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vivienne zaire as queen of hearts!

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It was the same excuses she had heard over and over again from Tristan. That it was all for some greater good, that violence was the only way. At best, it was egotistical to think he and his little merry band would be enough to initiate change. At worst? It was blind foolishness and the deceiving words of others that would land him behind bars or in an early grave. She would not be so easily swayed just as she had not been when he first became involved. The source of many arguments years ago and what had shattered their relationship as siblings. Both would accuse the other of lighting the match that burned the bridge.

"And you think you can make their world crumble down? The ones you're after are just waiting on your downfall to count you as another statistic. At the end of the day, it's not them paying the price. It's the people caught in the middle. Innocent people. You would sooner see the whole world blind rather than any sort of meaningful healing." Violence just bred more violence, it was what they had seen time and time again. "A movement, Tristan? A movement comes from someone willing to put their lives on the line. You'd just have your little followers do it for you."

Unstoppable force, meet immoveable object.

Oh, he had some gall. "Oh, oh I put someone before blood? Should we go down memory lane? Which one of us went and joined a gang first? Which one didn't listen? And which one of us simply followed a career path? I'm not one of your goons, I don't answer to you or what you approve of. Not everyone will bow down to King Tristan." The threat barely phased her; A pain in her chest at the thought of her brother showing up but she did her best to hide it. As she often did.

"Then show up, little brother. Because I gave up trying to convince you to walk away anyways. I gave up on you."

Dressing up their violence with righteousness, Vivienne's words might as well have been steel. And claiming to be the better with blood on their hands.

"No—" He shakes his head. "No. It's not that. In this country we're in — this fucked, broken country we're in. Where it takes violence to prove you're right. The only way to fight fire, is with fire. We've seen it, Viv. Since we were kids. You, you have seen it." Beat. "We tried everything, but it doesn't work. The rich don't care about us unless their shit is crumbling down."

He swallows. "Don't buy into what they're selling. We're not a gang. We're a movement."

"Well, you are siding with them! And you are the company you keep." Then, he laughs. "There it is. Putting your 'employer' before your own blood. Don't worry, Viv. If we ever come for you, I'll show up myself."

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The Zaire Siblings ( ft. @tristanzaire & @b0rnatnight )

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who: @leemalkovich where: gallery showing

There was a point in her life that Vivienne had once been interested in the arts. Mostly dance, but she had always appreciated creativity of any kind. Back when she had been far naive and those dreams had been left to wither in her childhood. But she still enjoyed seeing the world from the eyes of others, how they expressed it. Or, in this case, the lens of others.

Walking through the gallery, pausing to take in the variety of photographs taken, Vivienne had momentarily stopped in front of one. Perhaps a little bit more morbid than the other brightly saturated photographs. As much as she appreciated the perspective of others, Vivienne could only stand so many photographs of the sky or scenery that had become so common place. Though she would hardly class the one before her as a favourite, she did tend to be drawn towards things slightly more abstract.

She felt the presence of another, a side effect of both slight paranoia and from her job. Hands neatly folded behind her, gaze still on the image. "It's a bit dark, don't you think? Though I suppose better than the sunflower that seems to have everyone attention right now."

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It wasn't as if she stood on their side for everything, no matter what Tristan might want to believe. Vivienne liked to think she made her stance clear but apparently not clear enough. How quick he was to lump her in with the others, as though she agreed with every policy, every media campaign. Vivienne wasn't blind to the pain of the world. Once upon a time, she had been one of the ones to stand outside government buildings, letting their anger be known.

"I do not stand by such violence. But only one of us is playing pretend here. Dressing up their violence with righteousness and claiming to be the better with blood on their hands. Only one of us is truly blind to the pain they cause. Where do your silly little gang wars get anyone, hm?" It didn't better the cause, it only caused families to hide in fear that perhaps a stray bullet might catch them.

Vivienne would never claim to be holy or that her efforts were without fault. But she wouldn't be apart of outright violence.

An eyebrow raised, tipping her head at her baby brother's words. Playing the martyr still, as though it were all such a burden when he had sought it out himself. "Fighting me?" she questioned. Stepping closer, unafraid of Tristan like others were. Never had she been nor would she ever be. "Do you really think that I'm the enemy here? Should I expect one of your thugs to pay me a visit? I don't want to be your enemy but I will not become a target or allow my employer to be. I would highly advise you to rethink your word choice.'

His eyes stare into hers like daggers. Profitable is a cruel way to frame it. As though he's taking any cuts for himself — wearing designer, driving Ferrari, living rich.

When in truth, he's in the same shitty apartment, wearing the same clothes, driving only his feet from one edge of the city to the next. Even in months when Tristan could take a bonus, he wouldn't. His principles are worth far more than their weight in gold.

"What about when one of your guns lands in the hands of the wrong person?" He poses Viv's very question back at her. "Two can play at this rigged fucking game, Viv. The difference is I don't claim that my shit is legal." Beat. "The shootings in this country, killing actual innocent people in this country, are all sold legally — as allowed by the very people you protect."

Beat, and he laughs. Then, the laughter is gone. Anger is all there is. "You don't see it because you're not there!" Beat. "I've helped people. They sleep under my roof." What little roof he has. "I'm not in a tower, Viv, I'm in the fucking ground. We all are. We're fighting you from our hole in the mud."

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The denial only being for the drugs did not escape her attention. An eyebrow raised at her brother, head tipping ever so slightly in and unmoved by his words. "Oh, how good of you to throw such tainted money into the charities. I'm so glad bloodshed has become profitable for you." Time and time again, she had denied his little group and his attempts to rationalise it. Her heavy involvement with protests, going against the police, that had been one thing. Violent outbreaks here and there but she had found her way.

Vivienne was in no rush to return to her reckless youth. One so uncertain and filled with her own righteous anger. An anger that still lingered just below her steely exterior. Locked and hidden away.

"You think you cause no damage? What about when one of your guns lands in the hands of the wrong person? I don't see you giving shelter to those that need it, you place weapons in the hands of those that don't. Lure in people with false hopes and dreams. False promises and lies. You're on a tower that will crumble and then you will have to deal with the consequences." Vivienne didn't like it, she actually hated having to speak so harshly to her own blood. But he was so adamant that he was on the right side and blinded.

"And, for the record, I do not plan on catching any bullets. My job is to stop them before they occur."

Tristan pulls a face at her — not unlike the one he would have when he was a child.

"We don't deal drugs." Not for a lack of want, really, but a lack of logistics and an abundance of traitorship. Arms, on the other hand— "What do you think we do with the profit from what we sell? Maybe if you had even once listened to me," — heard me out — "you'd know helping people is exactly what we do with it."

"Oh yeah, I just know the white collar freaks you'd take a bullet for are jumping at the chance of hearing your policy suggestions, Viv." Beat, as he scoffs. "'Minimize the damage' means you're fine with some damage. No, I can't say that. I don't wanna say that."

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It took a moment before she realised it was only the priest she had worked alongside. Vivienne paused in her strides, fully turning to him with a slight look of annoyance on her features. "So you skulk around in the dark tending to it like a criminal? Why not sit down indoors?" The exasperation was clear in her voice. It was second nature to be aware of her surroundings though that didn't just come from her job. Bad neighbourhoods, bad people. She'd seen enough brutality within New York alone to always be looking over her shoulder. Especially with the company some of her family kept close.

A sigh, looking around. She didn't have a car herself, often using a taxi or simply walking for the exercise so she couldn't offer a ride. "Are you able to drive home with a leg injury? Or do you have someone to pick you up?" There was no acknowledgement of the thanks, Vivienne liked to think her actions were more of a necessity rather than needing thanks or gratitude. After all, the less fortunate had to stick together in some way, even if she was better on her feet now.

With fall and winter coming The Church worked with other non-profit organizations to ensure that every shelter had as many donations of blankets, coats and socks as they could. He'd recently run a youth grief group in the shelter and the turn out had been good. He had spent the evening sorting through the donations he'd gotten brought over. Making sure that like sizes were together. Jude was always happy to see the staff but also the other volunteers. To work quietly alongside them in common purpose.

But it was late and he needed to get back to the Church. His leg had been bothering him more than usual but that was his own fault. He'd been sitting in one position too long while he sorted. So he'd been leaning against the building for a moment, waiting for the cramp in the muscle to relax before setting off again

He hadn't meant to bother Vivienne. But he completely understood where the words came from. She was in private security after all. He knew a lot of vets that had ended up in that line of work after they'd come home. He smiled, "I'm sorry, Ms. Zaire. Just an old wound flaring up a bit. Thank you for your help with the boxes earlier."

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It wasn't unusual for former residents to stop by, several of the volunteers themselves once called the shelter home. It wasn't enough for Vivienne to simply let down her guard. Dark eyes still regarded him with suspicion, giving him a look over with a tilt of her head. Many troubled youths were often on the run from a variety of monsters. The last thing anyone needed were those monsters finding them and disturbing their safe haven that they had claimed. One of the other volunteers routinely preached about how 'hurt people hurt people'. Vivienne was often quick to point out that it was not an excuse.

"One of the volunteers. Vivienne," she managed with a small nod. "Are you on a trip down memory lane? Or perhaps looking to volunteer? The head of that area has already gone home, I'm afraid. "

many would believe, standing in front of the man he was today, that selim had not felt the sting of hardship's backhand in the short time that he lived. well-dressed; mild mannered; soft spoken; passionate; decorated in degrees and titles; at the top of the food chain, so to speak. while he grew up in a loving home, that all changed at sixteen when his mother barged into his bedroom and demanded to know if what she had found in the pages of his journal were true. or, more specifically, if what their neighbour had seen was true. it was, of course, and despite knowing that he should've lied that night, he hadn't. "i know," selim admits quietly to the woman. "i stayed here for awhile in my last two years of high school - do you work here?"

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There was little surprise that there was hardly any warmth between them, despite the years lost. Going different ways of life, of different paths was enough to separate most anyone. Even if they did reside in the same city. Where he would come to be involved in the underbelly of the beast that was New York, Vivienne sought herself to make a difference from within and she could not always overlook the troubles her younger brother was getting involved in Especially the few times he had tried to convince her to join him in whatever little games he was playing, one she worried may cost him his life one day.

She wanted to question his motives of being at the shelter. Children were far more susceptible to negative influences than adults within their own shelters scattered across the city. As if the children there needed any sort of helping hand straight into Tristan's world. Instead, she decided to hold her tongue on the comment for the time being. Though she did doubt any sort of gift or display of charity from the Brotherhood, as she last heard of him running with, was most definitely a gift horse that should be thoroughly inspected.

But then he had to go and question her own life choices.

Stopping in her walk, turning to face him with that stoic expression she had become so used to holding now. " I didn't realize that drugs and arms were considered charity work now. I think donations of clothing and food would do them better, don't you?" If he wanted to put doubt into her motives, Vivienne could shoot it back. She had always had the capability for a sharp tongue though it was not a weapon she ever enjoyed using against her brother.

"I am trying to make a difference, influence change in policies. Only I am trying to also minimize the damage brought to our communities. Can you say the same while you play your games out there?"

Shelters, in all their unsettling forms, are imbedded in Tristan's path of living. One doesn't simply become a warrior of justice, without seeing the faces of all the ones who can't afford to fight for themselves.

Tristan was about to walk in, when his sister did it first. His step slowed then, and his demeanor shifted to only watching from a distance.

He misses her. Observing Vivienne in action now, it reminds him of it. He misses her deeply.

An hour passes by before she walks out. Vivienne looks over her shoulder like he could ever hurt her.

(But then again, he could, and he would. Tristan would always fight for the right thing, even if his own blood ended at the wrong side of the field.)

"I'm here to help them," Tristan battles in response. "I always help them." Silent then, comes the question: Can you say the same?

Shut up. She's your sister. Shut the fuck up. Keep it quiet, keep it moving. Sh—

"I saw you on TV with the people trying to take their rights away."

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open to: anyone Where: youth shelter, outside (can assume connections or knowledge of family/job)

There were few hobbies or enjoyments she had much time for with her work. Being a bodyguard for a politician was not for the light-hearted or weak willed but Vivienne was neither. When she was needed, there she was immediately. But in the little free time she had, she found pleasure in simplicity. Sometimes that involved a coffee shop and a book. Other times it was volunteering as her most recent venture was assistance as a youth shelter. Still ever the altruist, finding ways to help the community, she still liked to do her part and especially for the unfortunate children caught up in unfortunate situations. Whether that be helping clean and organize, helping with donations, merely watching over the children of varying ages, she was also sure to keep an eye out for others that might not belong.

It was late when she was finally leaving, purse over her shoulder and a wave to the kids before she stepped outside. There was the acknowledgement of someone else though she seemingly paid little attention as she headed for the walk home. Up until she got closer. "I would recommend you keep walking. The security around here is very particular about not having anyone lingering around." Not that anyone could be told where to walk, there was still a protectiveness in her.

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@oldfuckeditor

Coffee, it was one of the few pleasures in life. A way to relax, if she could, and something to keep her as alert as ever. Even so late into the evening. Corner booth, facing the exit, dark eyes catching sight of anyone entering the place. It was something of an occupational hazard, a need to know every face that took up residence in the enclosed space and any perceived threats. Somewhere simply out of the way to observe her surroundings. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps next time, she should bring a book but that would only involve her glancing up with ever breeze the door opening let in.

Of course, it made her all the more aware of the older male approaching her. Vivienne did nothing to make herself appear open to the man, a cold gaze staring him down at he drew closer. "There are plenty of other seats. At a table, perhaps. This booth is taken."

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Colorful Bad Bitch… 🩵

Danai Gurira ❤️

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The easier option would have been to continue on her way. Within a few moments, she likely would have been out of earshot anyways of the crying children while continuing her jog. And yet she still couldn't just turn a blind eye to someone clearly in need of help while the others around them only heeded the woman with disdain. So quick to judge, so quick to ignore or offer any assistance. While Vivienne was not one to fully let down that shield she wore completely, she knew firsthand how far a little help could go. She had seen plenty of mothers, her own included, weary from the child care and exhaustion so deeply set in their gaze, probably only have paying attention to the rest of the world around them.

It wasn't until she was given the permission of the other that Vivienne acted. Leaning down to scoop up the second twin and pulling the girl into her arms before straightening back up. One arm supporting the child with a mild bounce and rocking movement, the other on the girl's, Lilou's, back to hold her still. While she was no mother, it was still an instinctive act from years of being around children even since she was a child. "Crying on such a beautiful day, isn't that such a waste of time in the sun?" Her voice was softer towards the child, a teasing scold. Across a hardened face was a ghost of a smile as she continued the subtle rocking motions.

Maybe she should question why the woman was so quick to trust her, an utter stranger who hardly appeared so friendly. But that could wait. Her eyes moved back to her, Elizabeth, when she introduced herself. A small nod of acknowledgement, "Vivienne." Her tone had quickly shifted back to its harsher and blunt nature. "Sometimes, it's best to let them cry it out. But in public, it isn't so easy without everyone with nothing better to do whispering about it."

⎯ And everything is back to normal. Back to the same routine. Kinda. The impromptu trip to Paris was so much needed to regain some energy, the last time she took a plane was when she moved from Australia to America when she was a kid. She didn't find the courage to back to work. Not yet… But she feels she is getting there. As usual, she went to pick up her twins from the daycare and brought them to the park to tire them off. Before going to the park, instead of having dinner at home, she decided to eat in a restaurant, to bring them to play in the park after, so when they arrived home, shower and bed. This is exactly what she did. The trio ate and headed to the park.

She is not used to going to this side of the park, but she reckons a new place, and new friends right? At the least for her little ones. Beau was acting weird as of late. During the trip, there were a few days when he fitting tantrums, and she hated the eyes of people looking at her as if they were saying 'handle your kids', 'you don't even know how to take care of them' , 'make these babies shut up' or talking badly about the whole situation. Lilou also crying harder and she didn't know what to do. Liz was getting emotionally overwhelmed by dealing with their fits. There are some days she just wants to sit and cry, along with them. Today is one of these days.

As the other woman approached. ❛ I'm working on it ok? ❜ Well, she wasn't… In fact, she was far from working on it. Liz was visibly exhausted. The Aussie blonde looked into her eyes with her grey-bluish hues… She was a tad in awe at meeting new people, after what happened to her… But her own ears will thank if the other help her… So… ❛ If it is not a problem for you. Go ahead. ❜ Her two-year-old twins, one was in her arms, and Lilou was in the baby stroller, crying louder, and Beau in her arms was whimpering. ❛ That's Lilou, and this is Beau, and I'm Elizabeth. ❜ She introduced herself to the other.

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@elizabeaufort

Certainly enough people were staring at the woman with not one, but two crying children. It was enough to draw the attention of even a common observer at the park, along with a few hushed whispers amongst the people there with such little empathy towards her. And, while Vivienne often didn't show her empathy so openly, there was a pang of pity in her chest. One child could simply be a handful, she often remembered her younger siblings from their crying and screaming infant days. Oh, but to have two at once must truly wrack anyone's nerves and in public most certainly. How quick others were to judge the parenting skills of another with little regard for how the mother must feel.

She'd been hoping to spend her day off in peace, jogging around the large park as part of her fitness regime. But when even the distraught cries of children were louder than her ear buds, there was little peace to be found. Removing the now useless pieces of technology, dark eyes went towards the mother of the two screaming children. Looking her up and down, gauging her as an occupation hazard of hers to over examine anyone in a crowd setting.

The look on her face when she approached could hardly be classed as pleasant. A touch of annoyed with a side of a glare though not truly aimed at the woman; it was simply how her face often fell. "You realize that once you pick up to soothe one of them, the moment you set them back down to take care of the other, they'll cry again." They may have two arms from whatever deity be, but two were hardly enough to deal with two young children at once. And once one was without the attention, they would simply start the crying fit over again. "Would you like some help with them?"

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— BASICS

Name: Vivienne Zaire Age / D.O.B.: 36 ; October 29th Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality:  Cis female; she/her; bisexual Hometown: New York City Job position: Bodyguard Education: High school studied mechanical engineering (drop out) Relationship status: Single Children: None Positive traits: Loyal, Protective, Observant, Confident, Altruistic, Motherly Negative traits: Blunt, Fierce, Confrontational, Rigid, Jealous

(more stats/info here)

— BIOGRAPHY

Growing up, Vivienne was something of a wild child. Doing what she liked, never listening to authority, she never seemed to be one to be tied down by rules. Whether it be racing her hunk-of-junk car she had fixed up herself outside the city, getting involved in pot, or general anarchy, there were likely some that had doubts on her future at hand and what she would make of herself as she grew older. It was a phase that went well into her mid-twenties, some thinking she was bound for trouble.

However, others that saw past the chaos she seemed to enjoy, saw a totally different side of her. Known to those as just ‘Vi’, she would go out of her way to help others. Whether it be by using her mechanical skills to fix up something in someone’s house or their car, or by cooking up some food to deliver to those that needed help, Vivienne put her all into helping others. It was a softer side that her community knew but one often hidden wrapped up in her loud and chaotic persona. It was something she saw often: those softest getting hurt the most. So she wore it like an armor around a gentle heart.

The older she got, the more angry she would grow with the society they lived in. She took part in numerous protests in her twenties against the racial and socio-economic prejudice they face day in and day out. With corrupt or power hungry cops and government, she found a great distrust for both and it was an anger that latched a hold of her soul. It was in those moments of anger that she took to practicing different fighting styles as a way to blow off that steam, not to mention some years of fighting in the streets during the lowest points of her life as a teen. 

She eventually would become disillusioned with the current state of society as a whole. The carefree nature she often displayed began to fade away and leave her more hardened as her means of a shield. There was more aggression under the surface of a poised woman, someone not often willing to back down. Vivienne became more determined to make a change in the world and, while the thought of politics disgusted her directly, wanted to influence it somehow from the inside as she had grown weary of fighting it from the outside.

For a brief time, she worked as a simple clerk though it was a job she hated. Paperwork and coffee runs, it certainly wasn’t the life she wanted. But, she then applied and was brought under Faye Hammond’s employment. Learning much fighting in the streets, as well as having several fighting styles, Vivienne became the bodyguard of the Congresswoman. Hoping she might be able to lend an ear and hopefully influence an actual change in the world, Vivienne if fiercly protective of her employer and loyal as she ever was in hopes of a better future.

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Every self-identifying little girl should be told that she is strong, that she is powerful, that she has greatness within her, and that it is up to her to explore it. – Danai Gurira