Valentina had been dying to visit Eliza and chastised herselffor not being able to prior to the ball. However, she had her hands full withpreparations and well, keeping her eye on the invitees. What a mess that turnedout to be. She knows enough about the Mancini boy to make sure she’s watching himtoo. It’s exhausting, really but certain behaviors should be righted. One wayor another. Top that with her inevitable reunion with her ex-husband and Valneeds to visit one of the few people that just…get it. “Hello, love.” Shegrinned before placing the small African Violet on her friend’s desk. “Madam Mayor.I can get used to this.”
THE LAST CANDLE WAS placed on the glass table standing high in the living room, lithe form turning around itself to glance at the entirety of her home one last time. it was her and ghosts most of the time, dancing their own WALTZ OF SOLITUDE, but there were also days where she would allow herself the luxury of sharing space with another person. valentina was certainly the first one on that list. her face lit up like a candle when she heard footsteps behind her, lips forming a GRIN ABNORMAL for her disposition. ‘ took you long enough, ‘ a hearty chuckle was given as she rushed to the woman’s side, placing a single peck against her cheek. ‘ it has a nice ring to it, i must admit. i guess all of those years of studying weren’t for nothing. — gin or wine ? ‘
◦ ✧ — - the gentlemen’s club is not really where iseldo is known to be spotted. hell, he’s not known to be seen anywhere unless it’s publicity for the former mayor’s family. it’s not his favorite place to be either, frankly. he’s never been one for the club scene, in any sense. he’s only here as a designated driver, switching over his original duties to another zanetti brother. it has to be chance that the new mayor is in the audience as well, and conveniently sitting just one table over. iseldo arches an eyebrow at her words, unsure just who — if anyone — she’s asking. ‘ well.. someone sounds philosophic — is that part of your change or have you always been that way ? ’
THE WAY HER HEAD turned was abrupt, brows furrowed underneath the weight of the voice she did not expect. monologues were NOT A RARITY for eliza, they were therapeutic almost, for there were few people who knew of the darkness of her thoughts. a smile was all that she gave as she inched her glass of whiskey towards her lips, back arched into a PERFECTLY STRAIGHT position. she was a woman with many talents, but putting up a front was by far her greatest gift. ‘ iseldo. fancy seeing you here, ‘ syllables coated in sugar rolled off tongue, head lowering in a DISPLAY OF COURTESY, ‘ neither. it was a line from a book i’ve been reading recently — there’s something about it that stayed in my memory, that’s all. ‘
THE DIM LIGHTS HIT sculpted features enough to show the graceful curves of her cheekbones and each shade of green in her pupils. the players club wasn’t a place one would usually see eliza allard, but that didn’t mean she was A STRANGER to its tables. that particular night, gloom danced with the fluttering smoke of the cigarette between elongated fingers, BEAUTY TAINTED by a veil of heaviness ‘ how much can you change — ‘ she started, flicking off the ash from her cigarette, gaze distant, ‘ and get away with it, before you turn into someone else ? ‘
a splash of colors cradled between two skinny arms is, without ceremony, shoved into a metal bin, petals scattered, crumpled into a void. she kicks the tin with the tip of her heel & winces as the noise rumbles, muttering something under her breath. shoulders slouched & brown locks in disarray, it takes her a whole minute to notice a looming presence and clear her throat. “ um … i have — allergies. ” to lying bastards.
ALWAYS RUSHING. ALWAYS running. rare were times where she would just stop to marvel the fact she was still still breathing. a glance is thrown at the watch around her wrist, teeth sinking into the flesh of her BOTTOM LIP as her pace quickened, the staccato clicks of her high-heels echoing off the asphalt. in a single moment of AIMLESS OBSERVING, beryl orbs halted on a girl by a bin. she had some time to spare. ‘ allergies ? ‘ the inquiry enclosed in the shell of a SMOOTH VOICE found its way to the other, head hovering above the opening of the bin, ‘ perhaps. but i wouldn’t say flowers are to blame. ‘
“Is it true they held the founders ball this week? And the afterparty was at Melody Dipshit’s house?” she asked in annoyance her eyes squinted as she took a deep breath holding up her phone to show off the images from what seemed to be a fun evening. “I had to hear from Jackie Rudetsky. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Finding out about the founders ball from Jackie. Rudetsky.”
A TILT OF HEAD WAS an interesting contrast to an indifferent front. she was supposed to be there ─ a woman with such power and status was expected to be there, chattering away and giving a moving speech about how death is but a dream. but she wasn’t. while trivialities were an inevitable part of her profession, there were also other things, OMINOUS THINGS, she prioritized that night. ‘ it is strange that you heard about the ball from that girl, i agree. ‘ words slipped from plump lips easily, brows arching to show that she was MILDLY AMUSED by the latter’s distress. ‘ it was only one of the biggest events of the year. ‘
JOHN KEATS. the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, the heavy scent of musk, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bed sheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.
F. SCOTT FITZGERALD. crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, mahogany wood, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment, your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction.
FRANZ KAFKA. the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, the hideous and absurd hidden behind locked doors, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.
H.P. LOVECRAFT. the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean, the silence of three a.m, ouija boards and urban legends, horrors that can never be unseen or undone.
JACK KEROUAC. the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun, novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive.
EDGAR ALLAN POE. the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon, heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret.
◟ * ◊ ─ angelina jolie + cis-female + she/her » * believe it or not eliza allard is working for the lothario family. they are 39 years of age and are known to usually spend their time around city hall. the mayor, who has been a part of the alliance for 16 years, has been living in victoria her entire life. the people closest to them describe the heterosexual leo to be assertive and dauntless as well as egocentric and haughty » ◦ ° ◝
ayyyy, it’s thea, back at it again w my new muse, mrs. Queen Mayor eliza. she’s truly something if u ask me aaand i’m so hyped to bring her to the table eeep. if you’d like to plot / do a thread, please give this post a like and i’ll be sure to hit u up. <33
eliza was born to emilien laurent, a famous french architect, and eva dowler, senior curator in the department of greece and rome at the british museum. they met when her father was invited to help with an exhibition and quickly fell in love
eva didn’t hesitate to move to lyon to live with emilien. imagine the most romantic movie you’ve ever seen. their love was that x2029320.
it was christmas when she found out she was pregnant. she didn’t want a child, saying that she was too young and too ambitious. he begged her to keep it, and she eventually gave in. they moved to victoria so she could carry out her pregnancy in peace.
growing up, eliza was extremely close to her father. he loved her with his entire being. however, with her mother, it wasn’t long until the abuse began. she viewed the girl as nothing more but a one-way ticket to her downfall
it started with slaps. it then escalated into kicking and beating with whatever was at hand. it was easy for eva to do all those horrible things, for emilien was traveling a lot on business.
that night changed their lives forever. eva, in a drunken fit of rage, pushed her daughter down the stairs. the young girl crawled to the kitchen, but her mother dearest was quicker. with a knife in hand, she was prepared to stab eliza to death, not for a second thinking about the consequences
eliza knew about the revolver her father kept underneath the table. she took it. she was shooting her mother until there were no bullets left.
emilien was a broken man. he mourned his wife as if an angel left this earth. eliza never told him about the bruises and the scars. he mourned his daughter also, for she was dead to him as well.
he took the blame and was arrested at the scene, but not before he told eliza to run and never look back. not before he told her that he didn’t exist for her anymore. she was 14
eliza had nowhere to go, but there was someone watching. she was knocked out before she could step foot on the street, and when she woke up, she saw an old man, a neighbor, whom she only knew as reed.
he offered his home and his wealth to her, for he was alone as well. the only thing he asked for in return was that she never leaves him. eliza didn’t know he was the son of louis buchalter, who ran murder, inc.
from that moment, the girl had everything she ever asked for and more. he became her mother, her father, her brother, her friend. on her 16th birthday, he told her that she was born to do amazing things and that he would help her on her journey.
it took five years of firearms, knives, hand-to-hand combat, acrobatics, psychological training and education for her to become a soldier. to become a woman who can talk about anything, who is enchanting and poised. at 21, she was a woman with a brain of a machine and a hand that could kill in a mere second. she was his greatest work and his heiress.
they parted ways when she went to harvard. she graduated law school in three years and eventually earned a juris doctor degree. all the while she was one of the most feared assassins in the country and one of the most successful
the lotharios heard of eliza’s accomplishments. they wanted her. however, they didn’t want her because she was an assassin. rather, they wanted her brain. she would serve as the mayor of victoria, and with her degree and connections, eliza was a perfect fit
vaporwave
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
izzy806
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
gummygunk
