zachariaswinchester

[zachariaswinchester]

opalvscent·:

– with: @zachariaswinchester·· – when:  26 April, after the announcement of war+famine’s temporary alliance – where: outside st. paul’s cathedral

��zach, right?” she sticks out a hand for him to take, unsteady from undue adrenaline and lack of sleep. the last couple of months had been marred by so much commotion that it had taken her a minute to register his face; to place where she knew him from. and once she did, her palm had immediately been drawn to her cheek, the phantom pains of her only physical confrontation ringing in her ears with alarming volume. she aims for a smile - they have to work together now, so what use is holding grudges? plus, she hadn’t been hurt. merely shaken. so she’d decided to take a leap of fate, breaking away from her own team members for a little while and stride over to the other. she doesn’t quite know why - to make amends, maybe? but it feels like the right thing to do. and ophelia, always driven by her inalienable sense of right and wrong, knows she will regret it if she doesn’t at least make an effort to lay the brickwork for a civil relationship. “i just…” her voice trails off, suddenly unsure of what to say. what if he doesn’t remember? what if their encounter on the docks is just a bygone to him? a blurred memory of something important. her cheeks flush. god, she’s bad at this whole gang-ordeal. what if apologising is some kind of underworld faux pas she doesn’t know about? “i just .. i wanted to apologise for what happened last time we met. i don’t usually get involved in fights. actually, you’ve been my only one.”

--

He’s unsure if the surprise that registers at the forefront of his mind is reflected on his expression as Ophelia approaches him, seeming unprompted, though manages to extend his hand to meet her outstretched one. “Yeah, yeah, Zach.” The War Power tries to will his features into a smile that crosses the threshold of ‘polite’, a difficult task when coupled with the realisation that the same hand he shook now had landed a hit on him the last time they had met. “And you’re... Ophelia?” Question for question, recognition for recognition, though in a much more civil manner than he was growing accustomed to.

Steel blue watches as she falters, the gesture (unintentional as he imagined it was) minimising the instinctual tension that settled between his shoulder blades, empathy flashing in his stare to be replaced by mind astonishment as she apologises. For a moment, he’s at a loss for words. “I mean, I’m sorry too, it’s just -,” words dry up on the tip of his tongue, unable - in good conscience - to explain that he had chosen to fight Ophelia because the alternative option had been to face off against Wren. His friend Wren. He couldn’t have done that, not then. (And hardly now.) “It happens,” Zacharias finishes, somewhat deflated, punctuated with a shrug of his shoulders. 

He circles back to the end of what she’d said, having overlooked the acknowledgement that he had been the only one Ophelia fought in favour of digesting her regret. “I’m honoured.” There is an attempt to downplay what happened between them, but the sentiment emerges sounding closer to a question than providing an answer, held within the smile that briefly lifted the corners of his mouth. “Means the bar was low... Not quite sure if that’s a good thing... long term, I mean.” For her, or him, or possibly both of them; he couldn’t say. Zach doesn’t mention that, technically, it was his second.

[zachariaswinchester]

ravireyes​:

WHERE: marvi’s new penthouse WHEN: may 6th CLOSED for @zachariaswinchester​  

So far, the silver lining has undoubtedly been Meredith. Zacharias is as good of a guest as they could ask for, to be fair to the boy. He is polite, he’s mostly quiet, he hasn’t complained about a single thing since he arrived, not even when Ravi accidentally put salt in his coffee – no, seriously, it was a genuine accident, and a testament to how distracted the new Seraphim has been. Despite the peaceful coexistence he provides, he is still an intruder in Ravi’s home. Marcus asked for peace, and he has about a night of it, before their War penpal moves in. 

Regardless, they have to make it work, and they do. Meredith, serving as the highlight and sole holder of the only source of serotonin in the penthouse, waltzes around freely after the initial confusion of moving into a new place. Ravi sets her on the counter as he prepares his breakfast, and marvels at the delightful crunch she makes when she eats the kibble from her dish.

Ravi eats his overpriced cereal and daydreams about being a feline himself, completely oblivious to the problems these stupid two-legged beings face, perched up on a stranger’s counter eating their first meal of the day. It’s quite the life to lead, he thinks. “Hope you don’t mind, she was meowing, so I fed her,” he greets, as he watches Zach appear around the corner. There’s a discomfort to their dynamic, a weirdness that clings to his skin and makes the air of his kitchen heavier. He tries not to be too bitter about having to feel awkward inside his own home. “Morning. There are some fresh pastries on the table, if you want." 

--

He didn’t want to create more chaos than had already been inflicted (which he would come to learn was a vastly different approach than the one his counterpart had taken upon entering War territory), deciding it would be best to keep himself to himself... at least for the first couple of days until he had settled in. The last thing Zacharias wanted to be seen as a nuisance, even if he had already tarred himself with the brush of ‘intruder’ while unsure - though not hopeful to the contrary - whether Marcus and Ravi had as well. 

The first thing he realises upon waking up is the absence of the familiar presence at the foot of the bed, his cat had often taken to finding a comfortable spot there and waking him when she was hungry, or wanted to go outside; the list was endless. Odd, he thinks, casting his eye toward his watch, though as he enters the kitchen he is surprised (albeit pleasantly) to solve the momentary mystery. “No, uh, that’s nice of you. Thanks.” Odder still that, now they were forced to operate under the same roof, Ravi felt more like a stranger than a polite acquaintance they had been before. 

“Thanks.” Gratitude is echoed, uncertain regarding what he was supposed to say (never mind what Ravi might have wanted him to say... if anything at all), distracting himself by grabbing one of the pastries and a napkin to put under it. “You sleep... well?” Admittedly, it wasn’t the most normal of questions to pose, and while he didn’t know everything, he had picked up enough to know that they were in a new place. “I know moving can, you know mess with your schedule and stuff.”

[zachariaswinchester]

uchidaxnana·:

with. – @zachariaswinchester where. – marvi’s new apartment when. – may 10th, mid morning 

It takes a little over fifteen minutes for Nana to arrive in front of Ravi and Marcus’s new home. Out of the handful she’d shown Ravi, none seemed to be the perfect fit. For Nana, this apartment was intricately designed and something that any average individual could wish for. The price, however, had left Nana to blanche. It was not her money, and for that she was grateful. Despite her time spent with Rafael, the amount of money that the Femenias family spent would never make sense to her. Her own apartment had even been too lavish for her, but in order to be as close as possible to not only HQ, but the majority of the Femenias’ family, she needed to be centrally located. 

Still, she’d been asked to provide a safe space for Marcus and Ravi to heal from the trauma of Vincent’s attack. There was still the question of whether or not this would be their ‘forever’ home, but it was not for Nana to question. If they decided they wanted something else, Nana would oblige and tackle the project with as much dedication as she had this time around. 

A lot had changed since her and Ravi’s last conversation concerning his home hunting endeavors – She was now a power, Ravi now a Seraphim. Not to mention, they had a member of War amongst their ranks. Improve relations. But did they have to do so with Kitty? Especially given the issue that, in Nana’s opinion, still hadn’t been remedied? Did they have to send her off with little knowledge of how exactly she’d be treated? Despite her suspicions, Nana still cared for the younger woman, and Nana’s top priority, despite the crumbling floor beneath her regarding her trust in Kitty, was still her safety. 

But those things could be pushed onto a theoretical back burner, because the moment that Nana pushed open the door, side-stepping one of her own employees who was currently installing the private security system she’d requested, she was met with the very War transfer. Before she can stop herself, she grimaces. “I forgot.” Moving into the kitchen, she skirts around where Zach sits. “Not about you joining us overall, but you joining them.” Nana feels the need to clarify. Nana stops just behind Zach, rifling through some of the items she’d left behind the last time she’d come to their apartment. There was a key code for one of the systems that she had ordered for them and she needed it in order to complete the set up. “You’ve been treated well, I trust?” She asks with a disinterested glance over her shoulder. It’s not that she cares personally, but the idea of him sauntering back to War with stories of mistreatment wouldn’t bode well for the job of looking over Famine. 

--

To define his current situation as ‘strange’ felt like a gross understatement - a sheep thrown among wolves without the appropriate disguise - in spite of being given his own room, he hadn’t managed to rid himself of the feeling that he was an intruder. He doubted that he would (even if there were certain members of Famine who possessed the ability to put him at ease) given that letting his guard down would be foolish. The Winchester soon realised that many people came and went from the Reyes’ abode, attempting not to be too overtly surprised when he got up that morning to an already-bustling house, doing his best not to stare too long at the unfamiliar faces while helping himself to his coffee and a pastry from the table.

“Don’t look that bad in the morning, do I?” He responds to the grimace after a beat too late for the joke to land properly, just missing the mark as it skimmed into more honest territory, trying to cover it with a smile turned-sheepish at the corners. Still, Zach can’t help but follow the path Nana takes with his gaze, turning slightly in his chair to keep her in his periphery. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Famine Power, though new-turned-frequent habits were something he had to continuously remind himself to keep up with, ignoring the voice in his head that implored not everyone was out to get him, to get his family. 

“It’s been alright, yeah,” he answers, ignoring the apparent disinterest in the question, “We’ve both settled in,” as much as they could, he thinks, before remembering the need to clarify, “The cat and me, I mean.” The emendation is accompanied by a vague gesture, not pointing to one specific area but an acknowledgement that Meredith was around somewhere. “And, uh, you? You being treated alright?” Zach doubted it was the kind of question he was supposed to return, unable to come up with anything else it seemed like the better option apart from asking about the weather, even though he suppresses a swift change in expression upon hearing himself speak it out loud.

[zachariaswinchester]

remuswarden​:

“Those camouflage dickheads always fucking haggle us,” he says with annoyance, rising from chair, still pushed against wall beneath the framed newspaper article. Remus makes his way around the desk, working to button his suit jacket as he leans against the front edge. “Last time their lot decided to pop in for a visit, they wanted me to slash our wholesale prices by a fucking half for them,” Remus scoffs, at first amused with the hard bargains their officers drive, though it easily becomes insulting over time as they press down harder on unfair deal. “We aren’t running a fucking charity. They’re our largest customers on paper, and Death’s went and blown our stock to fucking bits, so we need the money.” A sigh pushes past lips, Remus craving a cigarette to curb the stress. Under normal circumstances, he’d say fuck it and light up behind the comfort of closed doors, but in the interest of cutting down on packs smoked, he chooses to ignore the urge instead. Gaze meets his cousin’s again, Remus giving a small nod to Zach. “You should come. It’ll be good for you to see the new stock. All the tech shit, that’s your avenue now.”

Though there’s plenty of space in the gardens and throughout their stately home, the southern facing windows of the bachelor pad in Chelsea is something Remus misses. “And I’ll finally get the chance to bring you a proper housewarming gift,” he muses, though it’s no real surprise what Zach will be getting. Remus is predictable in that regard lately, clippings of his favourite plants turned to propagations and potted in terracotta, now dotting the desks of many Bellum Nova employees. He doesn’t doubt that Zach hasn’t had much time to unpack, settle into his new space, with the way London lately falls apart at the seams — and try as the Wardens might to keep their empire together, they suffer the greatest losses. Part of Remus hopes that even as they all grieve Juno, little cousin Zach might rise to the occasion, finally find his earned place amongst the ranks when War needs him most.

A deep, belly laugh breaks the tension, Remus finding his own joke far too amusing. "Oh my God, the look on your fucking face,” he manages, keeled halfway over in laughter before recovering again. He kicks Zach’s shoe lightly, smile still on face. “No, no, don’t be silly, we wouldn’t fire you,” for more reasons than just the unvoiced fact that there’s no way out of War besides a casket; once joining the ranks, you’re in for life. “Just don’t fuck it up, yeah? I vouched to Auntie Gabrielle for you, and you know how much she enjoys testing people.” Making sure they are who they say they are, no fucking imposters or liars or cheats on her payroll — not that she’s worried about that with Zach, concern placed elsewhere, in matters of emotion and learned, steely facades. If he manages CTO with ease, it’s a testament to how tall he stands now that he’s grown into himself: he’s become a Warden in his own right, sat at the very beginning of a chance to carve out his own piece of legacy from criminal London, if only he’ll jump out and take it.

Taking little cousin’s hand in firm handshake, Remus beams, making the offer official. “I never expected otherwise,” he adds, watching first hand as Zach arrives, takes shaky steps through their world, now rising in both rank and responsibility as years pass. “It’s good to see you moving up in the world, Zach Attack,” he muses, unable to hand out new titles and honorifics without also prodding little cousin with time-honoured nickname.

END.

[zachariaswinchester]

Love Victor - 2x07

[zachariaswinchester]

ravireyes​:

Zach chooses one of the bags, something a little more bold than the classic he was expecting, so Ravi is somewhat delighted. It’s no groundbreaking piece, but he has a good eye for picking that one out. “Good one. Solid choice for a present,” he nods in approval.

What stopped you, the war member asks, and Ravi is momentarily taken aback by the curiosity. These days, it’s not always that he meets someone from an opposing gang who’s genuinely interested in making conversation, even with their momentary alliance. He never took Zacharias for a conversationalist, but he’s not bad. “Well, party planning is just as fun and I get to attend parties in my spare time,” he shrugs. There’s also the fact that somewhere deep down he’s a hopeless romantic who’s addicted to planning people’s weddings, but that’s too much to share. “A satchel,” he hums, glancing at the accessory Zach currently wears, quickly deeming it unworthy of further inspection. 

“What, did the Wardens ban colours from the workplace attire?” He snickers, eyes scanning over the store again as he taps a finger against his chin in thought. Time, although often a precious currency, is abundant today. Ravi doesn’t have anything else worthy in his schedule, that’s why he ended up shopping to destress anyway. So it’s with no hesitance that he waves a hand in the air before he marches off, hoping Zach will follow. “Come on, we have a lot to do. I’ll give you a makeover.”

- END.

[zachariaswinchester]

oflightfeet·:

Wren aches, watching Zach. They’re quite often taken by the wish to travel in time these days, wanting to return to the days of years past. In this moment, they wish they could go back to the earlier days of their friendship with Zach, before they had even known of the other’s involvement with War, before they had been involved with Famine themself. But every time they feel that urge to return, Wren is faced with the fact that they’re stuck in this timeline, where Zach is friend-turned-enemy-turned-ally and the only time they see him in a place not wrought with warfare is fucking Minecraft. 

“Can I come?” Wren asks it playfully, but the idea of getting out of here, sailing away to a place with a strange name, is warm and comforting. Even if it’s empty, in the end. “Maybe you should put your boat on actual water?” They watch the other come closer and the instinct to pull Zach into a tight hug is overwhelming, for a moment, only growing stronger as he offers to fix their handwrap. Wren nods, holds out their. “Yes. Thanks.” They cannot hug here, where there are eyes everywhere, and while they’re not sure if they’d get in deep shit for hugging Zach, they have a feeling his family would be a little less forgiving. So this will have to do in stead,  

They meet the question with silence, at first, before nodding. “Yes. Leon and I trained a lot together, actually.” Right here, in this very gym. Wren. “I always knew how to threw a punch, but I just didn’t have any technique. He taught me some tricks.” They don’t want to dump their grief on the floor of the gym, well aware that Zach is burdened with his own loss. And isn’t losing a cousin worse than losing a friend? Wren shrugs a little. “It’s kind of sad to be back here.” Zach had always been able to bring out the more emotionally honest side in them, even without really trying. He feels uncomfortable, though, making this about them. “How are you?”

--

“Shit,” he retorts, the curse quietly spoken as a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, “I knew there was something I was forgetting.” There was a sadness that weighed on his shoulders - like Atlas holding the weight of the world - strange to be in conversation with the other in the way that they always had while simultaneously aware that it would never be the same. He knew what he had signed up for, that his allegiance to War would be the match to burn the bridges he’d made along the way to his present, and yet he hadn’t hesitated in doing so. 

With the other’s permission Zacharias takes the end of his hand wrap and secures it back in place, not the neatest job though (he hoped) it would stay where it was meant to. The mood turns serious, the memory of Leon and Juno hanging over them like a guillotine - ready to tear them to shreds in seconds if they let it - “I’m sorry.” Zacharias says, not out of obligation but genuine sympathy for his friend, unable to meet Wren’s gaze until he adds, “For your loss.” It might be the first time he’s mentioned it - to anyone, not just to them - the shared experience something that none of them would soon forget. “I’d imagine it is,” a hand reaches out to rest briefly on Wren’s shoulder. He can, after all, imagine it; likening it to the same feeling he experienced every time he went into Juno’s his office. 

“I’m alright,” a shrug accompanies the sentiment, growing accustomed to equating ‘alive’ and ‘alright’ rather than delving below the surface-level answer, joined by a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s been hard, you know, without her around.” He doesn’t need to elaborate who he’s referring to, a brief pause allowing a moment to gather his thoughts, “What - what we do doesn’t make it easier to deal with it.” It wasn’t an overtly grim note to end the train of thought with, a reminder that beneath it all they were still human, still feeling.

[zachariaswinchester]

kittym​:

+ ZACHARIAS ( @zachariaswinchester​​ )

LATE AFTERNOON, WEDNESDAY 5TH MAY. THE BRITISH LIBRARY. Emissary. Kitty fidgets with the word, toying with it between her fingers, trying to turn it into a shape she recognises — something sharp like her knives or firm like her uncle’s words when he warns of the danger of venturing into War’s open jaws — but in the end she decides it’s better to not give it any real shape. To mould it as and when needed to suit the purpose. She wears her newfound role with pride despite the fact that she feels like the troublesome new kid being made to start at a new school, reputation preceding her, chin raised with a smirk taking root at the corners of her lips whenever she steps foot in War territory, knowing that, of all the people Rafael Snr. could have chosen, she was the one most likely to make Gabrielle Warden pause and lift a perfectly arched eyebrow. But where Famine have sent someone who burns like a threat, an unwelcome black smudge against shining metal of a bright red war machine, War cleverly sends exactly the sort of person people will barely bat a lash at. Zacharias Winchester is unassuming, unobtrusive, and Kitty knows he’ll slip into Famine with warm welcomes. He’ll fit in well, to the point that they might even forget that he isn’t really supposed to be there — and she can only assume that that’s the point. A tactically placed envoy.

“Jess will be pleased to see you,” Kitty muses, flicking at the peeling corner of the label wrapped around a bottle of orange juice in her hand. The British Library sprawls around them, people with their heads down as they study, hushed voices speaking over the quiet. She sits crossed legged upon her chair, leaning against the small table between them. “Ravi and Raf will probably be busy doing Seraphim shit. Marcus— well, he’s still injured, so you’ll probably spend most of your time listening to him complain about not being able to do what he wants. Go easy on him but don’t make him feel like he needs mollycoddling.” She can’t quite tell how her eldest cousin will react to having Zacharias’ gentle presence around. “He’s practicing knife throwing, by the way, so if you really want to be on his good side from the get go maybe buy him a dart board or something.” She takes a sip of her drink, cold and bright upon her tongue, before her gaze returns to Zacharias. It seems like a fair swap, really. A niece and a nephew, traded as a show of trust. And as failsafes. Should one of the gangs step a foot wrong, it’ll be them who suffer the consequences. “Are you nervous?” 

--

The announcement that he had been the chosen one to cross the threshold into enemy territory had caused his stomach to drop like a led balloon once he’d heard it. It could have been worse, though the fact that the label ‘emissary’ had been put over the one that read ‘fail-safe’ was a difficult pill to swallow. He supposed he was thankful, in a way, that it was Famine (and that it was him) - told countless times that his gift, one he had often overlooked, was the ability to make friends wherever he went - as there was a time, not too long ago, that he would have called a handful of their members friends. Or acquaintances, at the very least. 

“Yeah? It’s been a while,” Zacharias comments, attempting to recall the last time he’d seen the younger Reyes before realising it was a time he’d rather forget. He chooses, instead, to listen to the play by play offered, nodding appropriately and appreciative she offered the information without prodding. “Could you not teach him that?” Curious - the mental association between the Famine Virtue and knives was one that had been forged in January and remained since - and unsure of what the response would be. Are you nervous? Kitty prompts, and he can’t help the tell-tale glance sent in her direction, “When have you ever known any of my lot to behave?” The question is asked in place of an answer, but acts as one nonetheless. He was not as green as he had been months prior, strange to feel an us and them divide in spite of the knowledge that said line had become blurred.

“Remus and Rita should keep to themselves, they’re pretty busy with the pregnancy and everything else.” He begins, trading information in return; even though it might have seemed mundane to a passerby, they were handing each other the keys to survival. “Astrid is living with Saint, she's doing alright, and she has Juno’s dog,” Zach reaches into his bag and emerges with an unopened bag of dog treats, “I dunno if you’re a fan, but they love these.” Shoulders rise and fall, an offer to take them and do what she will. “Saint is -,” a moment of hesitancy sits between them, continuing after a beat, “- well, you know.” Another beat passes, before continuing, “You? Nervous?” It seems only right to offer the question back to her, weighted given his knowledge of the history between Kitty and the Warden family and more recent flower delivery he’d helped facilitate. 

[zachariaswinchester]

deathmaycome​:

“Hm, maybe I can guess,” she mused noncommittally, pretending that she wasn’t giving it much thought. The light in his eyes as he marvelled at the spectacle of the event that they stood outside saddened her somewhat. It was youth, May reasoned. Everything was grander when you were young, extravagance a positive rather than a negative. The higher the number the more impressive it had to be. But her thoughts strayed to some of the young people in her own gang, Vince in particular, who would be just as revolted as she was, and just as eager to tear it all apart from the inside. Zach’s wide-eyed innocence made it easy to want to make excuses for him, but she couldn’t. He was still branded by the same scarlet letter as the Wardens, even if he didn’t share their surname or their cold demeanour. She nods at his estimate, thinking for a moment. “Okay, that’s good. Late enough for me to write something my editor will like, early enough that I can be home at a decent hour.” A few more hours to find something she could make a story out of, while hopefully annoying a couple of the family members while she was in there.

“Yeah, I guess I better get back to work.” Her feigned reluctance was pitched perfectly, with just enough resignation that he might feel sorry for her, but a dash of determination in there too. Ready to head back into the fray. Politely, she made a motion with her hand to indicate that he should go first. Just a humble member of the lower classes who knew her place, letting the rich boy walk ahead of her. “After you, Zach. If people see me before they see you, they might think I’m a nosy journalist who’s up to no good.” The irony was a step too far, but he wasn’t likely to pick up on it, and so she offered a dry chuckle after her words to indicate that she was joking, before neatly slipping through the door after him.

- END.

[zachariaswinchester]

ravi’s instagram — meredith

Ravi’s instagram has been less active since the Vincent accident, and even less so after the Seraphim promotion, but he makes a reappearance in instagram stories on May 7th to document the presence of Zach’s cat, Meredith, in their home (aka the creature currently responsible for the one drop of sanity he has left). Ravi is a big fan of not having a pet to take care of, but he loves spending quality time with other people’s pets, so Meredith’s presence is welcome. The post that follows a few hours later, in response to the influx of messages, is simple text on the screen that reads: no, we didn’t get a cat, meredith belongs to a friend who’s staying over for a couple of days. xx

[zachariaswinchester]

remuswarden·:

Grief hangs heavy on little cousin’s shoulders, makes itself an unwelcome guest in the room, that much is clear to Remus; raised a Winchester, living his early life far away from the ivory tower the Wardens build for themselves, Zach has little practice in neatly packaging up emotions, shoving them aside while cursing them for their inconvenience. Mourning manifests in many ways, the loss of his sister is certainly a wound to bear for the rest of his life, but for Remus, grief is close to rage, grief is akin to violence. It’s retribution, like Juno herself asked for, her final words uttered before Death makes her their spectacle, their warning shot. Plans of action are well-mapped amongst high-ranking members of War, all Remus has to do at Bellum is steady the course, run the ship as if things are normal, don the icy facade the Wardens are infamous for. After all, it’s what Juno would want from her big brother, to remain the glue that keeps their family together, to rise to the challenge and meet their enemies with calculated bloodshed. Remus plans to make her proud.

Talk of his next fucking meeting grounds Remus again, pulls him from a headspace of plans and vengeance, one he often gets lost in when nothing is there to distract him. Blowing a raspberry from his lips in dismissal, a hand rubs his face tiredly, “some military fucks from over at Northolt want a demonstration of Kai’s latest toys, all the automated drones and shit like that, so of course I have to babysit them for their playdate.” A presentational affair, likely spent on edge for the next few hours as he struts around as Remus Warden, president of Bellum Nova, putting on a show for the honoured guests ( not to mention the added stress of the campaign, extra schmoozing required to keep the military’s high opinion of him, a key piece of gaining majority MP appeal ). “Though when the election gets closer, I’ll have to bite the fucking bullet and start to really delegate tasks elsewhere.” Historically a control freak, Remus will have to change his ways as he spreads himself thin across Bellum, War, and the upcoming election. 

Twinkling laugh fills the room, Zach’s infectious smile winning Remus over, too. “Well…I had Rita’s help, and she was all,” his voice takes on a higher pitch, only vaguely sounding anything like Rita, as he’s nowhere near as good at impressions as Saint, “tilt the left corner down! No, the right! No, just put it on another wall!” She’s easily as obsessive over interior decor as Remus is about running his family’s business, her many redesigns of the nursery alone proof positive. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to,” Remus says, suddenly nostalgic, “let’s get some dinner sometime at the Italian place around the corner, I miss it.” Which he’d never thought he’d say about his divorcee life in Chelsea. “I’d love the grand tour of your place afterwards.”

In the face of urgent business, small talk comes to die, even with Zach, who Remus tries his best to look after. Teaching him in subtle ways about the expectations of the Wardens, of Gabrielle and her ruling iron fist, Remus also throws his cousin a few bones under the table; in fact, it was the eldest Warden himself who secures Zach his place at Bellum Nova. “Actually, Zach, I have something pretty serious to talk to you about,” he says, playing stern, dropping his voice down to something cold. “It’s about your future at Bellum. I’m a little worried you aren’t well suited to your position anymore…” Remus starts, letting silence hang just long enough for Zach’s face to turn before he adds, “because you’ve been promoted to Interim Chief Technology Officer!” Interim, only because Gabrielle Warden doesn’t approve of handing out titles so easily without being tested first, even with Remus’ seal of approval. He has no doubts it’ll become permanent, as who will be better prepared to take Juno’s place than her assistant of so many years?

It might have been the fear that kept his emotion attached to his sleeve, the fear that if he bottled it up for too long that it would crack and explode outward, leaving him with glass shards that bled him slowly from the inside out. He chose to ignore it for that reason and carry on regardless, treat it as something he wore with as much ease as his blazer; something that could be seen by those around him, but not often commented on. “They might try and haggle with you there and then,” it’s a partial joke, and in truth, if that was the worst to happen, he imagined Remus would be happy enough. “Kai’ll keep them occupied though.” Zacharias didn’t need to be a genius to know that much. Hands extend outward then, offering an intention, “You know I’ll help, whatever I can do.” 

“I’d say she nearly pushed you out of the way and went to do it herself,” he muses, a fond smile settling into the corners of his mouth when discussing Rita, head canting to one side as he glances at the framed article once more - able to craft a mental picture of them in vivid technicolor. Gaze narrows, an indication of the attempt to recall the place that his cousin was referring to, “I don’t think I’ve been.” Even more of a reason to catch up there, able to trust the other’s taste in food enough that he didn’t need to go home and scour the menu in advance of going. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t look a tip.” He jokes, the place still far bigger than he had been used to and mess often contained to predictable pockets of space - the kitchen, the book shelves, the coffee table in the living room to name a few - rather than covering the flat like a blanket. 

“Christ, Rem,” Zach berates the other (as much as the Winchester could) a hand reaching up to rest on top of his thundering heart beat, containing the vessel to his rib cage, “I thought you were about to give me the sack.” There is a moment before what his cousin actually said registers, unsure whether exhilaration or melancholia would win out, attempting to blink away the surprise he was sure lingered in his stare. The role had been synonymous with Juno for as long as he could remember, even before he had joined the company as her assistant, to sever that mental connection in conjunction with taking over the role himself seemed... daunting, in spite of the fact that he had been doing it - or, trying his best with the help of others - since she had first disappeared. “That’s,” Zacharias breathes out, unable to help the slight smile that curves his mouth, “Insane,” thinking then perhaps she would have preferred it (if been slightly apprehensive) that it was him and not someone else.

“Thank you,” he adds after a beat, an acknowledgement that he understands the importance of the news, “I’ll try no- I mean, I won’t let you down.” 

[zachariaswinchester]

ravireyes​:

Dagobert doesn’t smile back, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary, given his personality. Ravi has told him countless times to cheer up, and he’s delivered a dozen of incredible jokes in hopes to make the man crack, but no luck so far. The famine Virtue focuses on what Zach is telling him, a hum of thought passing his throat. He doesn’t know Zacharias’ mother, nothing more than the vague idea of what her face looks like from passing glances comes to mind, so he can’t take any wild shots. “Well, can’t go wrong if you stick to what you know,” he ponders only for a moment, before pointing out one of the bowler bags from the shelves. “I’m not a Prada gal myself, but I’ll admit their new collection is pretty solid. Hm, and Burberry, also a classic,” he points to that one, too. Neither are bags he would pick for himself, but he knows the War people (Evren excluded) tend to dress on a lower fashion level than him and his famine peers, so he assumes this woman must be just as tame. 

The task of finding something for Zach, however, that’s more exciting. A living subject he can actually shop for. “Y'know, I almost went into personal shopper as a career.” He chose party planner slash influencer, instead. Oh, the joys of pick and choosing whatever he wanted to do on his free time as a career, with the Femenias money backing him up no matter what. A hand lands on his companion’s arm, as he twists his neck to look around the store for a moment, taking in the rest of the accessories section. “What do you like? Style-wise? What do you usually wear for bags? Colours, no colours? Please say colours.”

--

He follows the line of Ravi’s gaze, having placed an inherent trust in the other that would (likely) have been absent in any other context given the chasm between them in the form of their respective allegiance, contemplation manifesting on his expression. Furrow forms in his brow when Zacharias settles on a small quilted bag from the latter option, “I think she’d like that one.” It’s spoken with surprise, not expected to feel as firm as he did with the decision, underpinned with an unspoken question that sought the Virtue’s input - whether it was an opinion or a cue on how to proceed remained unclear.

It is apparent the information is new - insignificant as it might have seemed overall, it wasn’t to Zacharias - intrigue splashed across his features for a moment after the fact. “What stopped you?” If anything of course, though he imagined someone like Ravi wasn’t deterred easily. “I like a satchel,” he comments after a minute, his current one still draped over one shoulder as he browsed what was on offer, strange to discuss those particular preferences out loud. “I don’t normally wear colours to work,” the last syllable dragged out, the sentence remaining unfinished until he takes a breath, “but not because I don’t want to.” 

It was just more practical - blend in, keep the head down - that, and a lot of his work attire had been gifts in one form or another. “I wouldn’t mind some colour.” Zacharias’ free hand scratches contemplatively across his chin, attempting to picture himself donning any of the accessories in front of them.

[zachariaswinchester]

oflightfeet·:

It’s strangeto return to the gym. Where Wren has a feeling that some members of Famine mightthink of it as a kind of homecoming, all they find in the building is memories.This is, after all, where their friendship with Leon Wiley had first beenignited. Wren can point out the exact place in the locker room where they had helda cold compress against a forming bruise of his for the first time, which had kickedoff many more moments like it. The ring is avoided, a place where Wren had seenLeon at his best: victorious and violent, beaming as the crowds chanted his name.But still, they come. Because it’s what expected. Because there are people inWar that long for the kind of vengeance wants, too. Because fuck knows theyneed to sharpen their body into a better weapon, if they want to make it out ofall this alive. Whether they even do, they don’t know any more. It’s somethingthey try not to think of.

They try tolive by focusing on one thing at a time. Right now, that’s the punching bag infront of them. Wren wears shitty earbuds and listens to loud music and jabs it,the lessons their dead friend had taught them in the back of their mind. It’salmost been a month, now. A month minus one day has gone by and nothing haschanged, nothing has been resolved, no revenge has been had. All Wren is leftwith is a mirror image of themselves that reveals nothing but weakness and anendless pit of rage they can’t do anything with. And so they punch a punchingbag, gritting their teeth and only stopping when a familiar voice breaksthrough the barriers they live behind now. Zach. Wren trusts no one in War,save for maybe him. They pull out their earphones and let their fists sink, fiddlingwith the wrapping on one of them. They are restless and it shows. “Don’t youknow me? I don’t need a reason to punch someone.” Wren gives a quirk oftheir lip. They’re down to speak jokingly, to lose themselves in lightheartedconversation with someone who had, for a long time, offered exactly that. And asthey remember how Zach had looked that night, in that factory, they wouldprefer to lean into that in stead of their respective grief. “I’m like themost dangerous guy here, you know.” They bare their teeth. “Watch out.”They grin a little, accidentally undo their wrapped hand and look at it for a second,frustrated and feeling, for a moment, as if that is not their hand at all.Then, Wren looks back up, nod to the rowing machine. “Where are you rowing to?”

--

There was something about Wren that had never failed to put him at ease, a shared understanding that relaxed the now-frequent knot at the apex of his shoulder blades, in spite of the ever-present reminder that they stood on opposing sides of the war. War and Famine had not shared the most cordial history (putting it lightly) and while their recent partnership had not attempted to erase that - forged out of convenience rather than an attempt at reconciliation - it made it easier to share a conversation without the full weight of the knowledge they were enemies. For that reason his comment catches on the corner of Zacharias’ mouth until he’s suppressing a full-fledged grin, glancing away for a brief moment and returning his gaze to Wren with a less obvious smile still lingering at the edges of his lips. “I don’t doubt you are.”

“Timbuktu,” he responds following a brief moment of consideration, the twitch of his expression an indication he was joking, even if there was something to be said for the underlying wish in his statement. “But it’s weird, you know, I realised it doesn’t matter how hard I row, I’m getting nowhere.” He abandons the machine then, and his drink alongside it, crossing the space between them in a few long strides until he is standing in front of Wren, holding up a free hand to show them, “Can I?”, a cautious glance given to gauge their reaction of his offer of fixing the hand wrap back into place. Also, admittedly an excuse to talk without the worry of being overhead across the gym. “You been practising this sort of stuff?” Tension stretches through the question even though Zach had intended it to be conversational, the realisation puckering his brow until he tries to tamp down his expression. 

The Truce had created an environment in which they had been able to relax, to let their guard down even though they knew now that had almost been their downfall. He hadn’t imagined Wren as a fighter (in the physical sense) when they had first met, though Zach doubted they would have seen him as someone who would willingly enact violence either. It could have been that they didn’t know each other after all, or perhaps circumstance had moulded them into different people entirely in a matter of months.

[zachariaswinchester]

fireworkai·:

     The stupid Ritz doctors had carefully warned them that the peak of pain would be the week following the injury. Kai, of course, didn’t believe them. Each step was taken with ease, though turbulent sparks raged inside of them; each employee at Bellum Nova’s manufacturing quarters looked upon them as if they were a wounded doe, so they were quick to remind them who was in charge by a witty quip or a particularly nasty task. What lived inside their head ever since the Thames attack was the motivation to return to their regular physical training as they had before becoming a Virtue and reminding themselves just how good they could be at punching the shit out of everyone that stood their way; alas, their broken rib punctured their goals backwards. 

It is with disdain that the punching bag is watching Kai Anderson. It mocks them, it laughs at them, each weak blow resonating with the ache in their ribs. In reality, they’d made three swings at the bag, three that took a great deal of effort given that their body was giving up simply because of the injury. Failure is a word not filed in Kai’s dictionary, so their sight tries to dissect each and every fiber of the sand-filled inanimate object in front of them, before they give into rage. They picture a skull-shaped mask and watch as it loads a gun and shoots it off to kill a friend. In a fracture of a second they snap, just like that, bringing out a small everyday knife out of their training pocket and slicing down the fucking sack filled with dirt, grains of golden falling down like a desert waterfall. Their lips let out a roar of fury paired with regular gym-goers questionably looking and trying to silently get away from them, though Anderson’s chaotic gaze is more than enough for the people to run away. It is beautiful - Kai did ultimately win, yet Fletcher Grey’s words resonate in their head… ‘always you and your weapons…’

It takes a few second to get a cleaning staff to deal with their mess and another to negotiate with the person at the reception. They snap back to reality when a voice calls out to them. Zacharias Winchester was the last person they expected getting them out of their trance. They pull back the knife in their pocket and run a hand through their hair as they dismiss the receptionist, giving them a false relief by setting the knife away. Drops of sweat try to fall down the floor as they press their rib with one hand and resting their weight on their thighs with the other. “Nothing, Winchester,” Kai replies, cocking an eyebrow up. “Absolutely fucking nothing.” They sit down on a nearby bench and wash away the filthy taste in their mouth with water as they scoundrel for another painkiller from their gym back. “Newly-appointed rank of Power has you pumped up to punch some shit, huh? Good. Very fucking good.” That was a statement to themself more than to Zach. “What’s up with you?”

--

There is a shift in his expression, subtle, that said he didn’t quite believe them while forgoing the necessity of voicing such concern out loud. Brow raises, gaze shifting between the remnants of sand on the floor and the Virtue before settling on the latter. “Looks like nothing alright,” he concludes, nodding toward the result of their outburst once, choosing to put it to rest after should they choose not to address it again. It wasn’t in his nature to pry, not in regard someone who outranked him and definitely not someone who had just torn a leather punching bag to shreds seemingly without hesitation, though he couldn’t quell his curiousness at the same time. 

Their question that was more of a statement prompts a bemused sigh - feet coming off the machine and onto the floor attempting to offset the stream of thoughts that it would unearth as though afraid he would get swept up in them - unsure, for a moment, how to address it. “More...,” Zacharias starts, syllables dragged out to afford him with a pause to think, “... open, to the fact I might have to.” He wasn’t stupid, the Power knew that it was naive to think there was a chance to avoid fighting and (though he might have a choice when the time came) it was better to be prepared. “I’d rather shoot ‘em instead.” No said with the intonation of someone who was particularly thrilled by the prospect, but spoke volumes about his progression in a few short months.

“The usual,” he responds to what otherwise had become a loaded question, nothing beyond the realms of what was now normal for him, attempting to recall the changes within that that he’d shared with the other and those that he’d overlooked until now. “I’ve my own assistant now which is still fucking weird.” It was an adjustment, something he was still getting used to, having someone to fill his shoes while Zacharias was simultaneously trying to fill bigger still. He didn’t think he would ever out-do Juno, but he wanted to do her proud at the very least. If nothing else, it was a titbit for the other to focus on. 

[zachariaswinchester]

29TH APRIL 2021 / ELITE GYM / [OPEN FOR FAMINE / WAR]

He had soon learned that if he entered the gym expecting quiet solitude, he would be disappointed, the unsteady hum of the rowing machine Zacharias occupied was lost amid the cacophony of the place. His initial foray into it had been reluctant, following a begrudging acceptance in the wake of his promotion that combat was something he should be familiar with at least (comfortable with would be a stretch), unassisted by a transparent lack of confidence in his own abilities. Zacharias had surprised even himself with the revelation that (at first), he would have preferred the gun range given the choice between that and occupying himself spending time in the ring situated over his shoulder at present. The feeling of silliness he had tried to shake while using the punching bags had been detrimental to both form and focus, a preference emerging for the rowing machines.

Body occupied by the repetitive motion, mind was snagged by the sounds of the training that carried on behind him even though he didn’t turn to look, his attention is diverted when the motion of a punching bag catches in his periphery. He takes a moment before his focus drifts to the person propelling it forward, unlike him, seemingly concentrating on their task at hand. “What did it do to you?” The Winchester asks in what was meant to be a conversational tone, emerging instead sounding more breathy than he’d intended, finishing his round before slowing to a stop and settling into a resting position on the rowing machine. Hand reaches down, grabbing the bottle he’d left on the floor, taking a drink before continuing, ignoring complicated thoughts about old and new alliances, “The bag, I mean. What did it do?” No secret that each of them had their own battles to fight, beyond those that unified (or divided them), a somewhat hesitant smile curling the corner of his mouth while awaiting a response to the attempt at light-hearted conversation.

[zachariaswinchester]

gwensgold·:

“Off,meaning that you don’t have to do resembling to work for at least forty eighthours.” Gwen thinks for a moment, before adding, “But I get it, I don’treally have proper time off either.” Her life resolves around threeconstants: the pub, May and Death. It’s something of a good thing they’re allconnected, making it so that Gwen doesn’t have to choose between them. Besides,she’s never been one to sit still and the way her life is currently arranged ensuresthat she doesn’t have to. “Oh, business jargon … you guys love yourabbreviations, huh? CTO, that’s chief –” She holds up a finger, scrunchingup her nose. “– technical officer, yeah? So what does that mean, foryou? Don’t tell me it’s just coffee and juice runs.” And in Zacharias’case, that is Juno Warden. Gwen can’t imagine working for a family member,especially not as an assistant. She gives a grin, then. “Yeah, pretty. Puppyeyes, fluffy hair, et cetera.”

Pridepushes her chest forward and Gwen nods. “Hm-hm. I mean, shit, it wasn’teasy, but I did.” The mortgage may be high, but with Death’s helpingskeletal hand, her financial stresses have dwindled. She doesn’t entirely likethe feeling of dependence, but considering many of the hours she’d spendworking are invested into the gang these days makes her feel less weighed downby it. “Yeah, it’s bloody crazy how fast it’s flown by.” Gwen does notoften reflect on her life, the past a thing she prefers to not think about, butwhen she does she’s often startled by the sheer difference between the then andnow. Reflection only reassures her that she’s on the right path, bringsa satisfaction with the decisions she has made. “Yeah, there’ll be a party.Beer will flow until sunrise, there’ll be some live music and a specialanniversary beer, even. Limited supply.” A local brewery ran by a friendhad helped with that, and Gwen was giddy at the thought. “You should stepby. There’s a poster in the bathroom and by the entrance with all the info.”

--

Before he could attempt to brush off the definition given with a (somewhat) humorous response, Zacharias smiles at how the other seems to preempt his answer and concede that she, too, didn’t have proper time off. He was treated well within Bellum, and War, though he had resigned himself to the fact that it was just the nature of the job. “Only ‘cause everything’s a mouthful otherwise,” the teasing is light and insignificant, an elongated nod followed her guess to confirm that Gwen was correct. “It used to be.” He offers, finding no need to conceal the truth of his job while talking to the other, “I used to be awful at it though.” Zach had harboured a penchant for self-deprecation for as long as he could remember, but even he could admit that he had gotten better at his job overtime as opposed to getting worse. “Mostly scheduling, fielding calls, stuff like that,” he shrugs, listing things that had become part of a normal working day accompanied by a slight reluctance to be talking about himself. 

“The money is insane too.” It wasn’t meant to pry into the other’s situation, but the realisation that it could be taken that way colours his cheeks a blush pink seconds after the fact. He’d rented in the city, the comment meant to come from a conversational point of view. “Or get lucky.” He emends, attempting to back track into what he believed was safer territory. A soft hum reverberates against his lips, born from intrigue, “I’m sure it’ll be brilliant,” thinking about whether or not he’d have the chance to stop by (if for no other reason than to sate his own curiousness). “I’ll go take a look,” the Winchester mentions finishing the end of his drink before sliding off the stool and picking his jacket off the back of the chair, sliding it over his shoulders. “Thanks,” he concludes after a beat, though whether the gratitude was in reference to the drink or humouring him in answering the question was left up to Gwen.

[zachariaswinchester]

deathmaycome·:

“Online only. Print is dying a slow death and we’re trying not to waste paper. Check us out sometime,” she says vaguely, not wanting to sell it too much lest he take his phone out before her eyes and google them to discover the outlet-wide vendetta against his family. Instead, she quickly moved on to agree with his comment about the Wardens’ talents in part-planning. “Oh, clearly.” May throws a glance at the door as though she had any idea of what lay beyond it. She could have a pretty good guess, though. Towers of champagne glasses, items of jewellery worth more money than she’d earned in her life, vol-au-vents that would be thrown away at the end of the evening, harried waitstaff being terrified of behaving like human beings lest they incur the wrath of the family. “I wonder how much this whole thing cost,” she mused aloud, as though she were merely expressing a thought and not actually asking the question. “Whatever it was, it’s impressive.” Impressively grotesque.

May regards him sympathetically after his admission. He hasn’t been moulded to this life in the way his cousins have. In time, of course, he could become the mirror image of them, tarnished and cracked, but for now he was clean and shiny and new. She’s seized by the sudden urge to get him away from this ugly building and its uglier occupants, to take him to the Pale Stallion and give him food that wasn’t miniature and drink that didn’t cost more than a month’s rent, coax whatever nonsense they’d filled his head with out. Realistically speaking, though, his loyalty to his new family no doubt already ran deep, and certainly would not be shaken by a journalist he’d known for all of five minutes, and so the question of shall we just leave? died on her lips. “Yeah, I know how you feel. I guess it’s the kind of thing we’ll both have to adapt to. Practice fake smiling and drink just enough that it almost feels normal.” She laughed suddenly. “Sounds bleak when I say it like that. It’s not like it’s a matter of life or death or anything, even if some people treat it that way. How long do these things go on for, do you know?”

--

The confidence with which May discusses her profession doesn’t make him feel as far removed from his depth as he is, instead Zacharias finds himself appreciative of the assertive answer, making a mental note to Google the media outlet later. “I couldn’t tell you,” even if he could offer a ball-park estimate of how much the affair had cost he wouldn’t have, shrugging in suggestion that he wasn’t privy to the finances of his extended family (which was the truth). “You got that part right.” The smile that lines his mouth is momentary, having learned from a young age that the grandeur of parties organised by his cousins’ was something that wouldn’t fail to make his breath catch in his throat.

“I’m a terrible actor,” in spite of the admission, he’s grinning while he speaks, unburdened by the thoughts he was unaware plagued May in that moment, “Came close to failing GCSE drama, too.” He appreciated the attempt at reassurance, even more so the acknowledgement of how bleak it sounded in the aftermath, as though they were attending a funeral rather than a party. Zacharias stretches his arm out, pulling back the sleeve of his coat until his watch face was revealed, gaze moving over the minute and second hand before indulging in some mental maths. “I mean, people normally head off at about midnight,” though not an official ending time, the dawn of another day had generally been taken as an unspoken cue for most party goers to find their way home. Most, never all. “Just depends, I guess.”

“I suppose I’ve been out here for long enough,” the look at his watch had reminded him he’d been outside for longer than he likely should, better to return to the throng of people and acquire another drink as well (and maybe one of those appetisers that tasted like pizza bites but he was certain had a posher name). Vape is returned to the inside pocket of his jacket, straightening it out after pushing himself from the wall. “You coming?” It hadn’t seemed too strange that journalists would be invited to the Christmas party, thinking little of questioning whether the woman would follow him back indoors.