such a cut throat crowd, but he had helped her, and Ava never leaves a debt unpaid.

“Ava, Ava Tate. It’s a pleasure. And please-” She pats his hand, “You really saved me back there. Who knew this opening would draw such a crowd.” She mumbles something in french, her harsh pronunciation hints it’s nothing pleasant, as she waves off another papparazi photographer and gently pulls Nick along towards the door. Getting the two of them away from all these damn people is her first mission. Drinks are second.

“No offense at all, mon cher. I could have sworn we’ve met before. I’ve never been down to the Square before, but...” She pauses, trying to remember where exactly she had seen him before. His face was more unique the more she studies it, but maybe his stature and looks combined reminded her of a few stagehands in the fort. Maybe that one stagehand who always gets her coffee for early morning rehearsals? No, no Nick was his own unique soul. She brushes it off, reminding herself in the future to ask that stagehand’s name. “You just reminded me of someone at the Theater is all. I work at Fort Frolic.”

As they reach the entrance to the party, the host with the clipboard standing guard is watching them as they step up. Ava pats Nick’s arm gently, and flashes a sharp smile to the host. “Ava Tate and guest Nick...” she pauses, realizing just how awful of a date she is, and she hasn’t even asked his last name. However, Ava never freezes up, she simply improvises like the actress she is. So, without skipping a beat, her free hand taps a long, dark colored nail on the top of the clipboard.“The date named on the list won’t be attending. Actually, make sure he doesn’t come in at all, hm? I don’t think we want a scene. Thank you.” Ava doesn’t wait for any actual response, she whisks Nick inside.

[tatemerlot-blog]

[tatemerlot-blog]

Abigail, that’s her name. Sweet, quiet, calm, Ava likes those traits. Abigail’s hand on her shoulder is a bit startling, and in her anger the actress jumps a bit. She isn’t used to having people get this close, let alone be brave enough to touch her. Ava can feel the steam and anger slowly receding, but the look of distaste remains. Abigail seemed to be handling the entire debacle much better than herself. So, the usual boss bitch of situations steps aside to let someone else handle it. 

“Headaches or not, I’m sure you know what could happen if Frank’s not happy.” Ava is sweet, but short with Abigail. It’s not her fault, anyway. She’s just got a bit of a temper, and with Fontaine showing in less than an hour, Ava’s on a short fuse. The waiter from earlier appears from nowhere, light on his feet and obviously sweating, tray in hand with two light champagne flutes. Ava takes them both, eye slightly narrowing as she nods the waiter off, before handing Abigail the second flute. “I don’t think either of us want to be around when he shows...” She sips the flute, glancing away to survey the disappearing damage. “...Or sober.”

Ava let's Abigail's light hand lead her away to fume elsewhere, but not before she gets one last word in. With a snap of her free hand, Ava gets the attention of the nearest attendant with a clipboard. His lean in to hear her was the wrong move, and Ava snarls at him. The redhead steps aside for the moment, and if the two ladies were going to walk off all the feelings and tension, Ava has to get one last word in. “I said gold. Not copper, and mon dieu, if you put down silver, I will send you into an airlock.” 

Straightening up, she follows Abigail’s lead as they head towards the door. The secretary’s snarky remark causes Ava to laugh lightly, “Watch out darling, pretty soon you’ll be running the place instead of Frank.” She sips at her drink, flashing a side eye to Abigail. “Just don’t tell him I said that, hm?” 

Her tone is not necessarily a threat, just a reminder. Can never be too careful in Rapture. Abigail can be as sweet as she wants to be, but Ava knew all the dark sides in politics, especially when it came to Fontaine. Ava’s loyalties lay to Sander Cohen through and through, he was the one that brought her down, and then built her up here. Even as the two clinked glasses lightly as they walked through the doors out to the main hallway, Ava knew she could like Abigail, but never trust her. Ava never trusted anyone.

“Maybe we just don’t worry about it all. I don’t know why I’m so high strung about it all. I mean, Frank’s got to be busy with that guest list, and whoever is on it, and I don’t want to know who. You don’t think he’ll notice the notice the silverware if he’s shmoozing, do you?”

@tatemerlot

cont. from here [x]

     ABIGAIL DID NOT ENVY the staff that were scurrying around hastily throughout the restaurant, practically falling over themselves as they tried to follow the orders that were viciously barked at them. The secretary would have been just as terrified by the display had she not become accustomed to Frank’s constant yelling and rage tirades. Anger had almost become white noise to her.

     INSTEAD OF AGGRAVATING THE situation by expressing any trace amount of displeasure about things not being completely in order, she simply smiled sympathetically. After all, being on the receiving end of Ava’s wrath didn’t seem like a pleasurable experience given the horrified glint in the staff’s eyes.

     “DON’T WORRY SO MUCH, love, you’ll give yourself a headache.” Abigail softly spoke, concern laid thick in her words as she cautiously approached Ava, a reassuring hand resting on the other woman’s shoulder in an attempt to calm things back down and bring some semblance of relief. The secretary was no stranger to the kind of stress that Frank’s various events brought upon a person. Many times in the history of her career, she had been harshly scolded for various, albeit small, mistakes with following the con man’s plans precisely. The man had the highest of expectations, and that certainly didn’t make for easy work.

     WORDS ALMOST DIDN’T LEAVE her for a brief moment as she looked down at her watch, almost feeling startled at the realisation of the time. Oh, how she would give anything to be anywhere but here right now. “He’ll be here in about forty five minutes.” Abigail muttered quietly before quickly speaking up again, “But don’t worry about that, Ava, I can stall him for as long as you need me to!” She announced with a newfound confidence. Being as close as she was with Frank had it’s perks on occasion. It would be simple enough to distract him with conversation until everything was in place, that she was sure of. Maybe. Yes, she was sure. Lord, give me strength. She thought.

     THE MERE THOUGHT OF alcohol was enough to start calming her nerves from the instant it was mentioned. “Listen,” The secretary began, a warm smile on her face as she looked at the other woman fondly. “Why don’t we get our drinks, and then we’ll go for a walk around, decompress a little, and then we’ll come back before Frank gets here. I’m sure these people are more than capable of taking it from here!” Her smile and cheerful tone faded quickly, replaced with a cool stare and low monotonous voice as she turned her attention to the other people in the room. “Besides, none of you would want to disappoint Mr Fontaine, now would you?” A rhetoric, since she already knew the answer from previous experience. 

[tatemerlot-blog]

" what happened? " (From either one of my OCs)

“What happened?” Ava’s voice raises almost an octave as she steps back, half turning her head. She recognizes the voice of Frank’s secretary, but Ava is too flustered to remember her name. “Mon dieu, What do you think happened, they butchered it!” The redhead grabs at the bridge of her nose, mumbling her frustrations under her breath as several flustered looking waitresses dart past them. Obviously doing their best to stay out of the way and clear from the fuming actress.

Ava is standing amongst a sea of tables, reserved in a private room off some upscale restaurant. The staff had been given very specific instructions; the color of linens, chargers, table covers, silverware. It had been a  l i s t, a very specific list, and the venue had assured her that Frank’s ‘charity dinner’ would go off without a hitch. Ava had been roped in post her most recent shipment of slightly illegal goods from Frank, and how could she say no. Men didn’t usually intimidate her, and Ava wasn’t about to be suckered into some secret scheme Fontaine was planning, but when she’s standing in front of him, crate of illegal wine, cheese and creams in between them, and a security bot activation switch just a few steps away, Ava knew she had been trapped. 

“We communicated this, oui? Je ne peux pas croire ça, comment peut-on gâcher une simple liste!” She stares daggers at the nearest people, before sighing loudly and turning to her companion. Her voice still raised, but she’s doing her best to at least tone it down. Poor secretary didn’t do anything but show up at the wrong time. “How long until Frank gets here? It’s salvageable, but I’ll need at least an hour.”

“Last time I’m doing anything for that snake. Hey!” She barks at the nearest waiter, who nearly drops a tray of dishes in alarm, “Champagne. One glass-” She pauses, turning, “I’m so sorry, my manners, do you want some?” Not skipping a beat, more of a statement than question, Ava turns back to the waiter. “Two glasses. Make it quick.” 

[tatemerlot-blog]

“ let me ”

That evening was a special release event at Worley Winery, and Ava Tate was not about to be late. Crowds trying to catch an eye of the walkway and sneak in be damned, she was going to make it fashionably late, and not a second after. But at the rate of these people making such a damn ruckus about the guest list, she wasn’t even going to be able to make it to the front door. Let alone the red carpet walkway they had set up. 

Finally catching a break amongst the throngs of citizens, Ava barely hears the ‘let me’ as someone clears a space for her to dart through. Thankfully she wore the lavender gown tonight, slim fit with a nice slit up the leg to allow her to duck under the velvet and gold rope blocking the carpet from the crowds. She catches his eyes as she stands up, curious about that almost familiar face as she heads the gruff grunt from the hired security. As they’re about to push her back under, Ava breaks eye contact with the young savior and turn on her heel to snap at them. 

“Guest list. VIP.” She points to herself, and then at one of the advertisements featuring their ‘Tate Merlow’ wines. Her words were sharp, the security guards backing up with an annoyed wave as she rolls her eyes and mutters, brushing off some barely there dust from the intricate beading on her gown. “Je jure que tout le monde ici est un crétin...” 

Looking back up, she catches the eye of her savior amongst the crowd of now yelling fans and paparazzi. Her brows furrow, wracking her mind on where she’s seen them before. Stagehand? Usher? Waiter? Bar back that picked up her drinks at the Kashmir every Thursday? Or maybe none of the above and she should stop drinking there so much.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to say thank you, darling.” The actress grins, her voice rising above the calls of the crowd “You look so familiar, have we met?” As she pauses for an answer, a camera is shoved in front of her face, and Ava bats it away, cursing loudly in french as she holds a hand out to him. 

“Why don’t you join me, it’s the least I can do.”  

[tatemerlot-blog]

hector-goddamn-rodriguez·:

Her usual charms and deflection aren’t doing anything for him this morning. Hector is far too peeved to buy-in to her shallow attempt at endearment. Arms come to fold over his chest, and his head tips to the side as he cocks an expectant brow, “That’s your apology?”

His eyes roll back in his head as she proceeds to frighten a stagehand half to death. It’s a stark reminder of why she and Cohen work so well together–they match perfectly with their snappy tempers and sense of entitlement. Hector huffs, “No thanks, m’wide awake.”

The rejection falls on deaf ears, however, as the disciple finds himself being lead to her quarters. He ignores what apologies follow, and tries his very best to stay mad throughout the journey. But, by the time she’s got his chin between her fingers, he’s already failed.

“….Comfortable, huh?” He hates how the compliment thrills him. Hell, he hates how she thrills him this early in the morning, after such a wild and sloppy night. The finer details are lost to the liquor they’d drowned in together, but the disciple remembers enough. Her hands on his chest. Her mouth to his neck. Her warm, wanting body, and the way she’d devoured him with it.

Hector blinks, momentarily lost in the memory. It combats his hangover by bringing some much needed color back to his face.

“You shoulda stayed,” he eventually says, managing small smirk of his own, “We coulda gone for round two.”

She could tell he was upset, and sure, she couldn’t blame him, but what did he want her to do. Be late, or god forbid, not look her best? She blinks, almost insulted, but brushed it off faster than a second thought. This was Hector, il est son amant. Sa préféré. He meant nothing offensive....probably. 

She knew by the soft look that glazes over his eyes that she has him. He isn’t rigid and snarky like a moment ago. This is the Hector that Ava adores, more than she would admit to anyone under pain of death. Even as he stands there, breath hot, cheeks bright red and smile mischievous and playful as hers, she leans in and sneaks a soft, quick kiss. “Oh, it was tempting. I almost did.” And she almost had. Waking up under the tangled mix of his arms and sheets, the tickle of his hair against the back of her neck, the thrill of really trying to wake him up and-

Ava leans back, her imagination halting short and saving the daydream for a different moment. She releases him and opens the door handle that rests just behind the small of her back. “But then how would my hair look this good?"

The dressing room had been built up to her specification, Sander had made sure, and Ava always snuck in a few things here and there for Hector. An extra chair here, some extra blankets, cigarettes...and before she can make another move for him, the stagehand arrives with almost no noise. Slightly out of breath, he holds out the coffee cups for her and Hector (and to Ava’s delight, she notices the pack of cigarettes he leaves at the table next to the door, she would thank him for those later). 

“Sander didn’t even notice you were gone. He was so focused on that poor dancer that somehow made it here full time, and still has 2 left feet.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

“ trust me ” from wild-lavender-bunny

@wild-lavender-bunny

It was the same phrase he had uttered so many years ago. ‘Trust me’ had started her journey down into Rapture, but it had also launched her career to new heights. Ava Tate had wild notoriety on the surface, sure, but Rapture was where she really became the star. Sander Cohen, as wild and crazy as he could be, was a goddamn genius. She would never doubt that.

And so, as he once again utters the phrase, her eyebrow raises in amusement. The redhead takes a deep drag of her cigarette, the embers flicker light across her face as they sit together in the low light of a booth. Their drinks were mostly empty, the crowd around them too far gone in themselves and each other to notice the pair off to the side, sitting against the expansive glass windows. 

“I trust you, mon vieil ami...” She breathes, “But you’ll have to give me more of an idea of what we’re working with...Un plan, une direction, une sorte d'idée.” She motions to the crowd around them with her cigarette free hand, “How are we going to get everyone to come back to the theater with this sort of ploy. Seems a bit dangerous to dabble in such a delicate situation? You know how Andrew can get with all the...politics.” The actress ends her statement curtly with another drag of her cigarette. Her tone not impolite, but an edge with a warning. 

“Prendre garde, mon ami...” She sighs lightly, her eyes meeting his. “Be cautious, but yes, I trust you.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

“ don’t cry ”

Her lip curls against the tears, more of a defense than actual anger. She had been crying long before Silas had showed up, but now that he was here and being kind, the tears were more out of frustration than self-pity. It was just like this sweet southern gent to offer her a handkerchief and a gentle presence. He was too good for her, and for this damn city. Ava could feel her shoulders start to shake harder. It was so stupid, crying over something as simple as a spat with Sander, but it was her first time ever producing one of his shows, and that damn rabbit was more like a vicious wolverine. They had bickered all morning, and while Ava usually took Sander’s fits in stride, shaking them off as he spat his directions into her face, this little fight was different. She had stepped in, to help redirect a few of the actors to give the scene more of a flow, and Sander had lost it. Her creativity curtailed, and left to bleed out as embarrassment.

And now, post rehearsal, she is sitting alone, in some bar booth amongst throngs of people perpetually throwing themselves at her. Ava was one more drink request away from setting the whole place on fire, when her eyes land on Silas. The angry tears bite at her eyes as she continues to wipe them away, her snarl fading.

“Don’t give me your pity, mon ami. I don’t want it.” She pauses, to sniffle as quietly as a lady should, “But I appreciate your company none the less.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

two word starters

“ please don’t ”

“ i’m sorry ”

“ trust me ”

“ fuck off ”

“ don’t go ”

“ please stay ”

“ i tried ”

“ you’re wrong ”

“ you’re right ”

“ i know ”

“ don’t run ”

“ go away ”

“ don’t stop ”

“ it’s hard ”

“ don’t cry ”

“ we can’t ”

“ calm down ”

“ i’m scared ”

“ make me ”

“ wanna bet ? ”

“ run away ”

“ don’t look ”

“ i promise ”

“ try harder ”

“ believe me ”

“ don’t move ”

“ you’re mean ”

“ i’m cold ”

“ you’re beautiful ”

“ hold me ”

“ let me ”

“ come here ”

“ shut up ”

“ fuck off ”

“ it’s complicated ”

“ you’re okay ” 

“ wake up ! “

“ you’re on “

“ i’m pregnant “

“ you’re sick “

“ how long ? “

“ what happened ? “

“ stop it “

[tatemerlot-blog]

Watching Hector sprint into rehearsal, looking a little more than disheveled, had almost made Ava feel bad. The redhead simply shrugs him off, a half smile gracing her face as he grabbed her wrist. 

“Well I sure tried.” She pauses, flashing a quick smile, “Once, anyway. Mon cher, you were just so tired you refused to wake up. Tu as juste l'air si adorable...” A quick flip of her wrist as she murmured her compliment, and Ava catches Hector’s hand with hers. The redhead offered a pout of her dark, rouge colored lips. “Coffee slipped my mind, that I will apologize for. Je suis desole, but here you are, darling.” She patted his hand lightly, a slight tug pulled him next to her. “Come, join me. I’ll have someone bring us some, hm?”

The smile drops, her eyes sharpen as she looks around and sends a loud snap towards the nearest stagehand. The poor sap closest to them straightens up, realizing who had summoned them, and they dart off behind the stage to fetch the coffee. If they were smart, they’d return with coffee and cigarettes, but it was so hard to find good help around here. Everyone all spliced up. 

Ava leads Hector back towards her dressing room, her soft smile sneaking back on. “I do apologize, but I certainly tried, you were just so tired.” She touches his chin lightly, a soft gesture of affection. 

“Honestly, I was lucky I got up at all. You’re just so...comfortable.” 

@tatemerlot

A routine hangover clings to him like the sheets tangled around his legs. Hector awakes to a throbbing headache that he doesn’t actually mind–it distracts from the nausea churning his stomach, and the stinging pain of the scratch marks littering his back. With great reluctance, he rolls over. The mattress is cold on one side, meaning Ava has long since left him. Peeking one eye open, he sees the spot on the floor where her clothes had been, discarded carelessly in the throws of passion. They’re gone, too, along with her purse, heels, and chandelier earrings she’d set to rest on the nightstand. All that remains is the ghost of her perfume as the disciple breathes against his pillow. His nose wrinkles, and his sniffs to avoid a skull-rattling sneeze.

Left alone, Hector considers going back asleep. He shrugs the covers back over his shoulders and rolls again to lay on his side. It’s only when he catches sight of the time, and only in passing, that he springs suddenly to life. He’s two hours late to rehearsal, and Cohen’s going to have his head.

“Oh, goddammit–!”

A slew of curses denouncing his co-star, half in Spanish, echo throughout the apartment. The actor scrambles to pull last night’s shirt over his head, forgoing a sorely coveted shower for the sake of efficiency. A comb rushes through his hair before he haphazardly drenches himself in cologne. It’s all he can do to mask the stench of bourbon, sweat, and sex. He steps next into a pair of clean-enough pants, then well-worn boots that carry him frantically to the front door. He nearly forgets his keys on the way out, and definitely forgets his wallet, only remembering it halfway to the Metro Station.

It’s another half-hour before he’s in Fleet Hall, fast-walking his way down the auditorium aisle towards the illuminated stage. To his relief, the cast and crew seem to be on a break. Cohen’s nowhere in sight–probably nursing a hangover of his own up in his office–so Hector is granted a minute to breathe. The reprieve is short lived as he sees Ava walking past, made up to perfection and en route to her dressing room. His brows narrow with a short huff, and he reaches to catch her by the wrist.

“Thanks for the wake-up call,” he remarks flatly, “You could’ve at least put on the coffee pot on your way out.”

[tatemerlot-blog]

ＡＶＡ   ＴＡＴＥ

Tonight, at the party they will raise the curtain

and

Ｖ Ｏ Ｉ Ｌ Ａ

[independant, selective Ava Tate rp from Bioshock]

[tatemerlot-blog]

                  {ind. sel. jack wynand from bioshock. graphic by the lovely diemuttergans}